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“What’s Pop Warner?”
“Youth football.”
“You want to teach little kids how to play football?”
“Yeah,” he said. “I was gonna do it when I first moved here, but it just never worked out. Me and Buckey are thinkin’ about doin’ it now though.” He looked at me as he backed out of the driveway. “Whatcha think about that?”
“I think that’s a great idea! I even know some kids and parents who might be interested. Do you need help setting it up?”
“Yeah,” he said, smiling from ear to ear. “Think I’d love that.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
FRANK
“Told you I wanted to dance with you in front of my fire.”
“You did,” Samantha said against my chest after dinner as we swayed together in my living room to “Born & Raised” by Shane Smith and the Saints, our arms wrapped around each other, hands resting low. Grum was fast asleep in the corner on the new oversized dog bed I’d bought him, possibly swimming in his dream, his big, clumsy paws scooping at nonexistent water slowly. “You promised other things in front of your fire too.”
“I did.”
“When can I have that?”
“You’re a greedy little girl, ain’t you?” I teased, running my hand over her shoulder, lifting her hair and letting it fall behind her, hugging her closer.
I was right. I loved dancing so long as I got to hold her in my arms while I did it.
She swatted my ass. “I am not. But the last time I was here, we did things that… make me want that.”
Oh, me too, girl. Me too.
“Yeah, but I also said we had some things to iron out between us first.”
Pulling out of my arms, she spun away, and her hair whipped against my shirt in an arc. She padded on her bare feet over to one of the built-in bookshelves on the far side of the fireplace, next to my desk. Grum twitched but didn’t wake up. Damn dog was worn out ’cause I’d bought one of those plastic tennis ball thrower toys. He probably ran ten miles back and forth in my yard before dinner. My shoulder would be a little worse for the wear tomorrow, too, aching and creaking for sure.
“This desk is beautiful,” she said. “Is it old? It looks old.”
“No. Max made it for me.”
“Really? Wow. He’s talented. It looks like it’s from the early nineteen hundreds.” She stepped to the right, inspecting the books she saw lined up on the shelves. “You don’t own any fiction, do you?”
“Never really developed an affinity for it.”
“How come?”
“Dunno. Fairy tales and daydreams just ain’t my thing, I guess.”
Laughing softly, she pressed up on her toes, touching her finger to the first book on the top shelf, tilting her head to read the title, and her hair slid over her shoulder. I never would’ve thought I’d have a favorite shade of pink, but I did now. Samantha’s hair was a pale rose color, and somehow, even though I knew it wasn’t, it looked natural.
She moved on from there, touching her slender finger to every book I owned. “You read a lot about war.”
“Mm.” I sat in my chair, taking a drink from my water glass, balancing it on top of my thigh while I watched her. When she bent to read the titles on the lower shelves, I averted my eyes from her ass. It wouldn’t help me resist her if I stared at the thing I wanted more than my next breath.
“What are all these unopened letters on your desk? They look like Christmas cards.”
Shit. I thought I’d put those away. I meant to.
“They are. Christmas cards, birthday cards, and the like.”
