Page 17 of Worth the Try (Atlanta Granite #1)

Elodie

I WAKE UP with a huge smile on my face. It’s Friday, and I get to go on a date. With Ansel.

The past week has been a dream, honestly: stolen kisses with Ansel before he leaves for practice, then more kisses when he shows up at my door after putting Rosie to bed. He’s taking it slow, and while part of me is screaming to get my hands on… all of him…I appreciate the slow-burn situation.

Kind of.

But to be super clear, I’d like to do more than kissing.

Except, short of actually telling him to strip me naked and have his way with me, I can’t figure out how to make him understand that he can literally do whatever he wants.

Well, maybe not whatever he wants, but like, a lot of whatever he wants.

Pretty please with whipped cream and a cherry on top.

Also? It’s hard not being Nice Girl Elodie. Kari didn’t just laugh at me when I told her I was working on being not so nice, she flat-out guffawed. Snort-laughed and nearly choked on her iced coffee kind of laugh.

Rude.

Then she had the audacity to tell me to say a cuss word.

And…I couldn’t.

Which made her laugh more.

“You’re the living embodiment of a Disney princess, Elodie,” she’d said. “Just embrace it.”

I stuck my tongue out at her and told her to be nice.

Which made her laugh so hard she started crying.

I wash my face and brush my teeth, then throw on some lounge clothes to head across the backyard to the house. Inside, it smells like bacon and eggs and pancakes, and sure enough, Rosalie is chowing down at the counter.

“Good morning, Elle Belle,” she says, syrup dripping down her chin. The nickname is new, and cute, and she was beyond excited when she came up with it.

Did she reference a certain Disney princess when it occurred to her? Of course. Am I telling Kari about this? Absolutely not.

Ansel has his back to me, and I take a moment to appreciate the absolute specimen that he is.

Tight, round butt inside short shorts, a trim waist expanding up to broad shoulders, and deliciously defined muscles that flex beneath the form-fitting sleeveless practice shirt he wears. Goodness, he’s pretty.

Then he turns, and he’s wearing his glasses, and he winks and smiles, and I swear my knees get weak. I grip the island for support.

“Good morning, Elle Belle,” he repeats, and his eyes freaking twinkle with delight because he knows exactly what he’s done to me.

I am convinced he does it to torture me.

“Good morning,” I answer with a you’re being incredibly mean smile, then tear my gaze away from Ansel to beam at Rosie. “Did you have a good night?”

She nods. “Daddy got me some puzzles. Can we put one together today?”

“Of course!”

“Grab two plates, will you?” he asks.

I do as he requests, nearing his spot behind Rosalie. He pulls me to him, nuzzling my neck and palming my side as I barely suppress a squeal, biting my lip and smiling as I push him away. “ Stop,” I mouth.

He waggles his eyebrows and tries to grab me again, but I sidestep him. He smacks my bottom in retaliation, and my cheeks burn as I gape at him. Rosalie could have heard that.

“Quit it!” I mouth again.

“Never,” he mouths back. Aloud, he says, “What’s taking so long with those plates, Elodie?”

I glare at him. “Sorry. Got distracted. ”

Chuckling, he pulls the skillet off the stove and scoops scrambled eggs onto the plates, a much larger portion for him than for me. “I made extra bacon if you want it. I know you’re not big on pancakes. Want some avocado toast?”

I stare at him. “I…”

“I’m making some for myself,” he clarifies.

I’m about to say no, but the reality is that yes, I would like some avocado toast, and in the spirit of chipping away at Nice Girl Elodie, I smile. “Yes, please.”

He grins, thoroughly pleased. “Grab the Everything Bagel seasoning from the cupboard,” he says. “That’s my go-to when I don’t have time to chef it up.”

“This isn’t ‘cheffing it up’?” I ask, putting the seasoning beside him as he plucks two avocados from the bowl on the island.

“Nah,” he says. “If I really wanted to go all out, I’d put some pickled onions on here, a bit of olive oil, some arugula, then some yellow and red tomatoes.” He pauses. “On some good bread, maybe with some eggs over easy on the side so you can run the bread through the yolk.”

My stomach growls.

He laughs and nods. “Exactly.”

“You’re a really good cook,” I tell him.

“Not really.” He waves off the compliment. “I just do what the trainer tells me to and then add things around the edges to be sure a certain five-year-old will eat it.”

