Page 16 of On Merit Alone
Fidgeting with my clothes, I stood up a little straighter. Had I accidentally liked one of the photos of him on the team's social media accounts? Had I shared one of the many articles I found? God, I hoped not.
I hated suspense, and I didn’t want to stay in it, so I came right out and asked, “Then what are you talking about?”
He took a step toward me, tipping his chin as he looked down over my shoulder. At the phone I had clutched in my hand.Open.
“You were looking at me.” He smirked, obviously teasing.
Glancing at my phone, I saw that not only was it open, but it was open to the worst possibility—the brightest possible setting on and the picture of his celebrating face plastered right across my screen.
Heat crawled up my neck and overtook my face at the realization that I’d been caught. I was mortified. The only saving grace was that he couldn’t see the embarrassment on my skin, though I’m sure my expression gave it away.
Clicking the phone shut, I pocketed it quickly. “I was reading an article about the team. That picture’s everywhere right now.”
Denial was a helpful tool. Too bad he was having none of it.
“That was saved to your photos,” he countered. Not accusatory, but definitely amused.
I narrowed my eyes. “How long were you standing there?”
“Long enough to see you scroll through five screenshots and back again,” he admitted. And damn, did I appreciate that he just told me instead of leaving me to guess and obsess over how much of a fool I was making of myself.
Unfortunately, though, I was still making a pretty big one. I winced, peeking a look up at his face and quickly away. He didn’t seem to be weirded out by catching me staring at photos of him. But then again, he still had time to process and come to that decision later.
Staring down at the cute little red and white shoes I slipped on this morning, I mumbled, “Well, it’s not like that.”
“What’s it like then?”
“What’s it seem like?”
“Honestly, Six. It kinda seems like you’re obsessed with me.”
My head snapped up. “I-I’m notobsessedwith you! How arrogant can you be?”
He smiled a shit-eating grin that took up his whole face. Then he motioned down at something on the ground. “You’re standing outhere waiting for me, and you’ve got on my shoes too. I’d say that’s bordering obsession.”
“What?” I sputtered again, tipping a look down at my feet. “What are you talking about?”
He gave me a weird look, and then he wordlessly whipped out his own phone. Tapping around for a few seconds, he pulled up some kind of image and handed it over to me.
I noticed he didn’t keep the phone in his hands or hold it in front of my face like some people do. I swear they acted as if I was going to snatch it and sprint away or something. Not Ira. He just deposited the whole thing into my hands like we knew each other, and he trusted me. I sealed the irrelevant but interesting information away with all the other information I’d been stockpiling on him. Then I looked at his phone.
Right there was a photo of him in his uniform with my shoe outstretched in his hand. A big smile was plastered across his face, and the text above him read“Featuring Ira King”with the logo hovering over it.
I gaped. Lifting my foot sideways, I ping-ponged my eyes between his phone and my shoes. They were, in fact, an exact match.
Cursing under my breath, I slowly lifted my eyes to meet the laughing ones beside me. That blushing heat returned to my face tenfold. “I didn’t know they were yours. I swear.”
He looked skeptical but nodded. “Sure thing, Six.”
“I-I’m serious,” I said. My embarrassment was growing by the second. God, he’d already caught me looking at photos of him. Now he thought I was wearing his merchandise too?How. Embarrassing.“They left them in the locker room for us, like, a year ago. This is only like my second time wearing them.”
His eyebrows rose. “So you’ve worn them before?”
A miserable sound left my throat as my face fell.No! This was coming out all wrong. He was taking it all wrong.Taking a steptoward him, I held my hands up. “No. I mean, yes, but no, it’s not like that.”
“Which is it? Yes or no?” he asked, arms sliding to cross over his chest.
“No,” I insisted. “I’m not obsessed with you!”
