“You said something about early-morning training. You do that even in the offseason?” I drew patterns in the condensation on my beer glass as my eyes traced the path of Finn’s tongue licking beer foam from his upper lip.
Against my will, my core tingled with thoughts of that tongue licking me, and beneath the red gingham-topped table where he couldn’t see, I clamped my thighs together.
“The offseason is where the magic happens.” He waggled his brows. “Strong, conditioned bodies are more durable and harder to play against.”
I chuckled. “Is that you or your coach talking?”
“Both.” A cloud fell over his features. “But I could build that strong body equally as easily in the afternoons as in the dark hours of the morning.”
Right then, a basket of steaming chicken wings landed on our table, courtesy of a smirking server. “Got ’em to you as quick as I could. Wouldn’t want to be responsible for any carnage at your table.”
The corner of Finn’s mouth quirked up. “It was a near thing, but you did good. Thanks, man.”
As I passed an appetizers plate across the table to Finn, I didn’t bother to leave the snark out of my tone. “You’re hilarious, you are. Both of you.”
They exchanged a chuckle, and I seriously considered pulling the basket of wings to my side of the table beyond Finn’s reach.
“Don’t even think about it, Miss,” Finn warned.
“What?” I batted my lashes at him.
“Keeping all those wings to yourself. There’s not enough of you to eat ’em all.”
I stuck my nose in the air. “You’re the one who said I was hungry enough to gnaw my arm off.” For emphasis I snagged three wings and put them on my plate. “Just sayin’.”
His laughter filled our booth. “Gorgeous, smart, and fun to tease. You’re the whole package, Chessly Clarke.” Leaning forward, he added in a conspiratorial whisper, “And the way you kiss can make a man forget himself. Just. Sayin’.”
That last comment stopped my hand mid-dip and my wing dripped aioli back into the bowl as my gaze took yet another tour of his full lips. His whiskey-colored eyes didn’t leave mine as he covered my hand with his, raised the chicken wing to his mouth, and snapped off a bite right at the edge of my fingertips.
“Hey! No fair distracting me like that, wing thief.”
He stopped chewing for long enough to toss me an unapologetic grin, finished chewing, and swallowed. “All’s fair in love and dinner.”
“Love?” I snorted. “You’re a piece of work, Finn McCabe,” I growled with none of the sarcasm I intended.
“Yeah? Like a Greek sculpture or Michelangelo’sDavid?” He sucked some sauce from the tip of his finger and winked. “I can get on board with either.”
I drew in a long breath and let it out with a lip-fluttering sigh. “It’s the football player thing, right?”
He downed another wing then asked, his tone all innocence, “What is?”
“The over-the-top ego.”
Twinkling eyes met mine. “You’re the one who said I was a piece of work. I was curious about which one is all.” Stuffing another wing into his mouth, he grinned at me around it, his expression utterly unapologetic.
Though I answered with a slow shake of my head, I couldn’t help smiling back at him.
In much less time than I would have thought possible, all that remained of the basket of wings was a carnage of bones in the bottom of it. It stood to reason that most of the wings had gone into Finn, but I’d managed my fair share of the lot, much to his amusement.
Right as he dropped the last bones into the basket, the server arrived with a steaming pie.
“Exactly on time, my man,” Finn said as the server slid the pizza onto the table.
Eyeing our wing basket, he smirked. “Looks like you were right about arms being in danger here.”
With a sage nod, Finn said, “I know, right?” Chuckling, he added, “It was a near thing, let me tell you.”
Under the table I gave his shin a little love tap with the toe of my boot.
