Yes, that’s exactly what this is, and that’s what he’s hoping it is. A smile spreads across my face. Luka is torturing me. That and the sunflower in my locker has to mean he doesn’t regret it, right? Hopefully, that also means he wants to do it again, because if I have to watch him out here doing shit like that, he better believe I’m going to want to.
***
“I know what you’re probably going to say,” Luka sighs, the second I’m outside. The parking lot is empty, the rest of the team long gone. My twenty-minute session with the physio after training and almost just as long hot shower made certain of that. I can usually manage my recovery myself, but my hamstrings were extra tight today, probably from not stretching properly during warm-up or cool-down with Luka there teasing me the whole fucking time.
I shrug.
“I doubt it, but why don’t you go ahead.”
“You’re going to say that it was a mistake or that it can’t happen again,” he says, his brow furrowed, lips turned down, waiting for me to affirm his words.
I step closer, and his gaze moves to his feet. And as much as watching him squirm should make me happy, seeing as I was the one tormented all through training, I can’t stand to see him like this, the ball of bubbly energy he usually radiates dimmed by his fear of rejection, of me rejecting him. My stomach sinks.
“I’m not going to say either of those things.”
“You aren’t?” he asks, eyes on me, bright and hopeful.
I shake my head. “But we should probably go somewhere else to talk.”
“Do you still have the room?” he asks, and I laugh.
“No, but I have a feeling if we went there, we wouldn’t be doing much talking.”
His lustful stare sweeps up and down my body.
“Yeah, you’re probably right. So, where to?”
“I know a place. How about you follow me?”
“I can do that.”
The whole way, my heart is jackhammering in my chest watching him follow behind me in the rearview mirror. Maybe it’s not so much that he’s following me as it is where he’s following me to. I should have gotten a room somewhere, or suggested we chat at a sports bar, some place it wouldn’t be totally weird to see Philly’s newest rookie visiting. But no, I think it’s a brilliant idea to take him to the one place that says this could be something real.
“Dad Bro,” David calls from the doorway as I pull into the drive. His attention shifts to the silver Mazda pulling in behind me, and he frowns. Then it’s like I can totally see the moment he recognizes Luka, and his excitement returns as he jogs toward the car.
I step out, but he passes me completely and has Luka’s door open before he’s even shut off the engine.
“Hey, I’m David. Did Dad Bro finally do the decent thing and invite you over for dinner?” he asks, and then I hear Benji.
“Yo, Luka, we didn’t know you were coming over.”
Luka climbs out and immediately gives David a handshake and a half hug.
“I heard Reid’s a half-decent cook, so I figured I should see for myself,” he replies, winking at me, those adorable dimples on display.
“Who feels like spaghetti?” I ask.
“Yes, me,” Benji calls, bounding down the stairs.
“Thank god you’re cooking. David was going to try his tuna bake thing again,” he says.
“Hey! There’s nothing wrong with tuna,” David complains as he leads Luka toward us.
“I like tuna,” Luka says, and Benji shakes his head and wraps one arm over his shoulder, practically dragging him toward the house.
“Not tuna like this, you won’t. It’s more paint stripper than pasta bake, trust me,” Benji tells him. David isn’t offended, not really. He’s only recently been trying to come up with his own recipes, and he combined one he found online for a creamy potato bake with someancient cookbook’s tuna pie. The combination turned into low-key poison, and it had all three of us spending more than half the night in the bathroom. Good thing the house has three of them.
“You can watch the replay with us while Dad Bro cooks,” David says, and Luka cranes his neck to smile at me over his shoulder. I guess we’ll talk after dinner.
