I mumbled a curse word under my breath, subtly adjusting myself before my arms were folded over my chest again.
Emily laughed, the sound so light and sweet I wanted to taste it.
“You shouldn’t say shit like that,” I warned.
“Why? Because it turns you on?”
“Because you and I both signed a contract with very strict rules,” I bit back, snapping my eyes to her. “Or have you forgotten?”
“I do have a pretty shit memory,” she confessed, and then her smile climbed as she tip-toed her fingernails over my forearms and up to boop my nose. “Must be all the Mary J.”
“Shh,” I warned, snatching her hand in mine to remove it from my person as I looked around to make sure no one had heard us.
Emily laughed harder. “God, you are wound tighter than a corset at a Victorian wedding.”
“And you’re playing with fire,” I said. Her eyes fell to where I held her wrist, the skin of which was lined with the delicate ink of a floral tattoo. There was also a tiny line of script on her hand.
I dropped it before I could read what it said.
“Maybe this job doesn’t mean anything to you, but it means everything to me,” I said.
For the first time since I’d met her, her expression hardened, the smile slipping off her face.
“You have no idea what anything means to me. And I was just teasing and having a little fun. You ever heard of that before — fun?” She hung her hands on her hips, then used one hand to tap the air like she was showing me a whiteboard. “See, it’s where you take the stick out of your ass and loosen up a little. You can smile, flirt, hell — even laugh if you’re feeling crazy!”
“I have plenty of fun,” I grumbled. “Just not with you.”
“Mm-hmm. I’m sure you’re a real party starter.”
“Not all of us have the luxury of treating life like a party.”
The words snapped out of me harsher than I intended. When I glanced at Emily, her expression had changed again.
This time it was soft, inquisitive — like I’d just let my mask slip for a second and she’d seen the man beneath it.
Before she could sass me again, we were both startled by a girl from my team plopping down hard on the bench we were standing next to. She grunted when her body hit against the metal, and then she ripped her soft-shell helmet off and threw it to the ground before raking her hands through her hair and hanging her head.
Her name was Zara. She was one of our offensive linemen in today’s game, and I looked up to find my offense staring at me with their hands up like they didn’t know what to do next.
I hadn’t even realized we’d switched.
And I knew just who to thank for the distraction.
Hastily, I cued another girl from the sideline to take Zara’s place, gave a few play options to our quarterback, and then carefully approached where Zara was on the bench, squatting in front of her.
“Hey,” I said. “You good?”
“Clearly not. I’m terrible, actually. If you saw that last play, then I know you’re lying if you try to tell me otherwise.”
Emily and I shared a look. I expected her to excuse herself and get back to the dancers, but instead, she lowered down on one knee next to me.
“I saw the play,” she said. “And you’re right — not the best I’ve ever seen.”
My head snapped to Emily. “Hello?!”I whispered, eyes flicking to Zara and back again in an expression I hoped communicatednot fucking helping!
Emily just shrugged. “What? She knows it wasn’t her best and I’m not going to lie to her.”
Zara sniffed, dropping her hands to her lap so she could lift her head and look at Emily. “They plowed right through me,” she said. “I let the quarterback get sacked and it was all my fault.”
