Page 91 of Need You to Choose Me

Olive tries to hide a smile behind her glass.

But I see it.

“She’s not a hooker, Belle, I don’t need to buy her. And she’s not exactly shackled to the table. If she wants to leave, she can. But I have a feeling she’s not going to do that.”

It’s Olive who asks, “Why not?”

I meet her eyes. “You’ve had the choice to walk away long before now, but you’re still here.”

Belle makes a little noise as she claps her hands together.

Olive’s lips tilt up at the corners. “Even though you like the Patriots, I couldn’t walk away. I think some part of me knew that you needed me—needed a friend. And my best friend back home told me to give us a chance. Here I am doing that.”

Belle’s sigh is light, like she’s soaking this up with that lovey-dovey look she gets around Clarkson. It’s borderline nauseating. “You two are cute. But you’re in Pennsylvania now. It’s the Steelers or the Eagles. But I choose to forgive you regardless.”

My teammate’s stepsister remains standing there, peering at the two of us.

“Belle,” I tell her slowly.

“Yeah?”

“Go the hell away.”

“Oh. Right. My bad.” As she walks away, I hear her mumble, “The Pats?” in quiet disbelief.

Olive leans her arms on the edge of the table with a small smile on her face. “You never correct people when they call me yours.”

It’s not a question, but a statement.

“You don’t either,” I point out matter-of-factly.

Her smile grows, brightening her eyes. “I don’t.”

Like me, she doesn’t offer an explanation.

I guess neither one of us thinks that one is necessary.

*

I hold thedoor open for Olive when we get to my apartment, letting my gaze dip down to scan over her ass as she walks inside. When she looks over her shoulder and catches me, there’s a grin on her face. “Like what you see?”

“Yes,” I say unabashedly.

She shakes her head, but I see that small smile curl her lips up as she sets her things down on the counter. “Thank you for dinner. Tell Belle the food was really good.”

“There’s nothing to eat here, so we had limited options,” is my only reply.

I walk over to the couch and drop down, patting the spot beside me. “Do you still like20/20show? I’m pretty sure there are some on my DVR.”

She stares at me. “Who uses a DVR still?”

I eye her. “It’s part of my streaming plan. I can record shows. It’s how I watchedSupernaturalafter you insisted on making me watch the first season.”

Granted, she never forced me to watch the other fourteen, but she’s nice enough not to point that out.

She joins me, not sitting too close or too far away. I study the area between us before grabbing her leg and pulling her over effortlessly to close the distance. I prop my arm on the back of the couch cushion behind her, then grab the remote with my free hand. I can feel her eyes on me as I turn the television on and settle in, leaving my arm where it is without a second thought.

“Uh, Alex?”

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