The guy wasn’t interested in talking to me. He didn’t have to, normally, but his house felt smaller than my car. Every time he breathed, I heard it.
Distraction. I needed one or I’d go insane, analyzing every single moment. I could read or knit. Yes. Those would work. I clicked my tongue, proud of myself for taking action on something I could control because that was a hard lesson I was still learning.
I couldn’t control what others did or said or thought. Sure, I’d like to know why Harrison hadn’t called two years ago or why all my dates thought ghosting was the nicer option when a simpleI’m not into youwould suffice. That was an answer I’d respect. But I didn’t want to bring it up. The diss stung, all these months later. Ugh, this was going to be the longest few days of my entire life.
I leaned over and grabbed one of the books—an adventure romance during a natural disaster—but changed my mind and put it back. I had no desire to read about a tornado where two people caught feelings, not while I was in the same room as Harrison. Instead, I found a crime novel and nuzzled into the blanket, finding the perfect position.
“Hey, Becca,” Harrison said.
Way to ruin my momentary bliss.
I hadn’t even read page one. I shut the book, my eyes turning to my rescuer. Despite all the turmoil and doubt, he offered for me to stay here so I could be safe. That meant something.
“Hm?” I glanced up at him.
“I found a deck of cards.” He held up a red pack, his shoulders bunched by his ears. “I thought, maybe, we could play?”
“Right now?”
He tilted his head at me, uncertainty swirling in those green orbs, before he took a step back. “Never mind. Yeah. Stupid idea.”
It wasalmostadorable, the way he looked so unsure. Almost, though he still spaced out when I talked too much, and he hadn’t bothered letting me down like a decent human might after our date. Still… was this an olive branch?Wait, were we fighting?
“Wait!” I shook my head, clearing the unnecessary thoughts. “What game?”
His shoulders dropped, and the tight lines around his lips faded. Instead, his dimples teased me with his amusement. “Whatever game you want.”
“Huh.” I pushed my legs off the couch, my blood pumping faster. Sports were so not my thing. If I had to choose between sports or beekeeping, I’d chose beekeeping every time. It was less sweaty and took less coordination. But card games, those were my jam. My bread and butter. My way of mopping the floor with Harrison Cooper as I screamed victory. Excitement thrummed under my skin, and I wiggled my toes deeper into my fuzzy socks.
Okay, too far. Bring it back.
I cleared my throat. “What would you like to play?”
“You’re my guest.” He picked up a side table and set it between the couch and the recliner.
The movement allowed me a great view of his jeans as they pulled tight across his ass, but I promised myself I’d only look for a second. Okay, two. The view was spectacular, after all. Harrison unzipped his jacket, giving me a view of his Henley.
Oh, baby.Focus. It’s game time.
“You should pick, Becca.” His tone dropped.
Was that excitement? Flirting? He wouldn’t be flirting with me, would he?
I puffed out my chest, and all the previous worries disappeared. I loved competition outside the sports world. Spirit weeks, costume contests, face painting, cards. I owned that world.
I bit the inside of my cheek, holding back a victorious smile. “Ah, but dear neighbor, while you can throw a ball around, I can play cards. I’m good. It’s only fair that you pick.”
His eyes lit up, and he chuckled. “You seem confident.”
“I am. You should be worried.Reallyworried.” I winked. “Card games are my Super Bowl, pal.”
He flashed a grin. “We can start with Speed.”
“Ah, a man who likes adrenaline, hm?” I said, unable to filter myself. “You like it fast?”
Oh my goodness.
“The cards,” I corrected, my face burning hotter than the crackling fire. “You like playing fast card games.”
