“Agree to disagree.” His smile widens, and something in my chest loosens. “But just know it’s going to sit in my freezer forever if you don’t eat it…” He shrugs. “Though I suppose Kill and Hop will find it eventually so, no pressure.”
I find myself nodding before I’ve fully decided. “Yeah, okay. Ice cream sounds…perfect.”
19
SHEPHERD
The loud crack of thunder rolls across the sky just as we step inside. “Perfect timing,” I say, nudging the door shut behind us. “It’s rolling in fast.”
Sutton glances over her shoulder at the window where a flash of lightning cuts across the dark clouds. “That’s Portland for you.”
“Tell me about it.”
She laughs softly, kicking off her shoes and padding toward the kitchen like she’s been here a hundred times already.
Like she belongs here.
I try not to think too much about it as I open the freezer. “Mint chocolate okay?” I ask, grabbing a few different flavors. I may have overspent on ice cream just to get her in here with me for a bit tonight, but it worked so it’s well worth it.
“The best kind you mean,” she corrects. “And yes, that’s fine.” She glances at the other flavors on the counter and adds, “Oh, maybe also a scoop of cookies and cream.”
“Cookies with the toothpaste, coming up.”
She gasps dramatically. “You’re never going to let that go, are you?”
“Never.” I laugh.
I hand her a bowl and we settle on nearly opposite ends of the couch. The TV hums quietly with the Thursday night football game. Two teams trading drives while commentators debate defensive coverages.
“Is this okay?” I look over at her just in time to watch her pull her spoon slowly from between her lips and damn, she’s so fucking pretty. “We can watch something else. This was just on.”
She smirks. “Of course it was just on. It’s Thursday night. When you’re not physically playing the game, you’re watching it. Totally fine.”
She scoops another bite of ice cream into her mouth, her cheeks hollowing out as she sucks it off her spoon.
Look away, Shep.
Don’t stare.
You’ll creep her out.
For a few minutes we just watch football, eating our ice cream in a comfortable and easy silence. Sutton scoops another bite from her bowl and gestures toward the screen. “Okay explain something to me.”
“Uh oh. That’s a dangerous sentence.”
“Why does everyone run into each other so much?”
I choke on a laugh. “That’s the sport.”
“No, I mean strategically, because it always seems like whenever there’s an opening in the middle of the pack, or whatever, nobody ever goes that way. And then when they’re all in the middle knocking into each other nobody goes around the outside. It feels like common sense to me.”
I lean forward, grabbing the remote and pausing the replay. “Okay. See this?” I shift closer without thinking, pointing at the screen. “This linebacker is reading the quarterback’s eyes.”
“Wait, how can he read his eyes through the helmet?” Sutton asks, leaning closer to see where I’m pointing.
I smile, enjoying her genuine curiosity. “Helmets are open so we can see each other’s eyes. Very few players use visors. But anyway, it’s about body language, where his shoulders are facing, how he’s positioned. Quarterbacks give away a lot without realizing it.”
She nods slowly, her brow furrowing in concentration. “Like poker tells.”
