Page 15 of Shut Up and Jingle Me
“Feet a little wider,” I murmur, tapping my toe against his until he shifts. My hand brushes his hip as I guide his stance, and the heat that shoots through me is instant.
I should move. I should back off and give him space. But my palm stays there for a beat too long, fingers curving just enough to feel the flex of muscle under my touch.
Eli doesn’t pull away. He just glances at me from under his lashes, the corner of his mouth lifting with a knowing look. That damn glitter sparkling on his cheeks, catching my attention.
“Better?” he asks, voice light, pretending with me that this is just another rep, just another correction.
“Yeah.”
And then I’m stepping back, shoving my hands in my pockets before I can do something stupid. Like give in to the thought that keeps circling inside my head. How easy it would be to close the space, how good it would feel to claim that smile for myself.
Eli shifts into position for the next set, but his gaze flicks to me before he starts. There’s a spark there, telling me he’s testing just how far he can push. He grins, slow and deliberate, and it’snot just athank you for the tipkind of grin. It’s ayeah, I see you watching megrin.
The more he throws those looks my way, the more I find myself adjusting things that don’t need adjusting. A hand on his shoulder to ‘correct’ his angle. A palm at his back to ‘help’ him keep steady. Every touch earns me another smile, another quirk of his mouth that makes my pulse pick up.
And he knows it.
By the time he sets the dumbbells down, he’s got this light sheen of sweat on his skin, and my head’s a mess of clipped corrections and too-long glances. I keep my tone short, professional—at least I think I do—but he’s reading me like a damn book.
He wipes his forehead with the hem of his shirt, eyes locking with mine as he says, “Guess I’ll have to keep you around if I want the VIP treatment.”
I roll my eyes and step back, but it’s too late. He’s got me pegged, and from the way his grin sharpens, I think he’s already planning his next move.
Eli grabs an extra towel from the rack, but instead of stepping away, he leans into my space—close enough that the clean scent of soap and whatever ridiculous holiday body spray he uses cuts through the sweat in the air.
“Jealousy looks good on you,” he says, voice low and far too pleased with himself.
I scoff, sharp and dismissive, because that’s safer than letting him see how the words actually land. “You think too highly of yourself.”
“Maybe.” He smirks, tossing the towel over his shoulder, acting as if he didn’t just lob a grenade into my chest. “Or maybe I just call it like I see it.”
I shake my head, stepping back before I can do something stupid, like prove him right. But the smug curl of his mouth lingers in my mind, burning hot behind my eyelids.
“I’ll see you tomorrow at practice, Coach,” he says, and the way he draws outCoachmakes it sound the same as a dare.
Before I can decide whether to answer and correct him on my title, he’s already glancing toward the far end of the gym. “Luke! Daniel!” he calls, waving them over. Luke’s grin widens when his eyes flick to me, while Daniel just looks confused.
Eli meets them halfway, still wearing that easy charm, and I force myself to turn away before I start wondering if he’s saving any of it for me.
The bellover the campus coffee shop door gives a half-hearted jingle as I step inside. The warmth and smell hits me the second the door closes behind me. Typical coffee house, coffee and sugar on the air.
I’m here for one thing—black coffee, nothing fancy, nothing sweet. But the line moves slowly, and somewhere near the pastry case, the air shifts.
Peppermint.
I don’t have to look at the chalkboard to know they’ve started pushing their seasonal drinks. Peppermint lattes. Whipped cream. A drizzle of chocolate if you want to go overboard. It is the exact drink Eli has every morning.
I can see it too easily—Eli with one in his hands, eyes bright, mouth tipped into that crooked grin he gets when he’s already halfway through teasing me about something. Or how he sings so loudly for his whole team. He has no hang ups, and it’ssort of intoxicating. The heat curling in my gut is instant and inconvenient.
I order my coffee black. The words are automatic, clipped, before I can talk myself into adding something else. Something ridiculous. Something that would make it look as if I thought about him this morning.
The barista calls my name. I grab my drink, push past the door, and tell myself it’s better this way.
The coffee’s hot in my hand, even with the sleeve, steam curling against the cold morning air. I take the same route I always do—cutting across the quad, past the brick path lined with almost bare trees.
Eli’s ahead of me, maybe thirty yards, walking as if there’s no rush to be anywhere. No hat, no gloves, shoulders loose, his breath puffing out in little clouds as he tips his head back to look at the sky. He doesn’t even have his phone out. He’s just…existing. .
It hits me then…it’s not an act. The way he jokes, the way he laughs as if the world can’t touch him…he’s like that even when no one’s watching. Like he was built without the weight the rest of us carry.
