“Mm.” I close my eyes, breathing him in. I can feel his body heat.
“Look at me, please.”
“No, thanks.”
His fingers come beneath my chin, tilting my face up. Our eyes meet, and he brushes my bangs out of my eyes. Sparks scatter across my skin from where he touches me.
“My bangs need a trim,” I whisper, unable to look away.
His mouth kicks up at the edge, a wistful, sweet smile on his face that breaks my heart.
Oh god. My crush looms, gaining strength. I want to kiss him, and from the way he keeps glancing at my mouth, I think maybe he wants to kiss me, too.
I would, if he wanted to. I would kiss him and I’d love it.
“There’s something I need to be honest about with you.” He takes a deep breath. “That night we had dinner with Yang-Hanson, he asked if you were single.”
I frown. This is the thing he didn’t want to tell me? “Okay? I don’t c?—”
“Hold on.” His expression is unreadable. “I told him you were seeing someone.”
I blink, baffled. “Why?”
“And when he asked if it was serious,” he rubs the bridge of his nose, eyes closed like he’s in pain, “I said yes.”
“Again,why?”
He takes a deep breath, broad chest rising and falling, before he rubs the back of his neck. I brace myself. It must be really bad, if he didn’t want to tell me.
Oh my god. It hits me.
“Do you think I’ll embarrass the team by fucking a player or something? That I have no self-control? That I’ll let it get in the way of my job?—”
“I was jealous.”
I can feel the look of utter confusion on my face. “Jealous,” I repeat.
“Yes.” He stares at the floor. His eyes dart to mine, then back to the floor.
“You don’t get jealous.” He’s Tate Ward. He’s endlessly kind, responsible, and in control. “You’re the poster boy for emotionally mature.”
“Thanks.” A tiny flicker of a smile at the corner of his tense mouth.
Jealous. “Are you . . . attracted to me?”
If he says no, I’ll die on the spot. I don’t know why I asked.
Because he has my panties in his bedside table. That’s why.
“Yes.” He holds my eyes, his expression tight. “I didn’t choose this,” he adds quickly. “And I don’t want it, either.”
Wow. His words knife the buoyant red balloon of my crush. It pops and the limp balloon hits the ground with a flop.
“Right.” I blink. “Thanks.”
His head tips back with a sigh. “You know what I mean, Jordan.” His expression turns... sympathetic? “It’s never going to happen.”
Ouch. The limp balloon catches fire, smoldering, giving off thick, black smoke.
