He lifts his hands and lets them fall. “Why do you fight me over everything?” He doesn’t give me a chance to respond before he says, “Everything’s booked. Game weekend.”
I know he’s right. And I also hate that he’s right.
“I’ll take the couch,” he adds.
I let out a deep breath. “You’re not going to let this go, are you?”
“No. I was raised a gentleman.”
“This is a terrible idea.”
He flashes me his crooked smile where only one dimple pops wide open. “Probably.”
I look at him.
He looks at me like this isn’t a big deal.
On the outside his body language is calm and steady and I wonder if he thinks the same of me. Because on the inside, I’m anything but calm. My pulse is racing. Heart thumping against my chest. Heat rising over my skin.
“Fine. You’re on the couch.”
“I’ll order extra blankets and pillows.” The words slideout of his mouth with a touch of satisfaction. “Where are your bags?”
“The bell desk.” I pull out my ticket. He takes it from me and pays the bellman to bring it to his room. I’m sure the employee is used to bringing girls or their bags to an athletes’ room and I’m positive I can read his mind.
We don’t speak as we head to his room and when we get there, it’s a normal room with a king bed, a couch, a desk, and television. Not a suite for someone that gets paid millions. A space that feels too small once the door closes behind us.
He tosses my bag on the bed and says, “I’ll take the couch.”
“You already said that.”
“Just reinforcing the point so you don’t bolt.”
He has me pegged. I’m a runner.
“I’m considering it,” I tease.
“Noted.” He grins looking down at the floor, shaking his head. “I’ll be back after team dinner. Do you want to come?”
“No, I have some work to do for other clients. I’ll just go to the restaurant and grab a bite.”
He seems disappointed, but says, “I’ll text ya when I’m back.”
“Sutton shouldn’t have given you my cell number,” I say, raising a brow since I changed my number for a reason.
“She didn’t. I’m resourceful.”
God, he’s handsome and so much gentler than he was in college, so much that I’m having a hard time remembering why I hated him.
He changes into jeans and a cream-colored quarter zip sweater, a stark contrast with his dark brown hair. He grabs his key and wallet. “You walking down with me?”
I can’t help but chuckle. “Umm… that’s a negative.”
He walks to the door and when he’s halfway out, he peeks inside the door. “Don’t want to be seen with me?”
“Go.”
And when the door shuts, I lean against the wall.
