I flinched as if he’d called me out on something personal.
“I guess… It’s not so secret. Everyone knows how great you are,” I admitted too quickly, before realizing I’d just broadcast exactly how much I thought about him.
His smirk widened, and I cursed my own brain. I turned, pretending to fuss with a random bowl just so I wouldn’t have to look at him.
“That must be a lot of pressure,” I said, forcing an eerie level of calm conversational tone into my voice.
He groaned loudly, shaking his head as if I’d just insulted him. “What is it with everyone and this pressure thing? I’m a pro. My job is to play the game and win the game. Nothing else factors into it. That’s all there is. How good are you really if conditions have to be perfect all the goddamn time? Everyone’s always on me about this pressure thing, and I wish I could just—”
My face must’ve given away everything, because Landon stopped short and the rest of his argument dissolved into a sigh.
“Never mind.”
“No, I agree. Totally,” I said. “Real pros should be able to play their best game under any conditions.”
“And win,” he added, eyes locked on mine.
“That right there,” I said softly, holding the spatula like it was a mic, “that’s how I know you guys are taking it again.”
He grinned, an easy, knowing curve that made my chest squeeze in a way I immediately hated and loved at the same time. We lingered in that moment, a spark hovering between us, the kind of electric pause you never notice until someone—or something—breaks it. In our case, the buzzer of the oven did the job.
“Sounds like dinner’s ready,” Landon said, lifting a hand like he was physically conducting the aroma. “Even if it’s unconventional, it smells amazing.”
“Just what I needed to hear.” I stood up, juggling the cranberry-chipotle sauce off the stove with a quick flick of mywrist. “Thanks for letting me take over your kitchen like this. The good news is I’ll probably be living off leftovers for a week, so I won’t be kicking down your door any time soon.”
He leaned on the counter, resting his chin in his hand. “Thanks for keeping your hands where I could see them at all times.”
I had the oven open, steam billowing out from the most perfect bird I’d seen in a year. “What?”
“Stealing my underwear,” he said simply, motioning with his head in the direction of his bedroom.
My mind lurched into the gutter, and reams of dirty thoughts cascaded over my sensitive disposition before I could get a hold of myself.
“You’re welcome,” I said, finally finding words again.
“Here, let me help.” Landon stood up, and filled his arms with dishes.
I hesitated, and guilt pricked at me. Shirtless, smirking, dazzling, and yet clearly alone on a day when I, and my ridiculous menu, would have a home full of people. I swallowed.
“Well, if you want,” I said, deliberately casual, “you could join us. My friends are normal. Mostly. And you’ve earned a warm plate of food at the very least.”
“I think I’ll pass,” he said, without even considering the invitation. “I don’t do holidays, remember?”
I tried to hide the twinge of disappointment. “Suit yourself.”
We spent the next few minutes hauling everything back to my place. This time, with the urgency gone, he took a moment to actually look around. He stood in my living room, mouth open as he stared at my wall of Surge memorabilia.
“This is… a lot.”
“A lifetime’s worth of collecting. Well, my parents helped from age three to about ten, when I could spend my own money on it,” I said proudly. “And this is only the stuff I’m willing to expose to the elements. My more valuable items are properly contained and stored in my— You don’t care.”
He shook his head with a laugh. “I mean, I think it’s great. Fans are part of the machine, after all.”
I cringed inwardly at the word “fan”. It never quite suited the way I felt about the team.
“Well,” I said, forcing a smile, “thanks again. I better get some clothes on before people start arriving.”
His gaze moved over me, a smile tugging at his lips. “Good idea. I don’t think you’ll be able to pass off Hello Kitty as a traditional pilgrim figure.”
