Page 19 of Draft Pick

And I didn’t want Cason to be that kind of guy who would hurt me.

In Cason’s gaze, I saw a wealth of words unsaid, possibly from his past, and I felt an odd kinship that I didn’t expect. It was in that rare glimpse that Cason found his opening. “I like you,” he said. “You’re different.”

I dared to hope but remained wary. “Different how?”

He shifted in his chair, unsure how to describe how he felt without mangling it. I understood that fear — I routinely stuck my foot in my mouth in most situations — one might argue I was already tonsil-deep with my toes with this awkward conversation. I think that’s why I enjoyed working with kids. They were much more forgiving than adults.Although, they were also more blunt and they had zero filter.

“You make me laugh and you’re interesting.”

I cocked my head. “How do you know I’m interesting? We’ve only just met.”

“Well, for starters, you have a metal detector in your bedroom.”

I blushed.

“And, I love the way you sing.”

That got me. Singing was something I did for myself, I wasn’t good enough to take it to the real stage, but a part of me always dreamed of singing to a massive crowd at a sold-out venue until reality crashed into the dream. The thing was, not everyone was lucky enough to chase a big dream like Cason was doing. There was something cool about that, even if I didn’t think much about the sport. “Have you always loved football?”

“Yeah,” he admitted, but something else behind his eyes told a deeper story, and the mystery threatened to dismantle my good judgment. It was hard to keep things surface-level when the need to know more pulled me into deeper territory. “There was always something about the game that appealed to me. Seems like a different person’s life now, but back in the day, watching film, training, the smell of the locker room—” I immediately grimaced, and he laughed, “I know, it’s gross, but it’s all part of the experience. I loved it.”

“But you don’t anymore?” I asked, curious.

Cason hesitated, as if unsure whether he wanted to go there, but then he pulled back with a grin, saying, “Still the best game there is. You should come and watch a home game when the season starts.”

I shuddered. I’d rather have my eyelashes pulled from my eyelids. “Oh, no thank you. Definitely not my scene. I wouldn’t have a clue what was going on and I would probably just bring a book.”

“A book to a football game?” One eyebrow shot up, which only helped prove my point.

“See?” I gestured emphatically. “Like I said, not for me.”

He smiled and shook his head but accepted my answer, which I appreciated. I looked at him from beneath my lashes, and my breath caught. He was so damn hot. When God handed out blessings, Cason Alexander got more than his share. And the things he could do with this mouth…

In mid-reverie, a piece of pizza dough suddenly decided to take up residence in my trachea, and I made a sound like a cat yakking up a hairball as I fought to breathe.

“Oh my God, are you okay?” Cason looked ready to perform the Heimlich until I jerked a short nod as I swigged my beer to wash the dough down. “I’m good, wrong pipe,” I croaked, too embarrassed to admit that I’d nearly offed myself because I’d been reliving the memory of his tongue spelunking in my cave of wonders. “Sorry…I’m good…you were saying?”

“Are you sure?” Cason asked dubiously, still not convinced. It was sweet, yet mortifying, that he looked ready to toss me over his shoulder and carry me to the hospital if need be, but damn, I knew how to destroy any possibility of acting sexy or remotely sophisticated.

“Yep. All good.” I readjusted my robe, feeling like an idiot. Time to change the subject. “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather be doing something more fun than sitting in my apartment and eating pizza?”

“There’s a bonfire out at Kreller’s tonight. If you wanted to check it out with me, that’d be cool.”

“Who is Kreller?”

“Just a guy I know. His parent’s own a place near the beach, they’re like millionaires or something and they pretty much let Kreller do what he wants because they’re never in the country.”

A cozy bonfire with Cason sounded romantic — until he added it was practically a frat party, which was a hard pass. “I’m not a partier,” I said, feeling like a giant stick in the mud. Darby always tried to drag me out on the weekends, but until the other night, I’d avoided all nightlife. A wild night for me was a back-to-back Harry Potter series movie run. “But you should go. Sounds like you’ll have a great time.”

“Are you trying to get rid of me again?” He asked, half-joking. “Do I smell or something? No, seriously, ‘cause you’re always trying to push me out the door.”

I laughed at his fake insult, but maybe he was feeling a little insecure because I did seem to push him out a lot but to be fair, this whole situation felt like a fever dream. I half expected at any minute something off-the-wall to happen, like daisies sprouting from the top of Cason’s head, which would confirm none of this was real.

And I was probably in a coma somewhere.

Because in what world was the hottest guy on campus reluctant to leave my side on a Saturday night when he could be out doing whatever hot football players do when they’re not lifting weights and chasing balls?

“Sooo, you really want to hang out with me when you could be doing…other things?”

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