He must slow down, must take pity on me, because I somehow manage to catch up to him. I wind my hand back, ready to smack him on the ass and give him a taste of his own medicine.
I’m so focused on that Adonis ass of his that I’m not paying attention to where I’m stepping, and I miscalculate, the very tip of my toe hitting the edge of the stair instead of the middle.
I gasp, sneaker sliding off the edge without a prayer of grip, and the last thing I see before I start tumbling down is Greg’s wide eyes as he launches to try to catch me.
It’s too late.
I fly forward, closing my eyes and throwing my hands out to brace myself for impact.
But instead of concrete, I slam into rock hard, sweaty biceps.
“Whoa, whoa,” he says. “Easy there.”
I’m gripping those massive biceps like they’re my only lifeline, panting hard for a long moment before I’m brave enough to peek one eye open, and then the other. Massive hands hold me steady in their grip, and I’m now face-level with a set of pecs that could rival Thor and an eight-pack of abs that could only be carved by never having a carb in one’s life.
I frown.
Wait, Greg wasn’t shirtless…
My eyes trail up the torso, and I’m met with an amused smirk.
But not the familiar one I’ve come to love from Greg.
The man holding me has tussled brown hair, lighter and longer than Greg’s, his eyes a piercing blue rather than a warm brown. He’s absolutely colossal, tall and imposing in every way as he rights me, his hands still firm on my arms.
“You alright there?” he asks, his eyes dazzling as they take me in.
I can’t speak. Words simply don’t exist in this current moment, not when I’ve got a ridiculously gorgeous beast of a man’s hands on me.
I didn’t think it was possible, but I start sweating even more profusely, and I know without a mirror that my cheeks are the color of my bright red tank top.
“Um… I…” I try to speak, try to step out of his grip, but just slight pressure on my right ankle has me hissing, reaching for the arm of one of the stadium seats to brace myself.
“Shit, Amanda, are you okay?”
Greg’s familiar voice breaks the fog, and I bring my gaze to find him standing a couple stairs above, access to me blocked by the beastly man still holding onto my arms.
“I think you twisted your ankle pretty good there,” the man says, and then he releases his grip on me and bends down, his fingers applying pressure to my ankle.
I hiss again, and then my eyes find Greg.
Who looks absolutely murderous.
His jaw is tight, muscles flexing as his hands curl into fists at his sides at the sight of this strange man’s hands on me. When his eyes snap back to mine, all the blood drains from my face.
Possession.
Raw and heady and rolling off him in plumes.
The man stands again, offering me a cocky smirk before he says, “Don’t worry, ma’am. I’m a firefighter. I got you.”
Then, without permission or warning, the man bends down and sweeps me into his arms like a baby, cradling me between his massive arms and his barrel of a chest.
“Let’s get you down to first aid,” he says, already making his way up the stairs.
He pushes right past Greg in the process.
“Um, my friend—”
“Can follow us up,” the guy finishes for me, only slightly angling his head as he calls out behind him, “Right, bud?”
I look at Greg then, just in time to see his nose flare, his eyes boring a hole into the back of the guy’s head.
“I’m Samuel, by the way,” he says, pulling my attention back to him. “Samuel Waters.”
“Amanda,” I answer softly, trying to find Greg again, but the way I’m angled in Samuel’s arms now, I can’t see him anymore.
“I don’t know if you realize this, but you were just saved by Mr. January,” he says with a cocky grin, waggling his brows. “Well, soon-to-be Mr. January. I’m auditioning for the cover of his year’s calendar.”
I have to fight to keep my face from showing the mixture of confusion and awkwardness I feel at his statement. “Congrats?”
“Thanks, babe. You know, I thought that’d be the best part of today, getting in some good shots before the audition.” He pauses, eyes trailing to my cleavage. “Turns out the best part of today is meeting you.”
I can’t help it, I laugh out loud at the line, but my cheeks heat even with how cheesy it is.
Is this guy flirting with me?
I cock my head, assessing the way his amorous gaze unabashedly holds mine.
No way, that doesn’t make sense! He’s maybe in his mid-thirties and has the body of an Olympic athlete.
What could he possibly see in me?
Samuel carries me the entire way to the first-aid tent, and then takes it upon himself to ice my ankle and give me some ibuprofen. He chats with me in-between flirting with the girls running the first-aid station, who seem to be no stranger to his antics, and then he wraps my ankle up nice and tight and helps me stand, testing my weight on it.
“You going to be okay walking out to your car?”
“I’ve got her.”
Both our gazes snap to Greg, who has been surprisingly silent and respectful waiting at the edge of the tent. He took over filling out the intake form for me, and it surprised me how little he had to ask me while filling it out, how much he already knew. After that, he stood to the side, letting Samuel and the girls get me situated while he waited — and nearly ground his teeth to ash, if my assessment was correct.
It seems his patience has run out, though, and he steps between me and Samuel, looping his arm under mine so I can bear my weight on him, and not so subtly edging Samuel away from me altogether.
Samuel tries to smile at Greg, but it falls short, and the two stare each other down like a couple of alpha wolves.
I clear my throat. “Thanks, Samuel. I appreciate all your help.”
That gets his attention back on me, and he smiles, wide and toothy. “It was my pleasure, beautiful. I’ll see you around,” he adds, and the way his eyes trail the length of me, it doesn’t seem like a friendly farewell as much as a promise.
“See you,” I say on a weak voice.
And then Greg helps me hobble to the golf cart waiting to drive us out to the parking lot.
CHAPTER NINE
GREG
My blood had somewhat died down from the raging boil it had been at the stadium.
By the time I got Amanda home and situated on her couch, right ankle elevated on a throw pillow and bag of ice strapped on tight, I was breathing a little easier, relaxing a bit more.
I still felt it simmering under the surface, though — still felt the tenseness in my neck and jaw as I sat on the ground next to the couch, staring at her rapidly swelling ankle.
“I’m so sorry, Amanda.”
“Would you stop it already,” she says with a smile, shoving my shoulder lightly. “I’m fine. It was an accident.”
“An accident I caused,” I refute gruffly.
“You are not the reason I’m clumsier than a one-legged giraffe, okay? I’ve been that way my whole life.”