Page 30 of This Wild Heart

“Middle school math.”

My nose wrinkled. “That’s the first thing you thought of?”

“Yeah, I fucking hate math.”

I couldn’t help my laugh. “I guess you don’t have to do much playing football, huh?”

Parker sighed, rubbing at the back of his neck. “No. Just gotta know a hundred different play calls and make sure I don’t fuck it up.” His eyebrows lifted briefly. “Again.”

I chewed on my bottom lip, pulling my eyes away from his face. “That was a rough way to end the season, wasn’t it?”

He gave me a wry look. “Having the entire city of Portland hate me because I dropped the last pass of the game that would’ve gotten us to the Super Bowl? Yeah.”

“The entire city did not hate you,” I told him.

Parker arched an eyebrow. “Close. But maybe not everyone. Besides, no one could beat me up more than what I was doing to myself.”

Ahh yes, the self-flagellation of an athlete was a sight to behold. I’d known a lot in my life, more than the average person, and the pressure they voluntarily took on was insane. The success or failure of a team was never just on one person, and they all seemed to forget that in the moments when things don’t swing their way. When a pass is dropped. An interception is thrown. A kick is missed.

And without fail, they were always better for the mistakes they made.

The timing wasn’t right for that little anecdote, and I still wasn’t really sure how this man would react to … anything, really.

“We could watch replays of that instead of calling your mom,” I suggested.

Based on the look on his face, Parker didn’t think it was very funny. “I do that enough at the team facilities, thank you.”

“Still? That sounds healthy.”

Please, like I was one to talk about healthy coping mechanisms.

Parker sighed, swiping a hand over his mouth. “I should probably just get it over with,” he said.

“It can’t be that bad. What are you worried about?”

“That she’s going to cry.”

“At least they’d be happy tears.”

“I’m guessing your dad didn’t have any of those, huh?”

I smiled a little, ignoring that pang of guilt that would likely accompany the mention of my father for the foreseeable future. “Not exactly. But … he’ll come around.” I tilted my head. “I think. He just needs to get to know you better.”

Parker gave me an inscrutable look. “Hard to do that when I wasn’t invited to the conversation.”

I ran my hands through my hair. “I know. I wasn’t thinking like…”

“Like we’re married.”

My heartbeat was sluggish through the heavy eye contact. “Yeah. Like that.”

He sighed, looking away for a moment, and I could finally breathe again once he did. “You should be with me when I call my mom. Or at least say hi or something.” His eyes met mine. “Do you mind?”

I shook my head. “No. Should we do it now?”

He let out a quiet laugh, glancing up at the ceiling. He’d braced his hands on the island, and the position did things to his arms that were not entirely fair.

I had muscles. I had great muscles from a lot of hard fucking work in the gym, and if I tried leaning like that, it wouldn’t have half the appeal of the forearm and the biceps and the tricep action I was witnessing.

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