Page 17

Grant

B y the time I get home from practice, I’m feeling Card’s accidental hit. It was more of a glance, really. But when a 265-pound beast sends you flat on your back in half pads, it hurts. It hurts in full pads too. But a little less.

When I swing the front door open, I expect to be greeted by Kenna and Zoe’s laughter and the smell of dinner in the oven. Instead, I’m nearly assaulted by all five-foot-nothing of Denise, her finger waving in my face.

“You have to do something.”

I fumble for my phone in my back pocket. Maybe I’ve missed a string of texts that would explain this greeting.

Denise doesn’t give me time to check. “She’s been here almost an hour. Refuses to eat or drink or sit down. Just wearing a hole in the rug in front of the couch.”

“Who?”

Denise raises disbelieving eyebrows, clearly calling me all kinds of fool. Fair. It can’t be anyone but her .

“I’ll . . .” I have no idea what I’m going to do because this is probably about one thing. “I’ll deal with it.” But before I head into the living room, I glance over my shoulder. “Kenna?”

“Drama club.”

“Right.” I knew that. Maybe Zoe’s just nervous for her protégé.

Ha. Wishful thinking at its best.

The second I enter the room, I know my first inkling was correct. Zoe is pacing a short path from one end of the couch to the other, head bowed, hands wringing the front of her sweater. Tension flows off her in an endless wave, and every few breaths catch in the back of her throat.

“Zo?” I whisper.

She jumps three feet into the air, eyes wild as they meet mine.

“Grant? What are you doing here?”

Taking a careful step forward and holding out a calming hand, I offer her the same smile I give new dogs at the shelter. “I live here.”

“Oh.” She blinks and shakes her head quickly. “Of course. Right. I’m sorry. I’ll leave.”

She’s halfway past me when I grab for her elbow and slow her escape. I keep my grip gentle as my fingers slide toward her wrist. Though she’s wearing a long-sleeve shirt, my brain fills in the softness of her arm, the satin of her skin, shooting straight to my belly. “Zoe?”

Her head bowed again, she twists the toe of her sneaker into the carpet. “Yeah?”

“Did you come here to see me?”

She shakes her head, the messy bun on top of her head flopping from side to side.

“You came here to wear a hole in my rug?”

“What?” She jerks around to look at the scene of her pacing, then swings back to finally face me. “I did not.”

“So you were here chasing me again?”

“That implies I chased you before, and I refuse to concede that allegation.”

“Ah.” I bend close until our faces are just about even. “So you don’t deny it this time.”

Her mouth twitches, and she fights off the smile but can’t keep the dimple from her cheek. “I plead the fifth.”

“Wise. Very wise.” Only then do I realize that my fingers have dipped lower, wrapping around her hand, tugging her closer. No matter how many times I tell myself to let go, my body refuses to do as it should. “So, what’s your excuse for being here if not chasing me?”

She swallows thickly, audibly. Though her gaze doesn’t shift from my face.

“I thought I should—that is, my dad is . . .” Her plump pink lips disappear in a line, and the world is the worse for it.

“I saw the headlines.”

She shakes her head. “I’m sorry about that.”

“You sent them that picture?”

Zoe jumps back and crosses her arms over her stomach, leaving my hand far too empty. “Of course not.”

“Then why are you sorry?”

Waving her hands around, she returns to her pacing. Same spot. Same rhythm. “Because if I wasn’t in that picture, it wouldn’t have been worth the cover. Because I’m the one giving you—and the team—publicity you don’t want.”

Forgetting the actual physical beating I took today, I feign an emotional injury, pressing one hand over my heart and the back of the other to my forehead. “You don’t think I’m deserving of the cover of Whatever Weekly on my own?”

She shoots me a decided stink eye. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it. It’s just that tabloids weren’t exactly running after you until I showed up in the Springs.”

“True.”

“And you’ve probably climbed the Incline a thousand times, and no one bothered you.”

“Not true.”

