Page 95 of The Love Playbook

I shrug and rub my stomach. “I’m a growing boy.”

Charlotte just shakes her head.

Once our drinks are ready and our cheesecake plated, we take a seat at the back. The coffee shop is mostly empty, save for us and a couple of other stragglers coming and going, mostly college-aged kids like us.

I take a sip of my tea and grimace while Charlotte snickers. “You need to add honey. It’ll make it better, I promise,” she says, taking my cup and heading toward the counter where I watch her add a generous amount of honey. I may or may not also watch the way her ass moves in those leggings.

I mean,damn.

When she returns, I take another sip and mentally pat myself on the back for not making a face.

“Don’t act like you weren’t just checking out my ass over there.”

I grin. “Busted.”

“How is it?” she asks, eyeing my cup.

“Your ass?”

“No.” She whacks me in the arm, laughing. “The tea!”

“Oh.” I grin. “Bearable. But it’s not coffee.”

Charlotte sighs and shakes her head. “There’s no hope for you.”

“Coulda told you that,” I say as I pick up a fork and start digging into my cheesecake with fervor while Charlotte watches, a ghost of a grin skating over her lips.

“So, are you going to tell me what’s wrong?” I ask.

The grin disappears almost immediately. “What do you mean?” Her gaze shifts out of focus, staring at nothing.

“You can’t fool me. I can tell when something’s bothering you, and something about that dinner with your dad was . . . off.” I settle on for lack of better words.

She exhales, her whole body shrinking with the sound. “It’s nothing.”

I reach out and tilt her chin with my fingers until her gaze meets mine. “Do I have to kiss it out of you?”

Her dark brows shoot up. “Is that a threat, Collins?”

“A threat or a promise, what’s the difference?”

Lettie leans back so she’s out of reach, and I immediately want to yank her back to me, but I don’t. I need to do this at her pace. I need to go slow.

“It’s nothing. Just . . .” She chews on her lip, and I can practically see the wheels spinning in her head as she tries to find the words. “It’s stuff with my mother. But it’s nothing I can’t handle, especially after talking to my dad. It’ll be alright.”

“You sure?” I ask, concern laced in my tone. “Whatever’s going on, you can tell me. Maybe I can help?”

She grunts. “Trust me, there’s nothing you can do to help, but I have it figured out. It’s all good, I promise.”

I drop my gaze back to my plate, sensing she wants to change the subject. “So, are you going to watch the game from the dorms tomorrow and cheer me on?”

“I’ll be with Brynn, so yes, but we’ll actually be watching on your big screen TV. That way, she can scream at the refs all she wants without getting a noise complaint.”

Why does the idea of Charlotte sitting onmycouch, watchingmygame turn me on?

“Is that really the only reason you’ll be watching?” My tone is teasing, but underneath it is a serious question, because I want her to watch for me.

She hesitates, as if trying to decide whether to tell the truth or not. “No,” she finally says, and it’s ridiculous how fucking relieved I am.