Page 17 of The Comeback

“I do.” He nods with a serious expression. I must give him credit; he’s focused when he’s training.

Five minutes later, I raise onto my tiptoe and assume the position. “Now, we complete the turn and return to the retire position after the spin.”

When he finishes the steps we’ve practiced, we repeat them three times. “Now, we add a jump.” I launch into the air and land on my toe, lowering to the ground. Then, I spin around to face him. “I need you to trust that your ankle isn’t going to give out. You’re a strong man with a healthy body. Your doctors and trainers are phenomenal at their jobs. If there was anything wrong with your ankle, they wouldn’t have allowed you to return to the field.”

He smirks. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Now, dance like no one is watching.”

“Fine,” he growls and completes the steps I showed him, landing gracefully on his healed foot.

“Perfect.” I jump up and wrap my arms around his neck. Oh, fuck. What am I doing? “I’m sorry.”

I try to wiggle away, but his arms wrap around my back to hold me in place. “Do you congratulate all your dancers like this?” His chest heaves against mine, and it’s impossible not to feel the steely length of his semi-hard cock against my belly.

“Yes. No.” I shake my head. “Well, not exactly like this. Dance is a touchy-feely kind of sport where we congratulate each other with high-fives and hugs, but the sexual tension is usually missing.”

Shit. I can’t do this. I’m not looking for a football player as my future husband and father to my kids. I don’t want to be dragged all over the place, uprooting our family every couple of years. Or living in two different cities. I want an Average Joe, who works a nine-to-five job. Then, why am I still standing here?

One corner of his mouth raises. “Did you hug Devin like this?”

“No.” I wiggle out of his grip. “I didn’t, and I shouldn’t have with you. I’m sorry. I’m not going to deny I feel a sexual attraction toward you, but I’m not interested in dating someone like you.”

He crosses his arms over his chest. “Are we back there again? I thought maybe I’d earned my way out of the doghouse from my mouth running away from me.”

“No. Not like that,” I sigh as heaviness settles on my shoulders. Why does life have to be so complicated? Why isn’t he a nice accountant? “Listen, you know my dad was a pro player when I was a kid, and we moved a lot. Then, after he became a coach, my parents lived apart for several years because we were in high school, and my mom didn’t want to uproot us. I don’t want to fall in love and marry a football player. It would screw everything up.”

“So….” He pauses for dramatic effect. “You’re in control of who you’re going to fall in love with?”

“Of course.” His look becomes more pointed at my hasty response. “Fine.” I wave my hand in front of me as he cocks his chin upward and bites his bottom lip. Damn him. He knows that’s sexy as fuck. And if he doesn’t, he’s been living under a rock. “Maybe I’m not in complete control of that, but….” Shit. I inhale. I still want to kiss him. “Let’s keep this relationship friendly. We can be friends, right?”

“Sure, I’d like that.” He rakes a hand through his hair, leaving several strands standing on end. The man shouldn’t be allowed to be this hot. “You’re right. I’m not looking for a girlfriend either. I’ve got to focus on football and getting my next contract. It’s the only thing that’s important.”

“Deal.” I shove my hand out, and he grabs it inside his. I ignore the rough callouses and the butterflies in my belly. We’re friends. That’s it. I’m friends with lots of guys on the team. And their wives.

But he’s not married. Like I needed a reminder of that fact.

Twenty minutes later, he slings his arm over my shoulders as he gasps for air. It’s impossible not to appreciate the beauty and strength of the man. And his dedication to training is unparalleled with anyone else I’ve ever met.

I jab my elbow into his impossibly firm gut. “You would’ve made a phenomenal dancer.”

“Thank you.” His eyes glow. “It’s a lot harder than I anticipated. My stomach muscles and my glutes are quivering. And I’m starving.” He drops his arm and stands back. “Do you want to grab something to eat?”

My breath hitches. We’ve agreed to be friends. Getting something to eat is a friendly thing to do. “Sure.”

So, why does this feel like I’m standing on a rope stretched over the Grand Canyon, and the rope is on fire? I should have said we should keep things professional.

No. It’s not a big deal. I can be friends with him.

Chapter Ten

Weston

As I wait for Charlotte to get out of her car in the parking lot of the café she recommended, I question my sanity. The woman is checking boxes I didn’t know I had. And…. it can’t go anywhere.

She hops out and slams the door shut. “This place is delicious. You’re going to love it. I hope you don’t mind homecooked food.”

“Mind?” My mouth waters. “Please, I love homecooked food. The one upside of training for six hours a day is that I can eat what I want.” My mom is a fantastic cook, but living out of a hotel makes cooking impossible. Shit, now I want my mom’s twice-baked potato soup.

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