Her mouth is half open when she freezes.

“Sixty times.” I correct her. “Tops.”

She rolls her eyes and marches forward, carrying that sweet scent that I’ve come to recognize as uniquely hers. Coconut and something subtly sweet. It’s clean and inviting, and I lean into her bubble just a little bit.

“Here’s the thing,” I say, keeping my voice low and calm. “I’m not worried about what a few trashy magazines say.”

“Yeah, well . . . my dad is.”

Though barely above a whisper, her words land like Thor’s hammer, knocking the air out of me.

Her dad’s worried. Which means we all have to be. Because I can’t let Coach or the GM be worried.

“He warned me. He told me to keep my drama out of his locker room. I wasn’t supposed to get . . .”

It takes everything inside me not to fill in the rest of her sentence because I want—no, need —to know where she’s going with this.

Her face twists as she turns her back on me. Her shoulders hike toward her ears, an almost-imperceptible tremble racking her body. Notably, she does not step away.

It’s not quite an invitation, but she’s not asking for more space either. Stepping closer, I press my nose into her hair and inhale sharply. Chicken on a biscuit. This woman could make a good dog break his leash. And she’s not even trying.

I don’t think.

Then I realize she hasn’t said anything else. “You weren’t supposed to what?”

“Nothing.”

“What?” My voice drops, like it does on the field when I call a play. Insistent. Commanding.

Her neck twitches as she looks out the bay windows into the backyard, the setting sun turning the sky all kinds of orange and purple. “I wasn’t supposed to get friendly with any of the guys on the team.”

Friendly . Right. That’s what we are. Just friendly. Just casual acquaintances, who sometimes stay up all night thinking about the other. Semi-familiar contacts, who tease each other relentlessly. Basically strangers, who talk almost every single day and make up excuses to be together.

“And then you showed up being all”—she waves her hand over her head like it will fill in the blank—“you.”

I’m not sure if I’m supposed to be offended. But I think so. “Pardon?”

She spins again and looks right into my face. Her eyes have taken on the same color as her sweater, greener than a forest. “You’re like a genuinely decent guy, and you’re helping me out even though there’s nothing in it for you.”

No need to remind her about Kenna. Because something is glowing inside my chest.

“And I didn’t mean to draw you into my mess, and my dad is legitimately ticked off. And I’ve got to fix this whole thing. And I’m pretty sure I can. But I wanted you to know before my publicist leaks it to the press that we ran into each other on the Incline by accident. And you played the hero when my shoe broke. And that’s it. It was all just a wild coincidence.”

As she rattles off her monologue—almost as though memorized—her voice rises, a tiny tremor in the center of her bottom lip shaking her word.

“We haven’t been hanging out. And you certainly haven’t been helping me prepare for the audition. And we can’t be seen in public together again. Maybe ever. So, it’s probably better if we don’t spend any more time together. Or else the media will make this into something it’s not.”

Perhaps I’m imagining it, but she sounds almost on the verge of tears by the time she gets to the end, and I could swear her eyes have taken on a glassy sheen.

“Zo?” I reach for her hand, but she tucks it under her other arm, holding herself close.

“I don’t know why I’m so upset.” She stares toward the vaulted ceiling, blinking hard enough to dislodge a single tear that leaves a silver trail in its wake. I reach to wipe it away, but her knuckle beats me to it. With a gentle sniff, she sets herself right. “It’s not like we have something going on here.”

Forget Thor’s hammer, this knocks me down like the snap of Thanos’s fingers. I’m gone. Dust.

I don’t know exactly what’s happening between us. But whatever it is, it’s not nothing. I’ve been fighting it tooth and nail for weeks. And I’m losing. Every second. Of every day.

Because all I want is to be in her life. And for Zoe Peebles to be in mine.

And she doesn’t even know there’s something going on.

“My publicist should release the statement,” I blurt out. “Yours has been playing defense for a while. Mine can just say we’re good friends, and we were enjoying the Colorado air when your shoe broke. End of story. No one will question it.”

