Page 29 of Playing the Field
She nods. “Good point. I’m hungry. Let’s stop at two.”
I put the ball in play again and kick it to the side so we can both go after it. Usually, there are five other players around, so I’m kind of pretending there’s a teammate to our right. Gracie runs toward the ball, but her momentum is too much to stop herself, and she slides past it.
I go for the ball, laughing as I take control, but she comes at me with full force. Her socks send her sliding toward me, and I don’t want her to fall, so I sweep her up in my arms to stop her from flying into the sidewall.
“Hey! Ref! Penalty!” She flails around in my arms, but I don’t let her go. Holding her like my arms are a basket, I walk toward the ball and nudge it toward the center of the court. “Put me down! No fair using your height and muscle advantage!” She continues yelling, but she can’t hide her grin.
As I look down at her face inches below mine, it would be so easy to take what I’ve wanted since I was in high school. It would be so easy to close the gap between our mouths and feel her lips against mine.
Who am I kidding? I don’t want to feel them. I want to devour them.
I’m intensely aware of my hands, one on her hip, the other wrapped around her thigh. The side of her rib cage presses against my chest, and the top of her head grazes the bottom of my chin. At each point of contact, I feel wild heat and an intense fucking awareness of her.
How much I want my hands roaming over every inch of her skin. How much I crave this feeling of holding her close.
My heart thuds against my ribs, and I’m sure she can feel it. I think I feel her heartbeat as well, quieter but equally furious. It makes my dick twitch in my pants. I know I need to put her down before the last bit of restraint snaps, and I dive in, taking her mouth and every other part of her.
I allow myself one last moment of believing inmaybe.
Maybe she feels the same way about me.
Maybe the last dozen years have been us finding our way back to each other.
Maybe I can kiss her without Kyler losing his shit or her losing her job.
That’s where the bottom drops out. The thought that stops me from charging forward is the idea of Gracie losing something. Especially something she’s worked hard at and deserves. I don’t know if the Devils organization has a clause like the one at her former job, but what if it does? I already like her too much not to care about her future. I can’t be responsible for risking her job, especially when I only know what I want. I have no idea what’s in her head.
I’m thinking all of this while I loosen the grip on her in my arms. Her expression goes from an intensity that rivals my own to something different. The corners of her mouth sink. Her eyes dull. The look is a combination of disappointment and acceptance. And a second later, she blinks twice, and her expression returns to calm. She’s already over it.
I’m not.
My head tips down another inch. I’m not teasing her so much as taunting myself. Look but don’t touch. This is as close as you’ll ever get to Gracie Albright.
I lower her to the ground slowly, watching her legs stretch out until she’s on her feet. Without looking back at me, she walks to the centerline and prepares to resume play. And just like that, we’re two opponents.
She gives me a ferocious stare, makes a V with her fingers, and points from her eyes to mine, telling me she’s got my number. “Put me in Coach, I’ve got this.”
Shifting from one foot to the other with her hands hanging down in a ready position, she waits until I nudge the ball into play. She dives for it without missing a beat, taking it from one socked foot to the other and sliding toward the goal. I turn, and two strides get me in front of her. She darts to the left, but I follow her.
Pretending to go right, she gets me off balance for long enough for a fake out. She turns her back on me, controls the ball, and shoots.
It hits the net like she’s done it a thousand times.
Gracie looks at me like she can’t believe it. “Did you let me have that one?”
I hold up my hands in protest. “Nope, you made that goal, fair and square. Nice fake. I bought right into it.”
She nods and comes over for a high five. “I’d say best three out of five, but I’m hungry and I know to quit while I’m ahead,” she teases, her eyes dancing with delight.
I don’t dare tell her that I wasn’t about to let her take me to dinner, so I may have slowed my roll for an extra few seconds. It doesn’t matter. The point is that I’m getting what I came for, which is the right to take her to dinner, even if it’s under the guise of losing a soccer bet.
I’ll take any excuse to spend time with her, even if it tarnishes my soccer cred a tiny bit in the process.
“What do you feel like eating?” I ask, only slightly worried she’ll pick some hideous fast food joint or ask for a dinner of donuts and Slurpees.
She rubs her hands together with a big grin. “I’m a meat-and-potatoes girl. Will it kill your austerity plan if we go for a steak?”
“Nope. It won’t kill any plans at all.” Except the plan to make her mine. That plan is dead in the water, and it’s already killing me.
