Page 76 of Delay of Game
“Do you have a picture?”
“Are you fucking serious?”
He shrugged. “I want to know what I’m working with here.”
“You’re not ‘working’ with anything. You’re barely doing me a favor. You should thank me.”
He held up his hands. “Okay. If you’re saying she’s hot, I’ll take your word for it.”
“Don’t call her hot.”
“Attractive?”
“I catch your hands on her, Fieste, deal’s off,” I warned him a final time. “She’s coming with me to Coach Mack’s barbecue.”
“So, introduce myself, charm her, don’t touch her?”
“Think you can handle it?”
He shrugged. “Sure. I don’t understand it, but I got you, captain!”
TWENTY-SEVEN
GRACIE
I kickedmy feet in the pool, cooling off in the mid-day sun while Mila splashed on a lineman’s back, playing chicken against a man at least ten times her size.
The afternoon hadn’t gone to plan. Hell, the entire week hadn’t gone to plan. Despite texting me half a dozen times a day, Rob stayed strictly friendly. No flirting and definitely no phone sex. Once again, two steps forward, one step back.
At least I’d prepared myself this time. The disappointment was only a faint thud, grouped in with Aunt Mercy not recognizing me and getting bitten by a student. All told, a bad week, but not catastrophic.
“Hey.”
I shielded my eyes from the sun, craning my neck up at the unfamiliar voice. He was a football player, that much was for sure. Red hair, green eyes, and a baby face on a six-foot frame and at least one hundred pounds of muscle.
“Hi. Have we met?” I asked, unsure whether or not we had. I’d met at least twenty players and a bunch of family besides. Cassie had facilitated the introductions at first after Rob left to talk to his coach. But now she lounged by the pool with Diego.
“Um, no. Not yet.” He rubbed the back of his neck, eyes dipping down. The tips of his ears burned pink, and the effect was an “aw shucks” type of cute that belied his size. “I’m Ethan Fieste. I play middle linebacker. Back up, mostly. You’re Rob’s friend, right?”
“Yeah.” I held out a hand, and he enveloped it like an oven mitt. “Nice to meet you. I’m Gracie Evans.”
“Do you mind if I sit down?” he asked, eyeing the empty piece of cement beside me as he let go of my hand.
“Sure.” I picked up the margarita sitting beside me and patted the ground. “I’d love some company. So, you’re Rob’s backup? How long have you been on the team?”
He swung down, dipping his legs into the water with surprising grace. “This is my first year.”
“Oh, are you a draft pick?”
“Nope.” He winced. “I practiced with the team and got my spot that way.”
“Sorry.” I sipped my drink. “Should I not have asked? I’m new to this football thing. I don’t know what’s polite to ask and what isn’t.”
“It’s fine.” He waved off the apparent slight with a grin. “I did get drafted and turned down the team.”
“You can do that?”
“You shouldn’t. But I wanted to learn from the best.” His cheerful mask slipped for a second. “I mean, it’s not really working out that way, but what are you gonna do? I shouldn’t complain. Even a backup linebacker for the NFL makes more than a school teacher.”
