Page 33 of Lucky Baller
“Good morning.” Autumn’s chipper voice greets me. “How was your weekend?”
“Good. Nothing out of the ordinary.”
“Oh, really? How about we try that again, little miss too quick to blow me off? How was your weekend?”
I exhale loudly and then blurt it out. “Landon came over for dinner.”
“Landon, huh?” She grins. “What prompted the lucky player to come over for a visit?”
“He asked me to dinner, I told him I already had dinner made, and he said he would be over in an hour. He showed up. We ate.”
“Uh-huh. What else did you do?”
“Nothing. Watched a couple of movies and then he went home.”
“Tess,” she says, her tone warning.
“Autumn,” I fire back.
“Spill it.”
“Fine. We might have cuddled a little on the couch before falling asleep. Nothing happened. I told him I want more. I’m not looking for any kind of benefits that don’t come with a relationship. That’s just not me. He didn’t confirm or deny that he’s not willing to give it to me. We watched another movie on separate ends of the couch and then he went home.”
“Goodnight kiss?”
“Does a hug and a kiss to my temple count?”
She nods vigorously. “That definitely counts.”
Yeah, I agree with her. They both count, but I don’t know how I feel about that. I’m already missing him, and that’s bad, so terribly bad. Landon Barker is a heartbreaker, and I need to remember that. He’s never been serious with anyone. Why would that change with me?
“Enough about me. What’s on the agenda for today?” I ask, getting back into work mode. I need to push my impromptu weekend with the sexy quarterback out of my mind.
“We have a full line-up of volunteers today, so I’m thinking a deep scrub of the cages and kennels while we have the help.”
“Sounds good to me. I’m going to go out and start working on Buckwheat’s stall.”
“I’ll send help when it arrives.” She waves as I push open the door and walk outside into the warm California sun.
I’m just getting Buckwheat turned loose in the round pen so that I can muck his stall, when my phone vibrates in my pocket. Pulling it out, I seeNumber 18and don’t even read the message before swiping the screen. I’m that eager to hear from him. I refuse to think about what that means.
Number 18: Morning, Freckles. Need my help today?
Me: Nope. We have a full roster of volunteers today.
Number 18: Maybe I should stop by just to make sure.
Me: Why? You don’t trust me now?
Number 18: What? I can’t stop to check on you?
Me: You don’t need to check on me.
Number 18: Practice is getting ready to start. I’ll text you later, if I don’t stop by.
His message is followed by another with a winking emoji. It fits him perfectly. Sliding my phone back into my pocket, I get to work on Buckwheat’s stall. Instead of clearing my mind, his messages bring him to the surface, and all I can think about is Saturday and what it all means. Does he really want me to give in to him so bad that he’s willing to play nice and hang out at my place on Saturday night? He’s the freaking starting quarterback for the Los Angeles Cougars. He could have had his pick of women for the night and a guaranteed happy ending to the evening. What’s his game?
“Tessa,” Autumn calls out to me. I stop and turn to face her. There’s a man with her, a very handsome man. “This is Tony. He’s volunteering today. I’m putting him with you.”
