Page 26 of Falling for the Quarterback

He lifts his brows. “Technically, we’re now colleagues. And friends.”

Friends? Does he mean with benefits?

Is there a world where Joel and I could exist as friends? I’m not so sure.

“What? How is that, exactly?” I reply, my voice raising an octave. Does that mean he’s dropping out and not finishing his master’s program? If so, that definitely changes things.

“I got a job offer with the university today,” he says. As if that’s not a big deal.

This has taken a weird turn. “Doing what?”

“Coaching football.”

“American football or ‘real’ football?” I jest, unable to help myself.

Joel barks out a laugh, wagging his finger at me. “I’m not talking soccer. Good one, though.”

“What does that mean for your grad program?”

“Nothing really, except I think I’ll be very busy this semester.” He looks down at the time on his phone. “I’d rather be busy than bored though, you know? It’ll keep my thoughts off of other things I can’t have.” He gazes intently at me, and I not only hear but see his innuendo.

Joel stands suddenly and reaches for my hand to help me up. “We should go pick up that food. And then maybe we can catch one of yourrealfootball games on TV?”

I pause at the threshold, my hand stuck on the doorknob, suddenly nervous about people seeing us together. Before I can express this concern, Hendy leans forward, his large palm gently covering my hand, which trembles under his touch.

“Don’t worry. If anyone asks, I’ll just say I’m your new research assistant and we are working on a paper,” he assures me, his breath hot against my ear. “Trust me. I’ll be good.”

Good…but something inside me wants him to be bad.

* * *

We pick up our takeaway and walk back toward my house. As we turn the corner and cross to the other side of the street, Joel positions himself between me and the road. That small gesture of chivalry makes me feel safe, as if Hendy would fight off an entire army to protect me.

“The game tonight is Tottenham versus Chelsea. It started an hour ago, but I’m recording it,” I explain.

“Ahh…so I’ll get to see the ‘real’ game of football. I can’t wait.” He bumps me with his hip, and I giggle like a schoolgirl.

“You have much to learn. They’re Premier League football teams.”

With the game turned on, we grab spots on my couch, setting our food and drinks between us. We eat and watch in comfortable silence for a few minutes until the ref makes a terrible call.

“Oh, come on!” I yell. “That was offsides!”

“I don’t think so. Watch the replay. I’m pretty sure it was the right call,” Hendy says.

I glare at him and then watch the replay. And bloody hell, he’s right. Dammit, this is supposed to be my game.

“How do you know the rules of football?” I ask testily, crossing my arms over my chest. His eyes drop to my breasts and I swat his shoulder. “Eyes up here, Henderson.”

He chuckles and shrugs. “I mean, I’ve played every FIFA PlayStation game since I was like ten. Not too hard to catch on.”

I roll my eyes. “Of course you have.”

He smirks. God damn him and those lips. My body heats up at the memory of what those lips can do to me.

I stuff another bite of Kung Pao Chicken into my mouth and avert my gaze from his mouth.

For the next two hours, we watch the match and argue over the virtues of both types of football. By the end of the match, we’re both shouting at the refs and when my favorite player scores in the last minute of the match, Hendy gives me a hug, lifting me off my feet and swinging me around in celebration.

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