Page 9 of The Riskiest Move

But then Scarlett appears in front of me and it’s too late for a hasty retreat back to my truck.

“Hey, Coop.”

“Hi. I’m sorry to show up unannounced like this.”

“It’s not a problem. Come on.” She steps aside, ushering me inside before closing the door. “I was about to make myself a cup of coffee. Would you like one?”

“Yes, please. That would be great.” It’s not exactly the kind of liquid courage I could benefit from right now but the caffeine can’t hurt. I follow her to the kitchen.

“Make yourself comfortable,” she says. I watch as she pulls two mugs from a cabinet. She’s wearing black leggings that show off every inch of her long legs and her ass, paired with a cropped purple sweatshirt.

“What’s on your socks?” I can’t make out the pattern.

She laughs, peering over her shoulder. “They’re Boston Terriers. I had one growing up; he was the best. Someday, I’ll get another.”

“Why not now?” I ask.

She adds a coffee pod to the machine and starts the brewing process. “Training a puppy seems like it would be a lot of work, and I’m not ready for that.”

“We had a lot of dogs in my house when I was growing up, and you’re right, it takes a lot of consistent effort to train them.”

She fiddles with the machine, and I hear the sound of coffee running into the second mug. “Cream or sugar?” she asks.

“No, thanks.”

Turning, she carries both mugs over, sliding mine across the island to me.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. And I drink mine black too. I want it as strong as possible.”

“I hope I’m not interrupting your work. I probably should’ve asked before now.”

“Not at all. One of the best things about working for myself is my schedule has flexibility.”

“I know you host a podcast but I don’t know what the subject matter is.”

“Professional wrestling.”

I feel my eyebrows climb higher. “Wow. That’s not what I was expecting at all.”

Her dark pink lips show a hint of a smile. “What did you think I’d say?”

I rub the back of my neck. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I assumed with how tall and pretty you are, it would be modeling.”

She raises one dark eyebrow. “You know what they say about people who assume…”

“Yep.” I hang my head, staring into my dark coffee. “I’m sorry. You probably think I’m some stereotyping asshole now, but I promise that’s not me.”

She shakes her head. “You’ve never given me a reason to think that?—”

“Until now,” I cut in, meeting her gaze.

She nods, repeating, “Until now.”

“I’m curious about what made you want to do a wrestling podcast.”

“You mean because I’m a woman?” she challenges.

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