“Holly–”
“It’s an honor to wear the number one jersey…”
Then, in the most robotic tone known to man, he said, “I’m focused on my successful team.”
“Seriously?”
He gave a low chuckle, and slung the jacket over the back of the couch. “I told you I’m no good at this. Why can’t I just say whatever comes to mind? It’s easier to give me a list of things I should avoid, like crises and Trey.
It had been a couple of weeks, and I honestly thought he would’ve grown tired of antagonizing me by now. Instead, the Callahan Disappointment Bus showed no signs of slowing.
“Take off your shirt. And was there another half to that sandwich?”
“What?” His eyes widened, and his jaw went slack.
“I haven’t eaten all day, and you’ve yet to offer me so much as a glass of water.”
“No, no, I meant the other thing,” he said with an amused look. “Before that.”
I sank back on my heel. “I told you to take off your shirt. So you could put this on.”
I rifled through the garment bag and brought out a crisp white t-shirt. Dressing down the formal suit, but also practical for when he’d have to put on his new team jersey. When I turned back, he was still just standing there and gawking at me.
“You can’t exactly put this on over that ratty old thing, can you?”
He peeled off his t-shirt in one smooth motion. The movement was unselfconscious, all athlete, no preening. Just a guy changing clothes. But up close, it was impossible not to notice the long lines of muscle, the faint scars across his forearms, the V at his hips. I busied myself unfolding the shirt like it was a bomb I had to defuse.
He took it from me, and our fingers brushed. Static prickled through me. He must’ve felt it too, but neither of us said anything.
“There,” I said, once he’d pulled on the white t-shirt. “You look cleaner already.”
“Gee, thanks,” he deadpanned, but there was a hint of a smile that softened it.
I moved closer, holding the navy jacket up against his torso to size it. “Perfect. Arms out.”
He hesitated, then lifted his arms. I slid the jacket onto his broad shoulders. The fit was perfect. I smoothed the fabric over his chest, my fingers brushing warm muscle through the shirt he wore underneath. I stepped back quickly, focusing on the lines of the suit instead of the man in it.
“Everything okay over there?” His voice had gone low, teasing.
“Button up,” I said briskly. “Then say the line.”
He picked up the card at last and read: “ ‘It’s an honor to wear the number one jersey. I’m focused on being part of my team’s success.’ ”
“Again,” I said. “Less hostage video, more conviction.”
His laugh was full-bodied and loud. “You’re relentless.”
“Because I care whether you succeed,” I said. “Even if you don’t.”
That shut him up. He tried again, voice steadier: “ ‘It’s an honor to wear the number one jersey. I’m focused on being part of my team’s success.’ ”
“Better,” I said. “Add a smile.”
“I don’t do smiles on command,” he muttered.
“Try anyway.”
He gave a half-smile that glinted in his eyes, and struck something in me that was totally, and absolutely uncalled for.
