Page 36 of The Interception
My cheeks warm under his intense gaze. “Sure, but I’ve been around a lot lately. You probably want some time to relax without me bothering you.”
“You don’t bother me.” He reaches for a tendril of my hair and I panic. I dodge his advance and grab the containers of food.
“We should probably—”
“Layne.” His statement is almost a reprimand.
I shift under his gaze, too worried that if I look into his eyes, I’ll be…disappointed? More confused?
“What do you think this is?”
I can’t help it. My eyes snap to his and I see him pointing between the two of us. My eyes narrow and forehead bunches, unsure what I’m supposed to say. I don’tknowwhat it is. How can I define something that doesn’t make sense to me? I blurt out the first thing that comes to mind, something we have already well established.
“We’re friends.”
He arches a brow and steps closer. I’m backed against the counter, holding a bowl of pasta in one hand and a bowl of chili in the other. Oh yeah, and they’re a little hot. Still, they’re nothing compared to the heat that attacks my cheeks when he slides his hand to my waist. My mind rushes back to that move he pulled at the sports bar when his teammate was flirting with me. I tried to tell myself he was being a good friend, protecting me from a bad guy, but I’m not so sure I can convince myself that’s true anymore.
“Is that all we are now? Friends? Because this tension says we might be past that particular definition.”
My lips part and the faintest gasp of shock slips free. His eyes dart to my lips, then back to my eyes as if asking permission.
“Uncle Ender!” Lula’s sweet squeal shocks him away from me faster than a scalded dog. He practically leaps across the kitchen and shoves his hand into his hair.
Clearing his throat, he turns his attention to the living room. “What’s up, sweetness?”
Blinking doesn’t clear my head, so I rush out the front door in hopes that a blast of autumn air will help. On the porch, I suck in as much as I can until my lungs burn, then slowly let it out to refocus. Holy moly, that was intense. I don’t even have time to work through it before Ender comes outside with his keys.
“You sure you don’t want to ride together?” He’s still flustered, too. Was it an accident? Was he acting on an urge and regrets it?
I don’t know, but I do know I need to think.
“Yeah, I’m sure. I appreciate the offer, but I’d like to head home after the bonus round.”
“Sure.” His faint whisper is laced with disappointment but no argument. He waits for me to get settled before getting into his own truck.
At least the drive to the stadium will give me some more time to compose myself and get into game mode.
“All right everyone, if you would please find a seat, the judges are ready to reveal the results of the bonus round.” An organizer, a different one from the one who announced the bonus round, claps her hands at the podium.
We’re in a different conference room as well, one that has a small stage at the front and a few rows of chairs. I can’t help wondering what a football stadium needs with all these rooms, but then again, I never spend much time at the stadium where Andrew plays either. Maybe it’s normal?
People settle in, and Ender takes a seat beside me. I busy myself with chatting to other contestants, if only to give myself some space from my partner, who, with each passing day, is worming his way deeper into my heart. Somehow. I’m not ready to admit that I have a crush on him. I completely, unabashedlydo, but if I admit it to myself, then I also have to tackle what that means.
It's too much to process with everything on the line. It has to wait.
“You ready for this?” He leans back in the chair in a stretch then offers me his hand, palm up. Though I mean to smile and look away, not send him signals, I end up sliding my fingers over his palm and interlacing our fingers. He squeezes them and pulls me a little closer. “You okay? I mean…after…you know.”
I nod so I don’t puke. I’m not okay. I’m freaking out because we need to win this thing, he needs to do well at his games, I don’t know what to do with my life without a restaurant, and when the competition is over and I have to go back to Savannah…my stomach twists. This is ridiculous. I’ve known the guy less than two weeks. I shouldnotfeel this way about him.
“I want to preface by saying it took the judges a long time to decide their favorites. I mean it when I say they truly enjoyed everyone’s dishes, but we had to put them in order. So, without further ado, I’ll post the scores on the screen behind me.” She presses a button and the screen lights up with the results.
We slipped to third place.
And guilt takes up a chair right on my chest. Maybe we could be in first if I had let Ender take the lead? He’s the one who has won six times, after all.
“Hey, we’re still in a great spot.”
I jerk my head up to look at him. “How did you know I was…” I fade when he palms my cheek.