“Why would you do that?”

Stabbing my fingers through my hair, I spit out the truth. “Because I like you.”

Her perfect white teeth nibble at the corner of her mouth. “You just don’t want to kiss me.”

My mouth goes completely dry, and my words come out like they’re raked across gravel. “Like hell I don’t.”

Zoe’s eyes grow rounder and brighter, and her mouth slips open. I can’t stop myself. Grabbing her waist, I pull her against me, pressing my lips to hers. She stumbles into me, bracing her hands against my chest, and for a split second, I’m afraid she’s going to push me away. Steeling myself for that inevitability, I freeze, already forming the apology in my mind.

Only, she doesn’t. Push me away, that is.

Quite the opposite. She twists her fingers into the front of my T-shirt and pulls me closer, pressing onto her tiptoes to meet me in the middle.

Her touch is fire, her hand sinking into my hair and setting my scalp aflame. And my only hope for survival is more of Zoe.

I adjust my angle, and she lets out a groan, deep and pained. Not the kind of pain like she’s injured. The kind that asks that ever-important question. Why did we wait so long for this?

Probably because I’m the biggest idiot and a complete coward.

Probably because I had some idea that kissing her would implode my entire life. I just didn’t know how immediately I would be addicted to this particular brand of TNT.

But no one can make me care about any of that when Zoe is literally in my arms and kissing me like she might never quit.

Sounds like a solid plan.

My fingers walk the path of her spine, sending shivers through her, and I savor every single one. With an arm around her waist, I dig my fingers into her hip. Chicken on a biscuit, she’s tiny. She has such a big personality, so much life pouring out of her that it’s easy to overlook. But I can wrap my arms more than around her waist. And I can already feel the strain in my neck from leaning over so far.

Don’t get me wrong, totally worth it.

But maybe there’s a better position.

I mentally survey the living room and cross off the couch. No way am I going there on our first kiss. The coffee table won’t be any help either.

I just need to get her about a foot taller.

There’s no playbook for making out with Zoe Peebles, so I hoist her up under her legs and pull her closer to my height, her knees squeezing my hips as she lets out a little squeal. I spin us away from the center of the room and against the wall. We bump into it a little harder than planned, and a picture rattles dangerously. I barely notice though because of Zoe’s “oof.”

Leaving one hand under her leg and pressing into her so she’s solidly wedged between me and the wall, I slide my other hand into the hair at the back of her head. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Good.” Her eyes flash with something new. Something entirely welcome. “Very good.”

That’s all I need to hear.

I press my lips to her jaw and drag them down to her neck. Her skin is beyond soft, and I can feel her racing pulse through my kiss. My heart rate matches hers, thunder in my ears.

My head begins to spin. But only for a moment. Suddenly I’m hyper-focused on the moment.

Just like the start of a game. The nerves. The uncertainty. The excitement.

And then the rest of the world vanishes and there is only me and the ball and my receiver.

Right now. It’s just me and Zoe. The little gasp she makes at the barest touch of my tongue to the skin below her ear. I brush a few stray hairs out of the way and do it again, and she tries to climb me like a tree. Her fingers slide deeper into my hair, pulling hard yet holding me right where I am. Her knees squeeze into my sides.

Noted.

She tastes better than she smells, and I nuzzle into that sweet hollow where her neck meets her shoulder, inhaling long and deep. “Zoe?” I whisper into her skin.

One by one her fingers unwind, feeling returning to my scalp. Not that I needed it. “Yes?” Her word is barely a breath against my ear, but it has the power to shoot sparks down my back and all the way to my feet.

“Just so you know, I wanted to kiss you.”

She drags a single fingernail around the edge of my ear, and I can hear the smirk in her voice when she says, “Just so you know, I already knew that.”

It’s clear she’s not going to reciprocate vocalizing her interest in our current activities. Impertinent woman. So I press my mouth to her smile. Maybe harder than I need to. But she catches my bottom lip between hers, teasing and tugging at it and sending fireworks to blow off the top of my head.

