Page 32 of Playing the Field
Hunter
If I hada photo of the look on Gracie’s face, I’d tuck it away in my wallet for those times when I need reminding that sometimes life gives you everything you ever wanted.
In this case, it takes them away just as quickly. Our dinner was only supposed to be two people with hunger pangs satisfying a bet over a futsal game. But I’m such a horny asshole that I had to turn it into a game, a test of wills, an opportunity to see how far Gracie would let me go before putting on the brakes.
Every time I embarrass her, it brings out that berry glow in her cheeks, and I feel like I’ve won every damn lottery.
The guy with the monster ego wants to think it’s because she feels some fraction of the heat that thrums in my veins the closer I move to her. It was all I could do during dinner not to yank her chair next to mine, take her chin in the palm of my hand, and find out if her lips taste as good as they look.
I’m not an animal, and I don’t fucking dare push her to where she doesn’t want to go. But what if she wants to go there? As each day passes, the more I need to know.
As I drive her back to the Devils headquarters so that she can get her car, I feel a tension between us that didn’t exist before. It’s the crackle of electricity in the damp night air before a lightning storm that threatens every tree and bit of dry brush for miles. And I want to fucking burn everything around us to the ground.
I know I can’t. And I know it’s not even for my benefit that I need to keep my hands to myself. She took the job with the Devils as an important career move. She needs it to go well so she can stay on track and find her way back to a better job in Silicon Valley. I can’t be the jerk who jeopardizes that because I can’t keep my dick in my pants.
Kyler warned me, and now I’m warning myself.
Hands. Fucking. Off.
“You okay?” Gracie’s quiet voice snaps me out of the conversation in my head and makes me realize I haven’t spoken to her for nearly ten minutes.
“Sorry. Yeah, I’m good. Thinking about the exhibition game next week.”
“Oh. D’you get nervous about those even though they don’t count in the team record?”
“Yeah, it almost doesn’t matter if it’s a league game or not. Everything counts. Coaches watch everything we do, and the biggest thing is to play hard and not get injured.” I laugh, realizing she probably knows things from analyzing my performance numbers that I don’t even know. “I’m sure that’s hard to believe, from someone like me who is a little lamb on the field.”
Now it’s her turn to laugh. “You do your job, that’s for sure.”
I wait, hoping she’ll elaborate. It’s not for the ego massage that I want her to say something positive about my game. I want to know that she thinks I’m talented. I want her to see me as morethan another body with stats and probability. I want her to see that I have something to offer her, even though I can’t offer her anything.
“Anyhow, I get in my head sometimes,” I mutter.
“Don’t we all. I just figured out a way to make it my job.”
“Never thought of it that way.”
She’s silent for so long afterward that I glance at her face, which is lined in concentration. Before I can ask what’s wrong, she blurts, “By the way, there’s similar language in the code of conduct here. About relationships within the company. I checked.”
“Oh. Yeah? What made you check?” I ask as casually as I can, but I’m dying to know if she’s considering a relationship with someone at the Devils organization.
“Being thorough. Figured it was good to know.”
“Data is good. Someone taught me that.”
That gets me a hollow laugh, and I wait to see if she’ll elaborate. She turns her head to look out the window and says nothing more. I pull into the parking lot, which is mostly empty. It’s easy to spot her little electric car lined up precisely between the white lines delineating the parking space.
Rain still lightly pelts the windshield, so I lean over and fish an umbrella from my back seat, then carry it over to her side of the car. Holding it over her head, I walk her the few paces to her car and wait for her to unlock her door.
This is where I have to stop myself from following my instinct, which says to lower the umbrella and let the tiny raindrops fall on us. To pull her in close and kiss her the way I’ve wanted to all night long. To press her against the side of her car and let her know how much I want her.
But this is Gracie, and I fight every instinct that tells me to get closer to her. I need to step away even though it fucking hurts.
“Good night, Tink.” I give her a kiss on the cheek like thegentleman I most certainly am not, not when all my thoughts are about how good it would feel to be inside her.
“Good night. Thanks again for dinner.” She offers me a smile, slides into her car, and closes the door like it’s the easiest thing in the world to say goodbye. And I stand there, wishing I had something sharper and wittier to say. Then I might have a chance at making her stay.
CHAPTER 17
