“Cool.”
“Have you ever been to a track meet?”
I shake my head. “Do you have lots of cheerleaders and fans?”
A smile curves his lips. “It’s not that sort of sport. We have supportive parents and girlfriends.Somehave girlfriends, I mean. Bolt’s girlfriend always shows up. She bakes the best blondies.”
“Iloveblondies!”
“You should come. For the blondies.”
Nev pops back out, models a faux suede jacket and army-print cargos. Both get our approval, which earns us a massive grin.
“Blondies are my Achilles’ heel,” I say.
He leans against the wall and crosses his muscled arms. Maybe the coach has them run wheelbarrow races during practice, because his arms are spectacular. “You should never tell others about your weakness. They might use it against you.”
“Good point. Only fair you tell me your weakness now.”
His gaze roves over my face, then lands on my chin, my neck, before rising back to my lips. My stomach folds and bends under his quiet, careful observation.
“Um, guys, yea or nay?” Nev asks.
She twirls, displaying her low-slung black jeans and a tight boatneck T-shirt. I give her a thumbs-up.
“Ten?” she asks.
He’s scrutinizing his sneakers, which are crusted with red clay. From the track, I suspect. “That outfit’s fine.”
Did he even see it?
Nev fires off a brilliant smile.
“Can’t believe you okayed those fishnets,” I tease Ten after his sister vanishes into the changing room.
He whips his head up so fast his neck cracks, then stares in panic at the settling curtain. “What—She was—”
I touch his forearm lightly. “Relax. Nev wasn’t wearing any fishnets. Just jeans. Real conservative ones at that.”
He glances down at my fingers.
I remove them, return my hand to my lap. “So…you were telling me about your weakness.”
“I wasn’t.”
“One of those fancy KitchenAid mixers?”
He frowns.
“Your weakness?” I repeat.
He smirks. “Call me old-fashioned, but I enjoy whisking batter by hand.”
Probably the source of all that muscle…
“Calculus, then?”
He lets out a soft snort. “No.”
