That jiggle when she walks. Have dimples I can trace with my fingertips. Or tongue. The soft place I suddenly want to dive between.
I clear my throat, rubbing at the back of my neck, attempting to look anywhere but at the heart shape of her ass.
Because, seriously.
How long does it take to pick up a cup, iPad, and fold a goddamn towel?
“Gimme that,” I snap when she’s finally upright again, snatching the blue towel from her. “Cover up already. You’ll get sunburned.”
She removes her sunglasses, frowning at me. “What the hell is your problem?”
I take the empty cup too. “Your shoulders are red.”
“You don’t have to have such an attitude about it.”
“And you could put on a shirt.”
She rears back, and I know it was the wrong thing to say, yet I like this back-and-forth. I like her feisty, hands on her generous hips, eyes narrowed at me. “And you could go back to 1800when you think a woman would listen to a fucking thing you told her to do.”
“Maybe I will. Find me a woman less mouthy.”
She scoffs. “Go ahead, Magna Cum Laude. Put that degree of yours to good use and build a time machine. Since you have yet to prove you’re not the most overpaid tight end in the league. I caught some of the practice footage, and you’re slow off the line.”
I should probably be embarrassed, but I’m more pleased than anything. “You watched my practice footage.”
“Of theteam.” Irritation sounds so good on her tongue. “And if I were you, I wouldn’t be grinning so hard for somebody who got their shit rocked by a twenty-two-year-old rookie linebacker.”
I don’t think I’ve ever been more turned on in my life.
By my best friend’s sister and her snarky attitude.
I was wrong before. She’s not uptight.
She’s simply been waiting to be unleashed. All the pent-up frustration needing a target.
I don’t mind taking a few arrows.
I like the pain.
CHAPTER 11
NADINE
It’s wellafter nine o’clock, and my tea has long gone cold by the time the door opens, and I attempt to fix my features into a semblance of calm. But with the way Camden’s shoulders sag as he drops his bag by the entryway, I don’t think he’ll notice or care about why I have a heap of tissues in front of me where I sit at the eat-in counter.
He scrubs his hands over his hair a few times then finally lifts his head, doing a double take when he spots me. “Hey.”
I set my chin in my hand. “Game didn’t go well?”
He shakes his head. It was the first preseason game on their home field, and I can only imagine how he was crucified by the press and fans if he didn’t play well. Probably all up in his head.
Like I am.
“Where’s Paise?” he asks, crossing to the fridge for a sports drink.
“In her room, talking to her best friend, I think.” I turn my cell phone over so I don’t have to see the email anymore. “We watched a double feature of Kate Hudson rom-coms tonight.”
He nods a few times but makes no comment about it. No teasing or sarcasm.
