Page 64 of Thunderstruck
“Stop looking at me like you want to devour me. I came here to make rules, remember?”
Why? Why do we need to make rules? Because of my stupid curse? That’s all it is.Stupid.
Easy, Cole. I can’t risk her safety just because I’m attracted to her.
I step aside to let her in, and the way she smiles at the sight of my space feels like a tightening vise around my heart. It’s a welcome change from the ache I’ve been stuck with for the last half a year, but so very dangerous. I both want to cling to this feeling and run away before it becomes permanent.
I clear my throat. “So.”
Carissa’s smile grows. “So.”
“I thought you could help me make lunch.” Did I decide to have her help because cooking together is a perfect way to flirt and be in each other’s space and accidentally touch? Yes. Am I regretting that decision?
Nope.
Carissa narrows her eyes as she glances toward the kitchen. “You are trouble, you know that?”
“Is that a no?”
“I’d love to help. But that doesn’t mean you’re not trouble.” As she passes me to head into the kitchen, her hand runs along my chest to my shoulder, turning me to jelly. “And two can play at that game, Evanson.”
By the time I work up the nerve to join her, she has already found an apron and tied it around her waist. She picked my favorite one, USC cardinal and gold with a worn Trojans logo splashed across the front.
“Is this where you went to school?” she asks, looking down at it.
I nod. “Gramps bought the apron as soon as I got accepted. Wore it every time he cooked during away games, for luck.” Whenever I had home games, he and Dad were always in the stands cheering me on. I still remember my first college game and seeing them with the best seats they could buy.
Grabbing another apron—this one a plain red-checkered one—Carissa leans up on her toes to tuck it over my head. “Did Gramps buy one with the Badgers’ logo too? I didn’t see it in the pantry.”
That’s because I threw it out when I came back from Oregon. “Yeah, he probably has it somewhere at the other house,” I lie.
“Do you ever miss football?”
This conversation is creeping in a direction I’d rather not go, but I’m finding it difficult to do or say anything that might upset the woman in front of me. I want to tell her everything. “I miss the game,” I say, hoping she leaves it at that.
I maywantto tell her everything, but that would be a terrible idea. It wouldn’t just endanger my heart, trusting her that much, but it could putherin actual danger. If she knew about how half of my teammates were being paid to rig the games for certain outcomes, she might tell her sister. And no matter how much Tamlin Park might be changing her tune, that’s a story no reporter worth her salt could resist.
A story like that would completely destroy the Badgers, and there are still good men on that team. Not to mention any of the perpetrators—the coach, the owner, even one of the players—would likely be able to trace the source back to me, and what would happen then? There’s a lot of money in that scheme, which means a lot of potential danger for me and anyone associated with me.
“Whoa,” Carissa says, stepping closer and looking up into my eyes. “Are you okay? You just got…glowery.”
I force my forehead to relax so I’m no longer glaring. “My football life was complicated,” I say too sharply. “I don’t like talking about it.”
“Got it. What are we making for lunch?”
And that’s that. I expected Carissa to push—Derek would have—but instead she let the subject drop. I exhale the breath I was holding in preparation to resist her persistence, and I feel almost dizzy. I’m overwhelmed by the sheer awe I feel when around this woman. “You…” I furrow my brow again, this time in confusion rather than frustration. “You don’t want to know why it was complicated?”
She laughs, the sound filling my small kitchen with light. “Of course I want to know why. But you said you don’t like to talk about it, and I respect that.”
My reaction is instinctual and thoughtless and impulsive. Stepping forward, I bend down and press my lips to hers in an earnest kiss of gratitude. Then I freeze, my mouth still flush with hers.
“Oh,” Carissa says against my lips.
Her open mouth and the taste of her breath are maddening, but I use every ounce of self-control I possess to keep from wrapping her in my arms and giving her arealkiss. That doesn’t mean I move. We’re both motionless, breaths mingling in the middle of my kitchen as if trapped in time.
Time’s still moving with each tick of the clock in the living room, but I’m not so sure we’re moving with it.
“I’m not sorry I just did that,” I say, once I’ve found the will to speak.
