Page 47 of Not that Impressed
I turn to flip the steaks and then return my gaze to her, leaning back against the cement wall that lines the balcony. “He knows what to say and how to say it. That’s why people believe him. Maybe that’s why I’ve tried less to be likable the last year. I don’t want to be anything like that.”
“You’re not.” Pink blooms in her cheeks and she quickly corrects herself. “I mean you’re not like him. Not that you’re not likable.”
“I know exactly who I am, Ellie Bennet. Likable isn’t high up on my skills list.” I smile at her, and the color in her cheeks deepens. That’s the next spot I’m going to kiss when I get the chance. Lips, neck, cheeks. The list is getting kind of long.
She pretends to consider this. “I think that’s probably hard when the main objective of your day is to plant someone’s face in the turf.” She gives a small what-do-you-do shrug, and I let out a bark of laughter.
“I don’t specifically go for faces, to be fair,” I retaliate. “I’m more than happy to knock someone on their butt.”
She laughs this time, and I let the warmth of it slide through me as I take the steaks off the grill and put them on a warmed plate I brought out for them. Then I scoop some herbed butter on top.
“I’m going to go grab the fries. I’ll be right back out.”
“Don’t forget our sparkling water,” she says, her eyes twinkling.
“Yes, ma’am.”
Dinner goes well. We chat with ease, and more than once I catch a sort of surprised expression crossing Ellie’s face. Our discussion hasn’t been heated even once. We talk about her championing women’s sports and the line of Girls Play t-shirts she’s been promoting. She bursts into laughter when she finds out I’ve already ordered the Girls Play Pumas Jersey and a t-shirt that says, “I play football like a girl.”
When I clear the table and take our plates and silverware inside, Ellie moves to the outdoor couch, kicking her bare feet up on the ottoman. I return and take a seat right next to her, putting my arm over top of the couch.
She tilts her head and studies me. “What are we doing, Will?” she asks.
“Dinner. Conversation. Maybe … more.”
She squints at me and shakes her head. “You said the other night that you don’t do messy. I thought?—”
I press a finger gently against her lips. “No more assumptions.”
She sighs. “I don’t know what else I’m supposed to think. I said things could get messy, and you said you didn’t do messy.”
“I meant I don’t make things messy. Sometimes I say stupid things, yes, but I tend to say what I mean too. I knew once we understood each other, once we were taking the time to really get to know each other, that it wasn’t going to be a thing. We’re not going to be messy, Ellie.”
She doesn’t look convinced. “Everyone is a little messy. And my life is under a microscope.”
I reach over and take her hand, sliding my fingers through hers. “I didn’t handle the rumors about me and Coach’s wife well,” I admit. “I thought I could convince people. Make them see I was telling the truth. And when that didn’t work…” I push out the memories of how helpless I felt in my own life. I’d always been able to convince people about who I was—the hard-working linebacker who pushed himself all his life to get to the top. I practiced hard; I played hard. I showed up and showed coaches exactly what they were getting. “When that didn’t work,” I go on. “I got mad, and it only made things worse.”
She scoots closer, gripping my hand in hers. “People like that don’t want the truth,” she says softly. “They just want to be entertained.”
“Believe it or not, I’ve learned a lot from you the last few weeks.” I look down at our enjoined hands and picture the team I want us to become. “Enough to know that I believe that whatever comes our way, we can handle it. I can handle it. Whatever people say … it won’t be messy with us.”
She pulls her feet up underneath her and shifts so she’s facing me. “I suppose this is how you got here—the top of your game and playing for a championship team? Being totally sure of yourself.”
She leans closer, and I take advantage of it. I scoop an arm around her waist to hold her there. She presses her fingers lightly into my chest as she comes closer. “Is this the part where we stop talking for four minutes so we don’t fight?” she whispers.
“Maybe to be on the safe side,” I murmur back. I stare at her, like I did that night at the fundraiser. I want to discover everything about her face, to notice it and memorize it. Obsessing over things is the way I do my best work—like hours and hours of film to figure out an opposing team’s offense or extra time spent on drills to make me quicker. I don’t know what advantage I’ll have by knowing Ellie’s face so completely, but I’m compelled to. Her eyes are deep green, but they have flecks of gold on the edges that mesmerize me.
“You’re intimidating when you stare like that,” she whispers.
I shake my head. “Just staring at you is one of the most electric things that has ever happened to me.”
Ellie’s lips are inches from mine when a buzzing erupts from her pocket. She growls, which makes me tighten my arm around her waist and chuckle.
“Not this time,” she says fiercely and snatches the phone out of her pocket, tossing it aside on the couch. It stops buzzing after a moment and she leans back into me. I press my hand to her back, guiding her closer. The buzzing starts again, but we ignore it. Ellie’s lips meet mine and we melt into each other. She grips the sleeves of my t-shirt and rests her weight against me.
My heart pounds as our lips move together. Holding her was intense—this is freeing. I wrap another arm around her, lifting her closer to me.
She whispers my name against my lips, and I haul her fully into my lap.
