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“And?”
“And I like him. I like talking to him.”
“You two did look pretty chummy at Yancy’s.”
“Not my type,” I said. “He’s a little…too dark for me.”
“He looks pretty golden from where I’m sitting,” Ruby said, lowering her sunglasses and squinting over the field.
I followed her gaze and found Weston in his white and purple Amherst gear, warming up with his teammates. The opponents from Tufts, Wesleyan, and Williams were scattered in their own groups farther away.
The Amherst teammates talked and laughed, except for Weston, who stood apart, stripping out of his warm-up pants and jacket. Underneath, he wore a white running tank and purple shorts, revealing the long, lean lines of his body. His muscles flexed under bronzed skin, perfectly outlined by the tight contours of his running uniform.
God, he’s beautiful.
“You sure you’re not here for that?” Ruby asked. “Because I am so here for that.”
“Jeez, Rube,” I said, not looking away.
“I’m talking about the whole team, not just Wes. Damn, I just became a track and field groupie.” She flapped her hand at the men stretching long limbs. “Look at them. And soon they’ll be running and leaping and sweating…”
I laughed, grateful for the cool breeze that wafted over my cheeks as my gaze ate up Weston.
“Yep, he’s a looker, that Wes,” Ruby said. “But you’re right—he’s got a pretty good scowl going on. Or maybe he just has a bad case of Resting Asshole Face.”
“That’s not a thing. And he’s a good guy. But he’s—”
“Not Connor.” She grinned. “Speak of the devil. This should be fun.”
I turned to follow her gaze. Connor was taking the bleacher steps two at a time to meet us. He wore jeans, a T-shirt, and lightweight jacket that all looked like they’d come straight off a runway.
“You made it!” Connor’s wide-open, carefree smile lit up his entire face. “And wow, you look amazing.”
Vowing not to make a touchy-feely fool of myself again, I offered my hand. “Nice to see you.”
Connor’s hand swallowed mine, and then he pulled me in for a hug.
I lived for a good hug. One that made me feel safe or comforted. Edmond de Guiche had been my longtime hug dealer, but as I was enveloped in Connor’s strong arms, suffused with his cologne and the warm scent of his skin…
Not fair, I thought, as my body started to
melt against his broad chest.
He released me and stepped back to give Ruby a shoulder squeeze. “So glad you came. Have we seen our champ out there?” Connor shaded his eyes, scanning the field. “Ah. There he is.” He clapped his hands together a few times, then cupped them over his mouth and yelled, “You’re my boy, Blue!”
Weston’s head came up and he scanned the crowds. He found Connor, gave him the finger, and then his eyes found me. I offered a little wave. Weston held my gaze a moment then went back to his stretches.
“The old Turner charm,” Connor said, laughing.
“How come he doesn’t hang with his team?” I asked.
“Weston doesn’t work or play well with others.”
I frowned.
“Don’t feel sorry for him,” Connor said. “Wait ‘til you see him run.”
A warm feeling spread through my chest at Connor’s obvious affection—and proud smile—for his friend.
