Page 57 of Second Go-Round

Her lips twitched. “Just kidding.”

Cursing, I stabbed the unlock button on my key fob. “You’re going to be the death of me,” I muttered.

I opened the passenger door, but she hesitated from climbing in, the small space between us was way too much for my liking. Those green eyes of hers peered into mine, reaching inside me and twisting my insides up tight.

As if the woman didn’t already have a clenching grip on my soul as it was.

“I don’t think I’d like a world without Jarod Zimmerman in it,” she whispered as though an epiphany had come to light inside her head.

Talk about fucking hope. It exploded like fireworks inside my chest, brightening every cell inside my body.

I held her stare so she would see my determination and understand the lengths I would go to in order to win the war over her fears. I’d already conquered mine—hell, she had done that without trying—and I looked forward to watching hers crumble. “You’ve just given me a reason to be even more ambitious.”

She huffed. “Don’t get any ideas.”

“Too late.” I grinned and nodded toward the passenger seat. “Sit your fine ass down, woman. We’ve got a football game and beer awaiting us.”

Keeping things on a friend level was torture for my cock but totally doable since her words and body language spoke for themselves. She wanted me. Her dilated pupils and heightened pulse jumping in her neck every time our bodies brushed against each other only confirmed my assumptions.

I kept the conversation light, and we didn’t lack things to talk about. Sure, we had only spent a total of two nights together, but I swore we’d known each other for years. We’d connected in ways far beyond our shared love of sports and hops with an ease that seemed too effortless. Scary as fuck and yet oh so right. But how could I make her see the truth of what we could be before she fled?

I focused on taking in the sights of Gillette and the outrageously expensive food and drinks rather than staring at her expressive face. I focused on the Pats crushing the Texans instead of how she screamed and cursed, jumping to her feet in either excitement or pissiness over a bullshit call. I focused on the long walk back to my car amidst thousands of other fans heading off to celebrate our win when all I wanted to do was drag her against my side and tuck her in close for safe keeping.

Our boys had crushed their opponents, continuing their winning streak and giving us confidence they would go on to win the AFC Championship. Both of us exited the stadium on a high, our feet light even as we traipsed down the road toward the self-storage business we’d parked at.

As with throughout the game, we discussed calls, the ways our defense had ruled the field, and our offense dominated. Neither of us mentioned Jackson or the fact he’d been on the field for the first time since his injury. He’d played a good game though. I had to give him that.

But he wasn’t the man who got to take Christine home.

“Where to?” I asked once I sat behind the wheel, my nose and fingertips slightly chilled from the brisk fall evening.

Christine shrugged, her lower lip sucking in between her teeth. Our gazes held over the console, filling me with an ache I saw echoed in her eyes.

“You’re ready to call it a night, but you’re not ready to call it a night,” I said. “Does that nonsense about sum it up?”

She wrinkled her nose. “Am I that obvious?”

“No less than me.”

She laughed lightly, turning away to put on her seat belt. “What a pair we make, huh?”

Fuck yeah, we did. I caught her gaze and smiled, wanting her and yet completely content to even just sit beside her for another hour. “So. How about a drink?”

“Depends where.”

“While I’d love to say my place or yours—” I waggled my eyebrows “—I’m thinking O’Neill’s.” A safer choice for her, one she’d be more inclined to agree to so our time together wouldn’t end.

She hesitated a few seconds, and I let her figure out what she wanted while I made my way out of the parking lot.

“I promised my dad and Jessie I would avoid Boston bars,” she finally said, “but O’Neill’s isn’t a huge dance joint. It ought to be safe enough.”

It took a long, fucking time, but we finally headed north toward the city. Same as our ride to Gillette Stadium, the conversation didn’t wane. A comfortable companionship filled my car, regardless of the sexual energy beneath the surface tempting me to push for more.

We claimed a small table in the back of my favorite bar forty-five minutes later. A nice dim corner tucked against the brick wall to hide away from the busy bar and kitchen so we could chat over the din of happy Pats fans and the hint of music beneath. The hallway leading to the bathrooms lay to my right, giving us extra privacy and me the chance to face the other patrons and better keep an eye on shit.

Nothing worse than having to sit with your back to a room.

A cold bottle of beer between my hands, I studied the woman across from me whose gaze flitted around the bar. “Is your date boring you?” I asked, hating the flare of jealousy when her eyes lingered on a buff guy in too tight of a T-shirt checking her out.

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