Neither of us moves. My hands hover around his head, fingertips barely threaded through the soft strands of his hair, as if needing to touch but also unwilling to mess up the carefully styled locks.
Something, I don’t know what, but…something different pulses between us.
My gaze falls to his mouth and his nostrils flare.
Gah!
I just want to grab his face and kiss him.
While I don’t do that, I do end up pressing my hands flat to cup his face, but it’s a gentle hold meant to garner every ounce of his focus. What I have to say is important. I don’t want him to miss a word.
“Your geekiness”—I spit the word, mad he’s twisting it as some kind of insult—“is one of the best things about you. Geek chic is a compliment, not an insult. And”—I rise onto my toes, trying to get us as close to eye to eye as our height difference allows—“if some chick can’t appreciate that about you, she isn’t worth your time.”
Again, his eyes slide to the left, but he brings them back to me when I pinch him tighter. “If you say so,” he whispers.
“I do.” I drop back onto my heels. “Plus…who’s the love coach in this relationship?”
Did I just insinuate that we have a relationship? Oof, talk about a Freudian slip.
“Love coach?” Alex asks before coming over and propping his face on my shoulder. I swear I must have been a pirate in a previous life with how often people take this parrot position with me. “Tell me more.”
Mushing Alex in the face, I ease him away. “So nosy.” I tsk.
“What if I offered a bribe?” He lifts the bag and points to it.
“Depends.” I start down the hallway, turning to walk backward when the guys start to follow. “What’s in the bag?”
“Cheesesteaks,” he states proudly, and my stomach is not the only one rumbling.
“We swung by to see Alex’s family on our way back from Noah’s and know better than to return from Philly without them,” Kev tacks on, setting the bag on the island with an audible thump.
“Umm…” I eye the bag that sounded more like it’s holding a bowling ball than greasy goodness. “I know you guys tend to put in some serious work when it comes to food, but it sounds like you bought enough to feed an army.”
Alex confirms my suspicions, and I stop counting somewhere around the time he pulls out the dozenth foil-wrapped sandwich.
“Who the hell are you feeding with all that?” I wave at the gluttonous feast stacked in a wide pyramid.
“It’s cute you’d think we’d roll through without telling the others.” Alex boops me on the nose, claiming the barstool to my right while Kev takes the left.
“I’m assuming the others are Kay and Mase?” I hear CK’s voice, but it takes me a moment to spot him leaning against the end of the counter. He’s put as much distance between him and us as possible, watching us interact in a way I haven’t seen him do in weeks.
“And Trav…and JT…and I’m sure Tessa and Savvy will tag along,” Kev adds.
I accept the sandwich in Kev’s outstretched hand with a nod of thanks. The sweet scent of grilled onions and peppers makes my mouth water as I unwrap the foil, grease coating my fingers within seconds of lifting the sandwich.
I’m millimeters away from beefsteak and melted cheese sauce nirvana, the soft dough of the hoagie bread touching my lips, when something dawns on me.
“Wait…you told them you were coming home, but not us?” I bounce a finger between CK and me.
“Eh, we knew we’d see you guys,” Kev mumbles around what I swear is half the sandwich stuffed into his mouth.
“Yeah, those losers are living the nomadic life this summer,” Alex adds.
“Nomadic seems like a bit of a stretch,” CK deadpans. “At least until training camp starts for E in a few weeks,” he says, referring to Kay’s older brother Eric who plays for Baltimore.
“Speaking of training camp”—Kev drops the arm not holding his cheesesteak around my shoulders—“what’s the sitch with this love coach thing? Do you have a costume? Is it a seggsy thing?”
A man who’s a veritable brick wall, capable of stopping anyone who dares to try to get to Trav on the gridiron, should not use the word seggsy. Nor should they waggle their eyebrows so animatedly they look like they could detach from his face.
“Ooo, if it is, can I sign up to be on your team?” Alex raises a Pick me, pick me hand. “What’s a little friends with bennies between roomies, am I right?” He puckers his lips at me, and I roll my eyes, more than used to his flirtatious nature.
“I did find myself in bed with CK the first day I took on the role.” I shoot CK a wink, color staining his cheeks.
Kev and Alex whip their gaze around, literally sitting on the edge of their seats for his confirmation.
Instead, CK focuses on me. “I thought you said literal answers need not apply,” he teases, still not letting me off the hook for my highly inappropriate reaction to his You push me over answer.
“That’s for writing prompts.” I try to sound tough, but even I can hear the smile in my voice. “And it’s not like I lied.”
“Yeah, but you’re making it sound like something it wasn’t, Red.”
“Red?” Kev asks.
“What happened to Q?” Alex adds.
I ignore the commentary from the peanut gallery, too busy waving the metaphorical pom-poms over CK calling me Red in front of others for the first time.
“Fine.” I huff like he’s ruining all my fun when, in reality, I’m just getting started. “You wanna tell them all about my exceptional skill at blowing a whistle?” I add a seductive purr to the phrase, dirtying it up.
Alex does a spit take, onions, peppers, and beefsteak flying in all directions, while Kev ends up choking on his.
Having dealt with me on his own for weeks now, CK doesn’t succumb to the tease. “Uh-huh, that’s why I stole that damn whistle and tossed it off the balcony.”
That he did. The jerk is lucky it didn’t hit anybody.
“Wait…are we talking about a literal whistle?” Kev asks, then mimes bringing a whistle to his lips. “Like the shiny silver kind Coach Knight uses to pierce our souls when he calls out a new set of wind sprints?”
“Yup,” I say longingly.
“Damn.” Alex smacks the counter, the slap of his palm ringing out almost as loudly as the bleats of my whistle did that morning. “We’re missing all the good stuff.”
#CHAPTER14
* * *
The thundering rumble of bowling balls rolling down the wooden lanes followed by the crash and scattering of the corresponding pins toppling over has been the soundtrack of the evening.
Unfortunately, the cacophony inside Victory Lanes pales in comparison to the chaos inside my own head.
This was not at all how I thought tonight would go, and I imagined countless scenarios—ranging from the mundane to the mortifying—about how tonight’s date with Julia would play out.
Sure, as far as dates go, this one hasn’t been terrible. Though the bar was set pretty low since my most recent one ended with a bailout call.