Page 31 of Something Like That

She fished out her phone again and walked a few yards down the block. He could have sworn the air between them iced over. She kept her back to him. He couldn’t help but stare. Her back was straight, her shoulders tense. So very unlike the way she’d melted against him earlier.

Which he wasn’t thinking about.

Unable to take it any longer, he turned away, pushed the disappointment seeping through him aside. Winning the championship was the only thing that mattered. Even if he was having a hard time remembering exactly why right now.

Alex ushered Nick into the townhouse and closed the front door, hanging her keys on the rack. Unlike last night, the house was silent. She didn’t know if that was good or bad.

“Em?” Her voice sounded echoey in the silence. She slipped off her coat and hung it in the front closet. He kicked off his shoes and started on his coat. She glanced at her watch. It was almost eight o’clock. Em had better be here, or she was going to be in so much trouble.

He hung his coat in the closet and slid the door closed. The space in the foyer was tight, especially with him being so large. The need to reach out, to touch him, to run her hands along his arm or his back or his chest made her fingers tingle.

She clenched her fists to stop from doing something stupid.

He was staring at her, his expression pretty darn blank. She honestly didn’t know what to do.

So, she decided to play it cool. Just like he was.

She wandered into the darkened living room. The light over the stove was on—it was something she’d always done, no matter where she and Em lived—and it was a signal of home.

The fact Em had left it on for her made her want to cry. Then again, maybe the water works were because of the rollercoaster of a day she’d just endured.

Things had been going great. She’d been nervous and excited and so turned on she could hardly stand it. And then that stupid cyclist had almost run them over.

As soon as he’d hurt himself, it was like a switch had flipped inside of him. He went from warm and open to icy and distant.

“Em, are you here?” She waited. Nothing. She snapped on the lamp on the end table next to the sofa. He stood in the space between the foyer and the living room. She swallowed hard. He looked almost lost.

She had no idea what to do with that. One crisis at a time.

“Have a seat and I’ll grab you some ice. Remote’s on the table.” She waved in the direction of the sofa.

“You don’t have to do this, Alex. I can go back to the hotel. It’ll be fine.”

She shook her head. “You told me the doctor said to watch in case of any changes in size or color of the joint. I want to keep an eye on it, make sure there’s no severe swelling or anything.”

For a second, he looked like he wanted to argue. A shot of adrenaline spiked her veins. But then he stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jeans and looked at the floor instead.

The move pushed his jeans lower on his hips, and she had to bite her bottom lip to stop from making a noise.

Clearly, he’d changed his mind about taking their relationship to the next level—if you could even call what they had a relationship—and she wasn’t going to make a big deal out of it. As Janelle liked to remind her, she was good at keeping people at a distance. It was time she took advantage of that well-honed skill.

Without waiting for him to do whatever he was going to do, she spun and headed into the kitchen. The open plan of the townhouse meant they were still basically in the same room, but even putting a little distance between them made it easier for her to breathe.

She grabbed a gel ice pack out of the freezer—with Em around, they’d been a staple in the house since she started walking—and a clean dish towel from the drawer.

By the time she got back to the living room, he was seated on the sofa. But there was nothing relaxed about him. He sat straight, his shoulders and back tight. Both of his feet planted firmly on the floor, hands folded in his lap.

She sat on the coffee table facing him and placed the pack and the towel next to her. He stared at her, that stupid, blank expression on his stupid, handsome face.

“Here.” She leaned over him to grab a throw pillow. He sucked in a quick, quiet breath—one she probably wouldn’t have heard if she hadn’t been practically sitting in his lap. And it absolutely did not make her giddy that he wasn’t as closed off as he appeared.

She plopped the pillow on the edge of the table. “Leg up.”

“Really, Alex, we don’t have to do this. I’m just going to go.” He shifted, like he was going to get up.

She placed her palms on his legs, just above his knees. He froze. The feeling of his muscular thighs conjured all sorts of inappropriate thoughts, but she pushed them away. She needed to put her strength and conditioning coach hat on and keep this professional. For many reasons.

“Humor me? Please?”