Page 37 of The Assist
I shake my head. “I don’t drink during the season.”
“I don’t think Joel got that memo. He’s halfway through a bottle of Jack downstairs.”
She moves to sit on my bed, and I take a seat at my desk.
“Your foot hurts.” A crease forms between her brows, and she speaks with certainty.
“A little sore.”
“You should probably have it elevated.” She moves into action, looking around the room before zoning in on a chair propped up on the other wall. She pulls it across the room and then motions for me to put my leg up. “You have any ice in here? Or is it heat that you need?”
“Shit. I should have grabbed an ice pack from downstairs.”
She bites her lip and looks as if she is considering leaving to go get it. She’s gone into full-blown mama bear mode. It’s hot, but I don’t want her to leave.
“Hand me that beer.”
She obliges, and I place the cold can against the side of my foot just above the top of my shoe. I should really take it off and ice it properly, but I don’t want to give her any reason to rush off. “Guess I did need that drink after all.”
She shifts as if she doesn’t know what to do—or worse, as if she might leave.
“Sit, please. You’re making me nervous pacing around.”
She does, and we study each other with the bass from downstairs vibrating the floor below us. “Did you enjoy your first game?”
“I did.”
I’m not convinced. “You don’t sound very sure.”
“I was a nervous wreck. I don’t know how you do it. Every shot, every pass . . . I’ll have an ulcer by the end of the season.”
I like that she’s already planning on going to more games. Like that I popped her ball cherry. Hell, I even like that having her there made me work that much harder.
I swing my foot down off the chair and stand. “Move over.”
Before she can protest, I sit on the bed next to her and scoot until my back rests against the wall. My feet still hang off the edge, though. A detail that doesn’t go unnoticed.
Blair moves so she’s facing the headboard and I angle myself to face her and move my legs onto the bed. Without a word she places her still mostly cold beer against my foot.
Her phone pings, and she sits forward to retrieve it from her back pocket giving me an eyeful of cleavage. A gentleman would pretend not to notice, but there’s no part of her covered flesh I haven’t already imagined in vivid detail.
“It’s Vanessa. She and Mario are leaving.”
“Already? Party just started.”
“I think they’re far more interested in being alone than a party with half the university.”
She pulls the beer away from my foot and lets her legs hang off the edge of the bed. “I should go. I rode over with them.”
“I doubt they want a third wheel for what they have in mind. Stay. I’ll get you a ride home later.”
“You sure I’m not keeping you from your adoring fans?”
“Got my number-one fan right here.”
She cocks a brow. “I’m your number-one fan? I’m not sure what that says about you, considering I’ve only been to one game.”
“I guarantee you’re the only one here who tracked my stats tonight. It was three steals, by the way.” I wink, and she blushes. Truth be told, it’s fucking hot that she watched me close enough and cared enough to keep a tally.