He finishes slicing the avocado and places it on the toast, then sprinkles the seasoning. I go to take a bite, but he stops me, grabbing a fresh lemon slice from the bowl he keeps in the fridge and squeezing it on top. “There. Now you can eat it.”

I laugh. “I would have just slathered the avocado on the toast and eaten it like that.”

He blanches. “But why, when another minute can make it so much better?”

I take a bite. Dang it, it’s good. And he barely did anything to it. “You know what? You’re right. Never again.”

Satisfied, he turns to his meal. He makes quick work of it, and I have to practically shove him out the door to keep him from doing the dishes. The man would do everything himself if it were up to him.

“Beat it, mister.” I accept a quick kiss in the foyer and barely manage to keep myself from smacking his rear as he opens the door. “I’ll handle this.”

“Bye, Daddy!” Rosie calls.

Later, after Rosie and I have gotten the outside of her puzzle put together and she’s watching Brave for the millionth time, Kari FaceTimes me. Because I know she’s prone to all kinds of inappropriate language, I leave the room.

“Hey, girlie!”

“Hey yourself,” I say, then squint. “Are you up in the lounge at the stadium?”

She smiles and flips the camera, zooming to the pitch. “I am. Figured you might want to see your man in action.”

“He is not my man,” I protest.

“Sure,” she deadpans. “Now shut up and watch.”

I find Ansel immediately. He’s not the biggest man out there—that honor seems reserved for the forwards—but he carries himself in a way that communicates he’s one of the guys to listen to.

I’ve learned that his position, the fly-half, is one of the more crucial ones on the team.

They’re all crucial, I guess, but the fly-half is one of the more strategic. I’m still figuring it all out.

The men aren’t actively playing a game right now. Instead, they’re all in a handful of lines with their backs turned to me, and as I watch, they all raise their arms and bend at the waist, swan-diving to the ground.

“Oh my,” I breathe.

Kari laughs. “Thought you’d like that.”

“I demand you call me every day at this exact time,” I joke, my eyes glued to the screen as the men go through a series of lunges that would have me begging for mercy. As it is, I’m begging for mercy, all right, but it’s more in the “bless these men and their physiques” category.

Kari zooms in on Ansel. “This is for you, not me,” she says. “I mean, he’s good-looking and all, but he’s not my type.”

I snort. “And what’s your type?”

“Not rugby players,” she fires back. “Especially ones who annoy the shit out of me even when they’re out of the country and refuse to listen to reason when I explain that they need to keep their dick in their pants or bad things happen.”

“That sounds awfully specific,” I tease. “And keep the phone steady. I’m trying to ogle Ansel.”

He’s breathing hard, sweat pouring down his face as he jogs back to the sidelines and grabs a water bottle.

He tilts it up and squeezes, and never have I thought the act of drinking water was sexy, but…

here we are. Then he squirts the water on top of his head and uses his other hand to rub it in, shaking his head and wiping his face when he’s through.

Suddenly, it’s very hot in here.

“You still there, or did you pass out from the view?” Kari asks.

“Hanging on by a thread,” I croak.

She flips the screen back to her face and situates herself on the couch.

“Put it back,” I pout.

She laughs. “I actually had a real reason to call.”

“That wasn’t reason enough?”

“One of the players is getting married. He mentioned that his fiancée Allyson wanted to go on some kind of adventure honeymoon, but that he had no idea where to start. Said that she was so busy planning the wedding that he felt he needed to help, but the poor man is clearly out of his depth.”

“Kari,” I start, “you didn’t.”

She grins mischievously. “So of course I called Allyson because I’m good like that, and I mentioned that my best friend had a honeymoon planning business and would be happy to talk with her and Jake about options.”

“But I’m not even up and running yet!”

“So what? Nothing like the present to dive in. She’s out of town for the next little bit, but when she’s back, we’re all meeting up for coffee.”

“We’re— what ? No, I’m not?—”

She points at the camera. “Yes, you are. Don’t pretend you’re not already thinking about ideas.”

I purse my lips, caught. “I am.”

“Ha!” She pumps a fist in victory. “See? You can do this. You just need a push.”

“Feels more like a shove,” I say wryly. “But…thank you.” Her faith in me sends tingles of happiness through my body, like little bits of sunshine streaking through me. “You’re the best.”

She winks. “I know. Now, what are you wearing for your date tonight?”