Weston snatched the money out of Hart’s hands and offered it to me. “One more round? I need a little extra cash for the bar.”
“Youneed cash for the bar?” I laughed and made a show of counting out my earnings.
Weston smiled and shrugged. “I left my cards at home. Trying to curb spending habits.”
“You’re on,” I said, and then, to Hart, “You really think we’re cute?”
“Sure.” He nodded. “Not as cute as you and I could be, but there’s still potential there.”
“Has nearly four seasons of NCAA football taught you nothing? You know if you want something someone else has, you shouldn’t talk up the opponent, right?” Weston gestured over his shoulder toward David.
“I’m not so insecure that I have to trash-talk someone behind their back.” Hart shrugged. The confidence was sexy, and if I weren’t so entangled with a guy I’ve known since middle school, I may have let him pretend to teach me about form this round.
“But I also know when to bow out gracefully,” Hart directed that statement to me.
My cheeks burned, but before I could comment, a hand pressed on my lower back.
“You okay?” David asked me, but his gaze was on Hart. The hardness there, though manufactured, was flattering.
“Areyou?” Hart asked with a teasing smile. David’s glare didn’t bother him for a second.
“Great.” I waved my money back and forth. “I’m winning.”
“I see.” David pulled his gaze from Hart and onto me. His expression softened noticeably. My stomach fluttered when he hooked two fingers around my belt loop. Hart’s gaze flickered there for a second, and his brow twitched, a micro-expression of annoyance.
“As to be expected,” David continued. “Take a break and come sit with me.”
“She’s a bit busy,” Hart said, voice still lighthearted, even though the look in his eyes wasn’t.
“Not when it comes to me.” David met his friend’s gaze with a look of warning. His fake jealousy did wonders for his jawline. And it was dangerous for my growing desire.
“I’m… going one more round with Weston,” I said in a voice barely louder than a whisper.
“Actually…” Weston had his phone out, texting someone with intense focus. “I think I’m out of here.”
“You’re leaving?” Hart frowned, worried.
“Yeah.” Weston looked up at us and tried not to smile too much as he said, “I need to pick something up.”
“For you know who?” David asked with a brow raised. Hart and I exchanged looks since neither of us had a clue what was going on. “Congrats.”
“Shut up,” Weston told David, allowing himself to smile this time. “And you two, be civil. Don’t scare Yara away. You’re lucky she’s talking to either of you.”
I smiled, liking this quarterback more and more. We said our goodbyes, and Weston made me promise to let him have another match later.
With Weston gone, the tension was back—mostly on David’s end. After a beat, Hart simply smiled and said, “Very cute. I really can’t complain.”
While David frowned in confusion, I laughed. As far as I was concerned, Hart’s observation was a seal of approval regarding the validity of our “relationship.”
19
“After what happenedat the bar… I think we should discuss our boundaries. Physical and otherwise. So that things don’t get muddled.”
We were two hours into a three-hour drive when David finally interrupted my spiel of my family tree. I started with my great-grandma, her move from New Orleans, and how she met great-granddad on an orange farm in Florida. Reciting family history soothed the nerves that’d followed me all the way home after the flag football, in my sleep, and through my morning routine.
The heat was on. Leaves were red and orange, falling across the near-empty two-lane highway out of Westbrooke. I was comfortable enough to have my shoes off. My legs were covered in a blanket David so happened to have put in the backseat. Allegedly, he’d forgotten to take it inside after prepping for a tailgate with a few of his friends. Seeing through his lies was getting a little bit easier.
“Boundaries. Muddled,” I said, cheeks ablaze as I thought of the things I’d said the last time I leaned on his console. And how his fingers hooked on my belt loop had beenmore than enough to have me going straight to my room once I got back to my apartment for some quality time with my vibrator. “Great idea.”
