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She wrinkles her nose and pulls the pizza away, a string of cheese floating in the air behind it. “Talent,” she says around a bite.
“Impressive.” I finish a slice in record time and am grateful. “This is good. Thank you.”
“Welcome.”
Grabbing a second piece, I look up to see she’s watching me. “You look…less stressed.”
I want to tell her I’ve been beating off more regularly thanks to her weekly shows, but I don’t think that will go over well. “I’ve been sleeping a lot better lately.”
She quirks a blonde brow. “Any particular reason?”
“Excessive workouts.”
Her eyes dart down at her empty plate. “Do you have a girlfriend?”
“If you want to ask me a question, Priss, you need to look at me.”
She doesn’t hesitate, though I know it costs her a little pride. But if I’m honest, I’m tiring of the cat and mouse routine. My interest is past piqued. Our eyes connect, and I feel…something shift. It’s a connection, along with the low-lying pulse that’s been strengthening since the minute we met in this gym.
Her eyes dart to my lips as I lick them clean. “Harper, you had a question?”
“Just asked if you had a girlfriend.”
“I’ve been avoiding it most of my time here because I’m not sure where I’ll end up. I’m concentrating on the game. Wouldn’t be fair.”
She nods. “Makes sense.”
“What about you?”
“I was seeing this one guy for all of ten minutes a couple of months ago, but I swear he was only into me when I danced.”
I choke on some cheese and clear my throat with my chuckle.
Her eyes snap up. “What?”
“Nothing.”
“Tell me,” she prompts.
“Harper, you know damn well you get dirty as fuck at times when you dance.”
A guilty grin covers her lips before she gives me a full smile that kicks my pulse up. “I do know that, but if my ass is all he’s drawn to, we don’t have much to go on.”
Remorse blankets me because, in a way, I’m guilty of the same. But it’s not just the way she moves; it’s the way she looks at me, it’s her backbone, the way she smiles. The way she lights up when she sees me. The way I feel lit when I look at her.
“True.”
“So, yeah, single. I’m too into my goals to take anyone seriously.” She sips her soda.
Silence lingers, and I’m comfortable in it until she speaks up.
“Don’t feel obligated to hang out. It was pizza.”
“What?” Confused, I stare at her.
“It’s Friday night, Lance. Don’t feel like you need to make conversation…or hang because I bought pizza. You got quiet.”
“I’m in a carb coma,” I say, laying back on the mat. “I’m not going anywhere.”
