Page 14 of Playing the Field
“Um, do you want to sit?” I ask.
He looks down and notices his feet rooted to the floor. “Sure.” His stride is so large that it only takes two steps before he reaches the barstools and drops into the one next to mine. I sweep around to the other side of the counter and look for something else to do.
Kyler’s kitchen is massive, with a skylight letting the sun glint off twenty stainless-steel appliances. There’s enough space between the butcher block island and the refrigerator for three people to do yoga. Fortunately, Kyler hasn’t unloaded the dishwasher, so that gives me a task.
“Did you sleep?” I ask.
“Not really,” Hunter says. I look up, and he takes a sip of his coffee, closing his eyes and exhaling the way I do after that first life-giving sip.
“Are you like me, need a cup of coffee before you want to interact with other people?” I see him staring into his cup, but he almost smiles.
“Not normally. I’m a morning guy. I’m…it’s a lot with the house. And, you know, I’d pretty much accepted that I was in the transfer portal, so…I guess I still haven’t reset my expectations. Suppose I oughtta thank you for the next three years of my career. You’re like my own personal Tinkerbell, flitting down to sprinkle fairy dust on my long list of penalties and somehow make them look good.”
Seeing this strapping athlete, who’s so confident and fierce on the field, looking downright lost stirs something in me. I want to help him more than I want to run and hide from his audacious abs.
“I’m hardly a fairy. Data isn’t magic. It’s objective science.” I put my cup down and walk over to the counter that separates us. “You should not thank me for that. All I did was analyze the data, and it all pointed to you being the best possible option for the Devils defense. That was all you, not me.”
The hard line of his jaw softens, and he nods. “Well, all the same, I appreciate your data, Tink.”
Warmth floods my body. It’s not just the nickname, which is cute, but the fact that data is my love language. “That may be the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”
He barks out a laugh. “Seriously? People should give you better compliments.”
“Nah, that one was next level.”
He nods. “Nice to know how to get on your good side.” Despite the shirtless glory in front of me, Hunter seems like a regular guy, not a stormy, impulsive star athlete. Maybe I shouldknow better than to judge a person’s personality off the field by what I see on it, but I haven’t met that many people who surprise me.
This man, with his fiery, impulsive decisions during a match and his golden retriever mellowness right now, is a puzzle. I don’t understand how he can be both ways with equal fervor, and I chastise myself for lack of insight.
I’m curious about him, and it sets off a little spark of joy in me because information is the lens through which I see the world.
I want to learn more about him and shore up the small details I already know about his interest in books and…wow, I really don’t know much else. I’ve been so distracted by my reactions to him physically that I’ve pushed my normal curiosity aside. It’s good to have it back.
At least, until I notice Hunter’s eyes travel south from my face. I follow his gaze to where my silk blouse is unbuttoned one too many and my bra is clearly visible, along with a healthy amount of cleavage, as I lean forward on the counter. Baby steps, apparently.
Feeling my cheeks heat, I stand quickly and move toward the sink, where I dump the rest of my coffee. “I need to get to work.”
He nods. “I’ll be around later. Maybe we can have dinner together or something one night this week. Catch up on old times.”
“Oh. Okay. I guess.” I shift from foot to foot, wondering if I should come up with an excuse to be busy every night this week. The problem is, I don’t know anyone in LA.
Hunter laughs. “Don’t want to freak you out or anything.”
“No, no, I’m not freaked out. I thought maybe you’d want to eat with your teammates or whatever.”
“I can eat with my teammates or whatever anytime. I thought one night I’d eat with you. Since we’re living together and all.”
My stomach flips, and a small thrill runs through my veins. I’ve never lived with a guy. My brain knows we’re both in atemporary situation that has nothing to do with real cohabiting, but my body apparently doesn’t understand the difference. I swallow hard and tell my body to get it together. And quick.
“Sure, Hunter. Dinner sounds good,” I say.
I tell myself it’s going to be okay, us “living together and all…”
Then I sprint from the room.
CHAPTER 8
Hunter
