Page 23 of Sidelined By Love

This isn’t going to work. I know before she even lets go of the ball with her other hand.

As soon as she does, the ball falls to her feet.

Zoe stands there, looking down at it with knitted eyebrows and tight lips. After a long beat, she looks up at me. “But I did what you said.”

“This one’s on me.” I give her a single-shoulder shrug. “I failed to take into account the size of your hand.”

“My hand?” She holds the hand in question in front of her eyes, rotating it a few times. “I’ve never had complaints before.” And then she adds as though I’m not even here. “It even starred in a national insurance commercial.”

I bite back a chuckle as I reach out my own, pressing our palms together, extending her fingers. Then I curl my fingertips over the tops of hers.

“Oh.” The sound comes out on a breathy giggle, her eyes wide.

I don’t know if it’s the sound she just made, the way my hand dwarfs hers, or the innocent skin-to-skin contact, but something has my gut clenching on a sudden hollowness. It’s a sinking feeling that’s pulling me into something vaguely familiar. Something I haven’t felt in three seasons.

Chicken on a biscuit.

I’ve been around plenty of beautiful women. It’s hard not to in my line of work.

But I’ve only felt this level of attraction for one other woman. This level of distraction.

I quickly pull my right hand away and squeeze it into a fist at my side. With a few quick rotations of my wrist, I relish the movement of my forearm and the muscles that took almost four months to rehab.

Thinking about Tawna in the middle of a game nearly cost me everything.

I won’t let Zoe do the same.

And if I could rescind my offer, I would. The problem is—

“Zoe! You came to help me.”

Kenna’s voice rings across the lawn, and I glance over Zoe’s head to see the problem in person as she prances across the lawn.

Yeah, no matter how much space I might try to put between Zoe and me, she’s going to stick around. I might as well help her get a role that will move her out of town and out of my life.

That’s definitely the right choice.

Except for the painful twist in my gut, which disagrees. Strongly. I just can’t tell if it’s upset that I’m going to have to spend more time with her. Or that I’m looking for any excuse to permanently send her away.

I force a smile at Zoe as Kenna begins to pull her away. “We’ll pick it up another time.”

She nods and mouths a quick, “Thank you,“ as she follows Kenna inside.

And just like that, I know exactly which fear has my gut in a panic. Both.

Chicken on a biscuit.

Eight

Zoe

Cyndi and Bronco are apparently in cahoots. Because the first morning this week that Bronco doesn’t wake me up with a wet willy, my agent texts me at five in the morning. It’s an hour earlier for her in California, but I’m not surprised she’s working.Her commitment to her clients is one of the reasons I signed with her all those years ago.

As I crack one eye open and glare at the illuminated screen of my phone, I regret my decision to work with her.

But only for a split second. That’s how long it takes Bronco to pounce on my stomach and whine in my face.

“G’morning, dog,” I mumble, pushing him off me and dragging my tired limbs out of my cozy cocoon and into what I’ve begun thinking of as my morning uniform. Ratty purple slippers. Oversized tie-dye hoodie over my pajamas. The closest blanket-cape.

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