Page 27 of Lucky Baller
I type the words, but I admit, he’s not the worst company I’ve ever had. I was looking forward to a few days just to relax, but it’s kind of lonely here all alone all weekend.
Number 18: I’ve got dessert covered.
Me: Landon!
Number 18: Gotta go. See ya soon.
I don’t bother to text him back. I know he won’t reply. I also know he’s going to be at my door in an hour, possibly less, if our previous interactions and his tendency to be early is his usual MO.
I look down at the leggings I have on. They have little puppy golden retrievers on them, and the puppies are wearing Christmas hats. Sure, it’s summertime in California, but my mom bought them for me two Christmases ago. They’re super soft and comfy, and they remind me of home. My shirt is a simple black tank top that shows the straps of my sports bra. My hair is a knotted mess of curls on top of my head, my feet are bare, as is my face, since I didn’t bother with makeup. I start to freak out, then decide this is a good thing. He’s going to see me slumming it in my loungewear and run far, far away. I refuse to be anyone but myself, even for the sexy quarterback.
Sure enough, forty-five minutes later, there’s a knock at the door. I stand from my nest on the couch, and I say nest because of all the blankets and pillows—I take lounging very seriously. Pulling open the door, I take in the sight before me. Landon is wearing basketball shorts, a skintight T-shirt, and slides. In his hand is a box from a local bakery and a bouquet of flowers.
“Are you going to invite me in, Tessa?” His husky voice is laced with amusement.
“I told you that you weren’t invited.” I try to sound stern, but it’s hard when the man brings dessert and flowers. Oh, and let’s not forget he looks good enough to eat.
“Come on now.” He grins, and those damn dimples wink at me.
I was always going to let him in. I just had to make him think it was an inconvenience. Stepping back, I give him ample space to enter the house before closing the door behind him.
“Is that dinner I smell?” he asks, making his way to the kitchen to deposit the bakery box. He turns to face me. “Do you have a vase?”
“Yes, and I do.” Reaching under the kitchen sink, I pull out a vase and add some water. I place it on the counter, and Landon carefully unwraps the flowers and slides them into the vase. I watch him and his big hands, and those strong arms as he arranges the flowers until he’s satisfied. They’re beautiful, and my heart tips over in my chest when I think about what it means when a man brings a woman flowers. Sure, it can be a kind, friendly gesture, but in most cases, that’s not it. They want more—romantically. He’s making it increasingly difficult to remember that he’s in this for the chase. Or is he?
“There. Where do you want them?”
“The table is fine.” I point to the center of the kitchen table and then rush to move the bowl of apples and oranges that are currently taking up that space, relocating them to the counter by the stove.
“So, what’s for dinner?” he asks.
“Chicken casserole.”
“It smells delicious.”
“Thanks. It won’t be done for another hour or so.” I glance at the clock and see it’s a few minutes after four.
“Perfect, let’s get you off that ankle.” He places his hand on the small of my back and guides us back to the living room.
The heat from his hand sears through my shirt and warms my skin. It makes me wonder what his calloused hands would feel like as they roam over my body.No, don’t go there, Tessa.I take a seat and gather my nest, sliding under the cover and holding the pillows to my chest.
“What’s up with all that?” He points to my lap.
I shrug. “It’s more of a comfort thing. I like to cuddle, and well, when you’re single and live alone, that’s not possible, so this is the next best thing.”
“I’ve never been much of a cuddler.”
“Have you ever tried it?”
“Not really, no.”
“There you go. Don’t knock it until you try it.” He nods and reaches for the pillows in my arms. “Hey, what are you doing? Get your own.” I point to the loveseat that houses two more pillows just like mine.
“You said don’t knock it until I try it,” he reminds me.
“Fine.” I concede and hand him the pillows. I expect him to hold them to his chest like I just did, but instead, he tosses them on the floor and then pulls the blanket off me. I don’t fight him and let him pull it from my lap. My eyes dart to the blanket on the back of the loveseat, so I stand to grab it. In fact, I think I’ll just start over with my nest there; he can have the couch. He is a lot taller than me.
Carefully, I begin to step over the pillows he tossed on the floor. That’s all I need is to reinjure my ankle, or worse, injure the other one. However, before I have the chance, his hands are on my hips as he pulls me into his lap. “Ahh!” I scream, not expecting this turn of events. “What in the hell are you doing?” I ask, trying to sit up so I can stand.
