She’s careful.
Maybe that’s why I can’t seem to stop pushing her. I want to know what she’s hiding behind those walls. What she’s afraid to let out.
I lean back, resting my arm on the couch, giving her space to breathe. “You okay over there?” I tap my finger against her hand.
Her gaze flicks to mine, and she hesitates. “I’m fine.”
But I can tell she’s not. The words come out too quickly, like she’s trying to convince herself.
I let the silence settle between us, waiting her out. If there’s one thing football has taught me, it’s patience. You don’t always have tocharge headfirst—sometimes, the play is to stay still and let the other team make the first move.
She exhales softly, her shoulders sinking into the cushions like she’s surrendering. “It’s just ... I’m not used to this.”
I tilt my head. “Used to what?”
“Men being so direct.”
“I prefer being direct to playing games.” Head games are for pussies and are a waste of fucking time. I’d rather be honest, even if it blows up in my face. “I don’t see the point of making someone guess how I feel.”
“Honestly, you make me nervous.”
“I do?”
“Yes.”
“Good,” I say, my voice softening as I scoot a bit closer. “Because you make me nervous too.”
Her eyes widen. “You?”
I cross a hand over my chest. “Scout’s honor.”
She seems to consider this information, unsure whether or not to believe me. “Why?”
“Because you’re not like the people I usually meet. You don’t let me get away with anything.” I pause, smirking. “And you have this way of making me feel like I have to earn your attention.”
Her lips twitch like she’s fighting back a grin. “Youdohave to earn it.”
“Yeah, I figured.” I sigh dramatically, running a hand through my hair. “The things I do for you.”
“Oh, please.” She playfully rolls her eyes. “As if it’s a hardship.”
“It is!” I press a hand to my chest like she’s wounded me. “I’m out here busting my ass trying to impress you!”
“How have you been trying to impress me?” She laughs.
I lean back into the couch cushions, weighing my options. Should I tell her the truth, that I’m not actually a lumberjack part-time? I mean, the truth will come out eventually, and when it does, she’s going to be pissed at me regardless.
“Oh,you know—chopping wood, flexing muscles, pretending to be outdoorsy and rugged ...”
Her laugh is immediate and loud, and it makes me grin, even though my brain is screaming at me that this is a terrible idea.
“You’re not outdoorsy and rugged?” She reaches over to squeeze my biceps, which I immediately flex for good measure out of habit. “Could have fooled me.”
I shift on the couch. “I have a confession to make.”
Lucy goes still. Sucks in a breath. “Oh my God—don’t tell me you’re married.”
I shake my head. “Nope, not married.”
