“Ouch.” He clutches his chest as he moves into the kitchen. “It wasn’tthatlong ago. And I practiced. I told you I would.”
“I believe you. But I also practiced, and I messed up about twenty times more than you.”
“You did not.” He hands me a glass of water as he takes a sip of his own. “Plus, this is our first practice. We have time to get it right.”
I nod. “Right.” Though it doesn’t feel that way now, I have no doubt we’ll get there, even if it means I’ll have to spend every day with Beckett. Practicing.
“You can count on me,” he says, before winking. It was so nonchalant, I’m not even sure he noticed he was doing it.
A laugh bursts out of me. “Did you just wink at me?”
“Maybe?” But the smirk dancing at the corner of his lips tells me he most certainly did.
“Get it together, Beckett.” I push his arm before immediately breaking the contact. What the hell am I doing? Am I… flirting with my player?
Beckett just chuckles. “Should we try again?”
“Yes.” I force myself to be professional. I get into position, while Beckett restarts the video.
We run through the beginning of the dance three more times, getting to know each other during the breaks, before finally deciding we need to work on the lift. I almost want to say no, to stay in his apartment where we get to be the versions of ourselves who laugh together and tell stories about painful middle school dances and a packed auditorium for a college dance performance.
When we get into the hall, we both walk to our respective ends, and I silently pray none of our neighbors choose this moment to leave their apartments.
“Ready?” Beckett asks, humor lacing his tone.
I push onto the balls of my feet a few times. “Just psyching myself up. I’m not meant for flying.”
“I didn’t drop you last time.”
No, he didn’t. But that was half the problem. Having his hands on my hips, lifting me like I weighed nothing, was a shock to mysystem that I’m not sure I can survive again. The way his warmth seeped into me. The strong, reassuring strength of him.
I’m embarrassed to admit I’ve found myself daydreaming about it multiple times.
“I’ve added some muscle weight since then,” I say. The side effect of choosing to try to work out my pent-up energy by lifting weights.
“You are in the weight room almost as much as the guys,” Beckett notes, something about his grin telling me he finds this whole situation funny.
“I hold myself to the same standards as my team. Culture of accountability and all.” I fall back on my usual answer. And I do. I would never expect a player or staff member to do something I’m not willing to do myself.
“And from everything I’ve seen about you, that seems true.” He tilts his head. “Come on, Finley, I’ve got you.”
I nod, believing him. Hell, that’s not my problem. Iknowhe’s got me. I’m just not sure if I’m ready. Forcing myself into action, I move, the toes of my shoes dig into the floor as I run toward him, the tingling in my chest amplifying with each step. I spread my arms as wide as I can in the hallway as Beckett bends his knees.
Then, I jump.
His hands hit me low on the hips, his thumb pressing the inside of my hip bone, and a small gasp slips out of me as I tighten every muscle in my body. Holding myself straight is my one job.
Beckett straightens, lifting me overhead, and we both hold there as he counts out loud.
Heat zips through me like overtime levels of adrenaline, my body betraying my careful control. My gut tangles into a deep knot, begging me to do something.
When he gets to four, he lowers me, keeping my body close to his, his touch lingering half a beat too long.
“Okay, well, that was…” Beckett lets me go, stepping back as he runs his hand through the dark strands of his hair.
“Yeah, totally,” I agree, forcing my gaze away from the muscles bunching along his forearm. The ones that just lifted me over his head like I wasn’t too much for him.
“So—”
