“You have a very thick neck,” I blurt.
That?Thatis what fun, unrestrained Lu would do? Comment on a man’s thick neck? I’m mentally face-palming myself and wishing I could evaporate into my cloud of embarrassment.
TJ lets out a warm laugh. “Look at us—you with a heavy bottom and me with a thick neck.”
“Shut up. You can’t deny it.” I decide to go with this, in all the awkwardness. I can’t deny that it’s fun, teasing and talking … being close to him. “Your neck is like the column on one of those old Roman buildings.”
He hums. “Which buildings are you referring to, Cinderella?”
“I have no clue what their names are. History and geography are not my strength. Honestly, math and science aren’t either. Don’t pick me for your trivia team.”
“Same. We can be clueless about all things cultural, mathematical, and spatial together. I leave that sort of stuff to Poe.”
“Who’s Poe?”
“My teammate, Lawrence Poe.” TJ tips his head back so he can look at me. Our faces are very close together. I can see the scruff of his five o’clock shadow. I have a weird and completely inappropriate desire to run my lips over it—to feel the coarseness of it under my tongue. Who am I and what is going on in my brain right now?
I shake my head slightly. “I guess I should admit that football is another thing I’m clueless about.”
He gasps dramatically.
I hold back a smile. “This is probably a good time to ask you what exactly you do on the team.”
“What do I do?” he asks, incredulous. He darts a glance down at me as he continues to climb up and up and up.
“Are you, like, a bench warmer? A manager? Are you any good?”
He blows out a breath and looks up to the ceiling. “Am I any good?” he mutters to the heavens. “You are crushing my ego right now, you know that, Cinderella?”
“Sorry!” I say again. “I know literally nothing about the River Foxes. Never watched a game in my life.”
“Never?” He narrows his gaze at me. “Why are you smiling so big?”
I try to stop smiling, but I can’t. “Because you’re trying really hard to be casual when I’ve apparently insulted your football prowess. Let me guess, you’re some sort of star?”
I feel his chest puff up against my back. “You could say that.”
“So modest, too.” I click my tongue.
“It’s hard to be modest when you’re as good as I am, Cinderella.” The cool confidence in his tone makes my nerve endings feel like they’ve hopped on the backs of a stampede of buffalo. “That,” he goes on, “and I have to be arrogant. I couldn’t do my job if I didn’t believe I could do my job.”
My throat goes dry. There’s that directness I noticed earlier. It’s hot to hear him talk about his work with confidence in his capabilities.
“Noted,” I say, swallowing a shiver at the intensity in his gaze and because I’m suddenly all too aware of the callouses on his hands. They’re worker hands, and yet he’s holding me like I’m made of glass and it’s his one job in life not to let me shatter.
“If you watch a game, look for number twenty-five. That’s me. I’m the running back, so I’ll be in the middle of everything.”
I’ve never had any desire to watch a football game until this very moment, but I’m supposed to be playing coy, so I shrug as much as I can, given my current position. “Might have to check one out.”
“Might have to score a touchdown for you this weekend,” he counters. “You’ll know when I do.”
I’m guessing a touchdown is a good thing, and the way my pulse spikes and my breath comes in short bursts tells me there’s something to this sort of method-acting flirting.
“How so?” I ask, my voice a whisper. My heart whirls to life like a helicopter lifting off.
“Trust me.” He dips his chin so our gazes lock in—complementary pieces in a puzzle. “You’ll know.”
He breaks eye contact even as there’s a little voice in my head that’s squealing like the little piggy running all the way home. I can’t even believe this is my life right now. How did I end up here?
