Page 14 of The Comeback

She gnaws on her bottom lip, and I catch a whiff of vanilla and something that makes me think of sunshine. “I need to apologize. I should have told you I knew who you were and explained who I was. I can help you. Despite what I tell my father and brothers, I love football.”

I arch an eyebrow. “Do I get to hold that over your head?”

One corner of her mouth raises, making my breath catch. She’s a gorgeous woman. And if I were smart, I’d stay away from her. “You can, but I don’t think they believe me, anyway. I’ve participated in dance since I was three years old and played about every sport that they let girls play while growing up. I’m studying to be a sports psychologist. And I can forgive you for insulting dance as a sport if you can pretend to give it a fair shake.”

I lift my beer to my lips and down the remnants. Practicing ballet is a mistake, but not for the same reason I thought. I’m attracted to her. There’s no denying it. But she’s a distraction. One I can’t afford.

However, walking away would be a bigger mistake. If I don’t do everything in my power to get these two steps back, I’m going to be out on my ass, anyway.

“Fine.” I nod. “How do we do this?”

Her eyes light up, and I force down a groan. Mistake. I’m making a huge mistake. Pretty girl alert. Lord, I’m as ridiculous as a thirteen-year-old boy discovering a nudie magazine for the first time.

“You come to the studio three days a week with an open mind. Each session will last one hour, and we’ll get you back on the field in the same shape or better than you were before your injury.”

Adrenaline makes my skin itch. What if she can get me back into my pre-injury shape? “When do we start?”

“I can fit you in tomorrow at five o’clock. Can you get up that early?”

“Sure. That’s not a problem.” I set the bottle down on the counter. “What other days?”

“Tuesday and Thursday?”

“Does the same time work for you on all the days? It works the best for me because the team doesn’t do anything that early.”

“Yes. Same time.” She trails her fingers through her hair. I want to touch it and see if it feels as soft as it looks.

“How many weeks?”

“It’s four weeks until training camp. We’ll use them all until you get back to top performance. If we don’t, it won’t matter because you won’t be here.”

Sweat pools on my back. She’s not wrong about that. “I’ll see you at five o’clock tomorrow morning.”

She swallows and looks around the bar as if she’s searching for anyone who might be listening to our conversation. There are plenty of people in the bar, but the music is too loud for anyone to hear. “I need to tell you one last thing before moving forward.”

“Go ahead.”

“I made a bet with Knox that you won’t make the team.”

Talk about a jab to the heart and my ego. “I’m assuming you were on the side of my not making the team?”

“Yes, I was. But I’m not any longer.” She grabs my forearm as I rotate my head in a circle to ease the tension. “You’ll get those two steps back.” Her fingers tighten on my skin. “I promise. I hated betting against you, but….” She shrugs. “It was a bet, and without breaking through your mental blocks, you won’t get those two steps back.”

It hurts more than I’d like to admit that she’d shoved me out to pasture before we even met. How many other people are in the same boat? Does Vegas have a line on whether I’ll make a team this year or not?

My gut churns at the thought. This can’t be the end. It won’t be the end. I won’t let it. “I’m ready to do this.”

A slow smile curves up to her cheeks, and her eyes dance with mischief. “Since I’m going to lose a bet with my brother, let’s make a wager.”

“What’s the wager?”

“I bet you’re going to learn to enjoy dancing while getting those two steps back.”

I chuckle. “You’re on.” I stick my hand out and grasp hers. There’s no way I’m going to like dancing.

“Perfect.” She winks and drops her arm back down to her side. “The bet with Knox was that I’d have to do the dishes for him after Sunday dinners if he won. So, I need someone to do the dishes for me when he wins. For a month.”

“At your parent’s house?” My mouth feels like I swallowed a handful of sawdust. Washing dishes at her parent’s house? That means I’d have to be there for Sunday dinners.

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