Page 40 of The Way We Win

Jack holds up a hand. “No, thanks.”

“Hi, Jack.” My voice is weird, so I clear my throat. “Hey, Liv, and little Miss Gigi.”

“Say ‘Hey, Miss Allie,’” Liv waves her baby girl’s arm, but Gigi is wiggling to get down.

Reaching into the tub, I take out a cup of vanilla ice cream and hold it out to Liv. “Need this?”

“Maybe.” She takes it before chasing after her two-year-old, who’s heading straight to the bar where her daddy is dancing.

A laugh puffs through my lips, and I turn to see Jack watching me. The intensity of his gaze makes the skin on my neck prickle.

“Let me help you.” He takes the plastic bin from my hands, turning to follow his sister into the kitchen.

My arms fall to my sides, and I walk behind him to where Dylan stands at the large silver table, transferring the leftover chili into a plastic bowl.

“Chili for you, Thomas?” she calls to our old friend, who’s grilling burgers while he watches sports on his small, black-and-white television set.

“No, ma’am,” he answers in his low voice. “You know I stay away from all that foolishness.”

“Smart man.” Logan enters through the back screen door, patting Thomas’s shoulder as he passes. “Got a burger for me?”

“Always do. One for Coach Jack, too.”

Jack straightens from where he emptied the ice cream cups into the bin in the freezer, and he’s so good-looking with that gray T-shirt stretching over his broad shoulders and those faded jeans hugging his tight ass just right.

It’s the end of the week, and he seems more relaxed than before—when he’s not looking at me with the intensity of a thousand suns.

“Ready for tomorrow?” Logan punches him lightly on the shoulder. “I expect you-know-who will be back, ready to hear your starting lineup.”

“I’m ready.” Jack adjusts his ball cap.

“George Powell had better watch his mouth.” Dylan snaps the plastic lid onto the chili, then walks around the table to stretch up and kiss her husband. “We’ll all be out there with the drill team, and if he so much as looks in Allie’s direction?—”

“He won’t,” Jack interrupts, a touch of flint in his tone.

Logan wraps his arms around his petite wife, hugging her close. “Did you set Oliver straight with your dish tonight?”

“He gave me a thumbs-up.” She lifts her chin in defiance.

They’re so sweet, I’m getting a toothache, and when I look at Jack, he blinks away from me, going to the door. “I’d better check on Kimmie.”

“She’s at the pool tables with Austin and Edward,” I say as he approaches where I’m standing. “I’ll go with you.”

He stops to hold the door for me, and my bottom lip goes between my teeth. More heat prickles my skin as I pass close to his chest.

When we enter the large space, the lights are lowered, and a disco ball sends sparkles around the room. The music is more mellow, slower country, and the song is “Strawberry Wine” by Deana Carter.

Jack and I both pause, watching all the couples dancing together on the floor. I’ve never slow-danced on a Dare Night, mostly because I’ve always been too busy helping Dylan serve and then clean up, but tonight, I could be persuaded. If the right guy were asking.

We’re standing side by side when Logan leads Dylan past us, out onto the floor.

“I love this song,” she coos, putting her hands on her husband’s broad shoulders. “Jack, dance with Allie!”

It’s like a splash of water in my face, and a little “Oh!” jumps from my lips.

It’s a silly response, considering we’ve walked down the aisle together in every one of his sibling’s weddings, but after this week, what I used to believe was only friendship—with me dying on the inside every time he smiled—is now something a lot more serious and potentially more explosive.

“Screw what he said,” Logan calls from the floor. “You two can’t be the only ones not dancing.”

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