“Be my guest.” The grin that spreads across Aria’s lips is delicious, and Griffin can’t pull his eyes from it.
“Oh no, no. This is not a one-person activity. I need you too.”
Aria’s eyebrows fly high. “Absolutely not. I am many things, but a football player isn’t one of them.”
“And here I was thinking we were friends. You know, I’m a pretty good teacher.” He tuts playfully as he walks out into the cool sunshine and onto the grassy island in the middle of the circular driveway.
Griffin keeps going, hoping that Aria joins him out there on the grass. If his desire alone could orchestrate the events of the world, she would be right beside him. When he reaches the middle of the grass, he turns to look back.
Aria stands on the threshold of the garage, hands propped on her hips, her eyes squinted as if she’s taking stock. What Griffin can’t help but notice is that she’s moved closer.
“Surely you could use a break by now? Plus, we have two sets of hands. I promise I’ll stay until we find everything you need to give to the shelter.”
When a smirk catches at the side of Aria’s mouth, Griffin’s heart leaps. It’s a crack in her resistance, perhaps even a window to her saying yes.
Chapter 12
Aria
Aria was never a sporty girl—probably to very little surprise. She was always a music girl, a poetry girl, a performer. In fact, she hated team sports in PE so much that she made every excuse possible to sit on the sidelines with her notebook.
Despite the deep-seatedness of her resistance to sports, there’s something about Griffin that brings a surprising promise of fun to it. And he’s right: She has more than earned a break by now.
Aria drops her hands from her hips and marches toward Griffin. “Well, I guess why not? But if I get injured, you might have to step in and do my next show for me.”
Griffin laughs, and he sounds like a giddy youngster. Aria can’t help but smile back. “We’re just throwing the ball. No tackles.”
Aria plants her legs wide, claps, and says, “All right, give it to me.”
Griffin tosses the ball her way gently, telescoping it directly into her held-out hands. When the ball lands with a satisfying plop in her hands, a surprising thrill runs through her. She yelps.
“I told you, right?” Griffin says with a playful raised brow. “Now lob it back.”
Aria rears back her arm and lobs the ball. She brings her hands to her mouth as she watches it fly far too high, like a rocket bound for the stars, and finally shuttle down to earth about fifteen feet behind Griffin.
Aria parts her hands covering her mouth. “I told you I was a beginner.”
Griffin lopes to the ball, then jogs over to Aria. “Here.” He starts to hand her the ball but then pauses, assessing. “May I?”
Aria gives a quick nod. Griffin wraps his wide, strong hand around hers and places her fingers gently along the laces, one by one. “This is the placement you want every time. It’ll make sure the ball doesn’t go wild.”
Aria is primally aware of Griffin’s closeness, his large figure at her side. The tingle in her skin underneath his fingertips. Everything else falls away, and it’s just them in the world.
She nods at his directions. “Got it.”
“Now”—Griffin lightly takes her arm and repositions it—“this is how you want to pull back, find your target with your eye, and then release.”
His arms are wrapped around Aria like a hug, and her heart beats faster. When Griffin breaks away, then jogs to his receiving position, the glow inside releases then shrinks.
Griffin stands before her, hands out, nodding encouragingly. “You got this!”
Aria follows his directions, and when she releases the ball, it goes almost directly into Griffin’s hands. He reaches out and snatches it, then leaps in the air, crying out in celebration. “Touchdown pass from Wilder to win the game!”
Aria laughs, eyes dropping bashfully. “Okay, now, let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”
“Hey, you have to celebrate the wins when they come.”
“I don’t disagree.”
