Page 4 of Tight End
“I’m not strange,” I deadpanned, leaning back. “I’m strategic.”
Her lips twitched like she didn’t want to smile, but she was losing that fight. “Strategic. Right. That’s the word we’re going with.”
I shrugged. “It worked, didn’t it?”
The server came, interrupting our repartee. We ordered, and then we were alone again.
“So.” She lifted her water glass. “Let’s hear it. Tell me something real. Something not football related.”
I liked the way she talked. No hesitation, bold and direct, very New York. It was unusual for someone from the South—something I’d guessed because she had just the faintest hint of an accent.
I leaned back in the booth, one arm stretched across the top. “Something real, huh?”
“I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.” She tipped her glass toward me, the ice clinking softly. A wicked smile split my face, and she laughed. “Something real, as in not a sexual fantasy.”
I sighed and nodded once. “Fair.”
Her laugh this time was unguarded and real, her head tipping back just enough to show off the curve of her throat and her nose wrinkling adorably. I felt the sound settle in my chest like a drug. She had a damn good laugh. Low and smooth, sending tendrils of desire through my body.
I couldn’t look away. It wasn’t just that she was hot. She had that thing…presence. Confidence. A mind as sharp as her wit. And when she laughed like that, I wanted to bottle the sound.
She dropped her chin and grinned down at her napkin, folding the corner like she needed somewhere to put her energy.
“I grew up in Chicago.”
Marissa snapped her fingers. “I knew it!” I cocked a brow, and she smirked. “It’s mostly the way you sometimes pronounce things, like ‘cot’ instead of caught. And how you say ‘pop’ instead of ‘soda.’”
I couldn’t help laughing at that. “Apparently, I’m still a Midwesterner at heart.”
Her eyes danced merrily as she teased, “And that Midwestern grit. Did you live in the city?”
I nodded but paused when the server brought our food and waited until he was gone to continue. “I grew up in River North until I was about to start high school, then we moved to Lake Forest.”
Marissa was taking a sip of her wine but choked on it when I answered her question. She swallowed hard, then coughed several times. I slid around the bench seat and patted her back, waving off the manager who had taken a step in our direction with a worried frown.
“Are you okay?” I asked when she was breathing normally again.
“Yeah. I was just a little surprised. Aren’t those neighborhoods super ri—” Her cheeks turned pink. “Um, isn’t Lake Forest on the list of, um, the wealthiest suburbs in the nation?”
I shrugged and cut into my steak. “Probably. I come from old money.” I winked at her. “But not the flashy kind, with gold-plated faucets and Ferraris for sweet sixteens.”
She giggled, and the sound hit me in the chest again, spreading warmth.
“My dad’s a lawyer—real estate contracts and trust law. My mom stayed home with us. They both came from money, but they raised us to work like we didn’t. Don’t get me wrong, we had the perks—private school, solo lessons, and we could do just about any activity we wanted because the cost wasn’t an issue. But they made sure we knew how lucky we were and didn’t turn out to be entitled assholes. Respect wasn’t optional, chores were nonnegotiable, grades had to be earned, and we played community sports right alongside kids who didn’t have half what we did. My parents didn’t give a shit how much your family made—only what kind of person you were.”
“Sounds like they were amazing parents.”
“The best,” I replied, my voice thick with affection. Then I grinned. “My older brother and two younger sisters are okay, I guess. But we bicker like it’s a contact sport.”
“Sounds like how I am with my younger brother. My parents keep expecting us to grow out of it, but I’m not so sure,” she chuckled, spearing a piece of roasted beet from her salad.
I watched the way she chewed. Unhurried. Casual. Like she had no idea how hot it was, the way her mouth moved. The way her lips wrapped around the rim of her glass. I shifted in my seat and took a drink of my own to cool down.
“What about you?” I croaked. “Tell me something not football related.”
“I’m from Mississippi."
I snapped my fingers, mimicking her earlier reaction. “I knew it!”
