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“A lot of things can happen between now and tomorrow. Don’t want to risk you getting cold feet.”
He put one palm on the wall, next to my head. His arm was almost brushing my right cheek. And those green eyes were relentlessly trained on me.
“I won’t let you get away with a no.”
“Of course you won’t.”
He was so close that I had a hard time focusing, but I gathered my wits.
“Okay. We’ll talk tonight. But let’s go upstairs, have some dinner.”
“Sure.”
“I’ll wait for you to change, and then we can go grab food.”
Jace smiled triumphantly. “Be right back.”
I waited next to the door, trying hard not to think about the fact that Jace was naked on the other side of the lockers. He came back a few minutes later, training bag slung over one shoulder.
“After you, Brooke.”
He gestured toward the door, and I felt him watch me all the way out of the club. The food truck across the street was simply amazing. There was a line when we arrived, but it moved quickly.
“I know you really want a burger and fries. Don’t hold back on my account,” Jace whispered when our turn came. I grinned. Of course I couldn’t hide from Jace.
“I want to be a good friend. I know they’re not on your meal plan.”
“I can deal with you eating a burger. Besides, there are other ways you can be a good friend.”
When our turn came, I ordered a burger with sweet potato fries and guacamole dip.
I liked the club best late in the evening, because it was quiet. We sat side by side at the kitchen table, chairs turned slightly toward one another. Neither of us spoke as we ate, but the anticipation was building with every passing minute until it seemed as if the air was thick with fog.
When Jace finished his wrap, I felt every muscle in my upper body contract.
“Relax, hot stuff. Why are you so nervous?”
I straightened a little, stopping in the act of reaching for another fry.
“Okay, well, first things first. You can’t call me hot stuff anymore. You might slip and call me that when there are others around.”
Jace pulled his chair closer to mine until his left knee touched my right one. The contact point burned white-hot.
“We’ll talk about that nickname another time.”
He leaned forward, resting his forearm above his knee. His gaze was hard and intense. He balled his palm into a fist, as if that was the only way he could keep himself from touching me.
“I understand that you want to solidify your position here, Brooke. I know what it means to have to prove yourself. It takes hard work and dedication, and any time others doubt you, it sets you back.”
“Yes, exactly.”
“I know what that pressure feels like. I deal with it on a daily basis.”
I immediately knew what he meant. As a pro player, that pressure was ongoing. In a regular job, once you’d reached a certain acceptance from the team, things became easier. People were more understanding when mishaps occurred. But as an athlete, your value was constantly recalculated based on your latest performance. Every mistake was blown out of proportion, with fans, managers, and coaches alike wondering if it was a sign that a player had passed his peak.
“Honestly, I have no idea how you deal with it.”
“By giving every game my best shot. The only thing I can control is my performance. So, if you feel like you need some time before we take this step, I understand. I’ll wait.”
