Page 39 of The Hardest Fall

Zoe was shy, that was a fact, but then all of a sudden she’d change the play on me. She’d say something unexpected—like owning up to the fact that she was staring at me—and it would throw me off big time, and this was coming from a guy whose job was to anticipate what the play was and adjust accordingly so he could run for the win. I was damn good at reading a player’s next move, but with the way Zoe was playing, I had a hard time guessing where the ball would come rushing toward me from.

It looked like she had a whole different side of her hiding underneath that first layer. Maybe that was what was drawing me to her—the possibilities of Zoe. I wasn’t a dumbass; I knew I was attracted to her—my dick had been happy to see her more than a few times that week—but it wasn’t just the fact that she was beautiful that had moving me in that direction. I was being serious when I told her I had a feeling she was gonna be my best friend.

“Where do you wanna live after you graduate? Stay here?” I asked out of the blue, surprising the hell out of myself in the process.

She held my gaze for another two seconds—which seemed to be her max unless she was getting into a staring contest with me—then looked back into her bowl and kept squishing the cereal into the milk. Anywhere but my eyes worked, I supposed.

Why did she have so much trouble meeting my eyes when were standing close to each other when she’d had no trouble checking out my abs and occasionally my arms and shoulders just minutes before?

“New York. You?”

“I’ll know after the draft is over.”

“Makes sense.” She nodded and flashed me a small, shy smile. “I admire your confidence—you’re sure you’ll be picked. Any idea where you’ll end up?”

I shrugged. “If I don’t believe in myself, why would anybody else? I might not end up being a first-round pick, but that’s fine. I’ll just work harder to show everyone what a mistake they made by skipping me.” Her smile grew bigger, and I frowned at her lips. “Just so you know, that’s not me being a big-headed prick, I just know what I’m capable of out on that field. That being said, I could blow my knee in the next game—or hell, even at practice—and never be able to play again. Going pro is the plan and the dream, but it’s too early to tell where, or anything really.”

She raised her spoon-holding hand in surrender. “A healthy dose of self-confidence is always good. I could use some of it myself.” She paused for a moment. “And I know you’re not a big-headed prick, Dylan. Yeah, you say you’re good on the field, but you’re not being obnoxious about it. You just said you’ll work harder to show them what a mistake they made by skipping you—you didn’t give me a dirty grin and say they’d be lucky to have you play on their team. That would’ve been obnoxious.” She narrowed her eyes in uncertainty. “Do you know what I mean?”

Instead of smiling back at her, or taking a step forward that would bring me closer to her, or saying thank you in a gruff voice, I asked a simple question. This time it was no surprise; I was completely aware of what I was about to ask her. “Do you wanna make a bet with me, Zoe?”

Her smile shrunk a little, and she finally put the spoon down in the bowl to try to understand where I was going with my question. After a few seconds of contemplating, she shifted her weight and leaned her hip against the counter. “Where did that come from? And what kind of bet are we talking about here?”

The sun sent the first shy rays of light through the windows and onto Zoe’s face as I put my water down and faced her. I watched her squirm when my new stance brought me just a bit closer to her. I could see how much she wanted to back up in the way she shifted from foot to foot. If I took one big step, we’d breathe the same air. The glint, the sparkle I could see in her eyes told me she wouldn’t be scared away that easily.

“Let’s bet on a kiss,” I said, deciding to end her misery. “I think we’re gonna end up kissing one of these days, and I bet you’ll be the first one to beg for it.”

She froze. Her bowl was still suspended in air, so I reached forward and gently took it from her hand. When she didn’t release her hold on the spoon, I pried her fingers off of it with my other hand and put her soggy breakfast on the counter—Honey Nut Cheerios from the looks of it. Not a bad choice.