I’m a goner.

I run my hands from her knees to her hips, gently digging my fingertips into the jeans that cover her thighs. With an exhale, I lean into her gentle curves and—

“Uncle Grant!” Kenna’s call is immediately followed by a slam of the front door so hard that the wall at Zoe’s back shakes both of us.

I step back so fast that I almost drop her, catching her under the arms at the last minute and steadying her on her feet, though her knees are visibly trembling. I barely have time to shoot her a smug smile before Kenna barrels into the room, throwing her blue backpack by the couch. It clatters as it skips along the floor before thudding into the baseboard.

Shooting Zoe a frantic look to see how much damage I’ve done, I smooth my hands down the front of my shirt, which still carries the marks of her clenched fists. Zoe’s top knot is mostly falling out, but the memory of the silk of her hair between my fingers makes it totally worth it.

“I got a call-back for the lead!” Kenna screams, nearly tackling Zoe as she throws her arms around her waist.

Zoe tumbles into the wall for the second time, and only then do I realize the picture of me and my sister and our parents that had been on the wall when the evening started crashed to the floor at some point, the frame broken beyond repair.

Again. Totally worth it.

With a squeal, Zoe hugs Kenna back. “You’re amazing! I knew you could do it.”

Kenna steps back, poking a toe into the carpet. “Well, it’s only a call-back.”

“Only a call-back? Ha! There’s no such thing.” Zoe grabs her hands and holds them up between them. “Every actor who ever got the role had to get a call-back first.”

“But I still might not get it.”

I sling my arm around her shoulders. “But you have a better chance now than you did this morning. I’m proud of you, kiddo!”

She ducks her head and mumbles a thanks.

“We’ll keep working until you’re the brightest star on that stage,” Zoe says, swinging their hands.

Kenna’s head snaps up, her smile beaming and blue eyes glowing. “Really?”

“Absolutely! You’ll know your audition material so well that you won’t have room to be nervous. You’ll wow that director.”

Bouncing on her toes, Kenna begs, “Can we start right now?”

Zoe opens her mouth, but I cut her off. “First, we celebrate! I’m taking us all out for dinner.”

“To Casa Fiesta?” Kenna hangs on my arm, and I look down at her seriously.

“Would we go anywhere else to celebrate?”

She screams and does some sort of spinning happy dance.

“Go ask Denise and Jerry if they’ll join us.”

She nods and races for the kitchen, stopping just before the archway that leads into the foyer and turning back to me. “You might want to comb your hair before we go though.” Then she’s gone. And I clap a hand over my mouth to keep from laughing out loud.

Zoe isn’t nearly as restrained, her smile breaking with a rolling giggle. “She has a good point.” Stretching onto her tiptoes, she runs her fingers through my hair. I can’t keep my eyes open at her touch and indulge in it. Just for a second.

“Better?” I finally ask as I look back down at her.

“Not really.”

“And whose fault is that?”

“Really?” She manages a shrug, completely ignoring the disaster of her own hair. It’s turned limp and floppy and far too tempting. “Clearly your own.”

“And how do you figure that?” The distance between us is rapidly disappearing, my heart slamming against my ribs. That coconut scent swirls around her, dragging me in.

“You started it.”

“Agree to disagree,” I whisper as I press my lips to hers. I just need one more taste. Tonight.

Tomorrow is another story altogether.

Her hand on the center of my chest, she pushes me back after far-too-brief a moment. “Are you sure this is a good idea? There could be paps there.”

“I know the owner. I’ll call ahead and get us the private room.” I turn to pick up my bag from the spot where it landed in the doorway, catching one last look at the disaster job I did on her bun. It’s gone from messy to catastrophe. “Besides, I’m not sure anyone would recognize you with that hair.”

She huffs, shoving her hands into the mess as I stroll away, not even trying to tame my grin.