“The veterans on the team know best.” She winks at me, and my stomach bottoms out from the innocent gesture.
Jesus, is that all it takes, Holmes?
A pair of pretty eyes and you’re a goner?
I glance up at her while she shuffles for the next jersey, her lips quirked to the side in concentration, her tongue peeking out in the corner.
Yup . . . that’s all it takes.
One look into those eyes and I’m fucking lost.
So lost that I want to prolong this interaction. I want to get to know her more. I want to . . . hell, I think I want to ask her out.
But am I mentally ready to even handle something like that? Taking a girl out?
I’ve had one-night stands just to expel adrenaline after a game.
But am I going out on a date? Possibly starting a relationship? That’s a level I’m not sure I’m ready for.
I glance at her again, taking in those tempting lips. Yeah, I don’t think I could walk away and not ask for more.
“Okay, this is going to be very brazen, and I swear, I’m not trying to hit on you or anything.” She hands me a hockey stick, and my brain inwardly begs her to hit on me. It would make this so much easier. “But your hands are huge. I mean, I don’t think I’ve ever seen hands that big before. No wonder you can handle your stick so well . . .” Her eyes widen, and she quickly says, “Hockey stick. I mean hockey stick, not like . . . you know . . . penis stick.”
A snort pops out of me, and a genuine smile crosses her lips.
“Did I just make you snort?”
“Unfortunately,” I answer as I swipe at my nose.
“And they told me you were the toughest to crack.” She flips her hair over her shoulder. “Looks like I have something to add to my résumé. Made Halsey Holmes snort. Who knew all it took was to say penis stick.”
Penis stick and a fast-growing crush.
That’s exactly what this feeling is: a crush.
But how could I not?
She’s funny.
Cute.
Fucking adorable.
Gorgeous.
A breath of fresh air.
I need to see more of her.
It might be scary as shit, but I can’t end the interaction here. I have to ask her out.
Adrenaline pumps through me as I realize that I’m taking that first step to living my life for the first time since I lost my brother.
“Can I tell you something that might scare you off, and you might never want to talk to me again, but I have no filter and can’t seem to control myself?” she says, breaking into my thoughts.
“Sure,” I say while in the back of my mind, I try to figure out how to ask this girl out. Maybe I should talk to Posey first, see what he thinks the best approach is . . . eh, maybe not Posey. Hornsby might be better; he always has the best of luck with women, and I don’t think he’d make a big deal about it. Posey would probably clap like a moron and praise the bologna gods for answering his ridiculous prayers. I’m not sure Pacey would have much to say—he usually doesn’t care about this kind of shit—and Silas, well, he’s going through his own personal hell, so he’s not the one to talk to.
Yeah, I’ll ask Hornsby. It’s not like Blakely is going anywhere.
