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“So, what kind of business, then?” I tug at his shirt when I ask, the playful touch earning another laugh from his chest.
He doesn’t answer right away. I keep my eyes on him as we walk and as we near the dorms, he stops and moves to stand in front of me, looking down at me with a sheepish grin.
“You really wanna know about my silly dream?”
I tilt my head to the side and put on the puppy dog eyes.
“Are you kidding me? I love silly dreams! And I bet yours isn’t so silly.” My belly flutters with nervous energy as James shuffles his feet nervously and breathes out a shy laugh. He’s like a little kid being asked his favorite questions—so excited to talk and no idea where to begin.
“You wanna . . . I don’t know, come in? My mom’s at the office late and Dad’s offsite with the coaching staff. Not that I’m trying to get you alone, just . . .” He drags his palm over his face and peers at me through his open fingers. “I have this knack for not being able to say the right words around you.”
“Uh, I’m pretty sure I’m the one who went on about you being good at quarterbacking, so it seems we’re both bad at the English language.”
His palm slides away, revealing his smile.
“Ah, yeah. You’re probably right there. You were pretty ridiculous,” he teases.
I step into him and bump him with my hip, but before I slip away he captures me under his arm again and glances toward his family’s apartment.
“Yeah, I’d like to hang out a while. My roommates are basically nowhere to be found, and I’m feeling a bit abandoned.” I feel a lot abandoned, to be honest. Brooklyn and I have hardly talked, and while I know we’re all busy and the start of the semester has been rigorous, talking was always our thing. This isn’t how Anika wanted things to be.
“Well, I do like taking in feral cats,” James says, pulling his keys from his pocket and unlocking the door.
He steps inside but I wait on the stoop, still processing what he said. When he realizes I haven’t joined him, he spins around and nods his head to the side, silently inviting me in.
“I’m sorry, but did you compare me to a feral cat?” I hold my ground, not really mad, but kind of curious how he’s going to answer this.
“Huh, yeah. I guess I did. I have a feeling you’d fight like one in a back alley, so it sort of works.” He shrugs and lifts a brow. I step inside andtskas I pass by him.
“Real smooth talker, aren’t ya?”
He laughs and shuts the door behind, us then leads me through the main room toward the hallway and what I am presuming—hoping—is his bedroom.
His room is very plain, which being that it’s a temporary place and not a shared space with another teammate, I sort of understand. Still, there isn’t much in this room that tells me about him. It feels uninspired and maybe a little lost. I spin around as he shuts his door and flips on a small lamp on top of a nightstand. His floor is clean, and a small pile of clothes sits on his desk chair. There’s a boxy TV mounted to the wall above his dresser, and except for a few discarded arm bands and a water bottle, his room is pretty spotless.
“Was your dad in the military or something? Because this is a tight ship.” I run a finger along the woodgrain of one of his drawers to show off the lack of dust. I’m joking, but also . . . not.
“Nah, but his dad was. And I guess the neat-freak gene trickled down. Still trickling,” he laughs, patting his own chest.
He falls back onto his bed and props his head up on his elbow, leaving enough room for me. It’s not my style to get nervous, but for some reason, I’m incredibly aware of my movements and expressions and sounds right now. My smile tingles into my cheeks as I work to suppress it, stepping toward the bed and sitting on the edge. I drop my bag to the floor then unzip my boots and let them fall to the floor too. I’m comfortable today, in tight black pants and a black turtleneck. I went with my artsy look because that’s the style that seems to fit the old ladies I work for.
“Cute socks,” James says, pointing toward my feet.
I lay to my side and lift a leg in the air a little and wiggle my toes. I wore my long boot socks over my tight riding-style pants today, and this particular pair is covered in paw prints.
“Dog lover?” he asks.
“Dog dreamer is more like it,” I say. I snuggle on my side into the bed and pull his pillow under my head, propping myself up to meet his eye line. “I always wanted a dog, but one never really fit the Bentley family lifestyle.”
“That’s too bad,” he says, pulling his second pillow into his body so we’re nearly at the same level. Lying here like this feels somehow familiar. There’s an instant comfort, and I let my own vision of spending weekend mornings just like this sit happily in my chest.
“You ever have a dog?” I ask.
“Oh, we’ve got two right now. Rover! Mikey!” He whistles and I lift myself up and look toward his closed door, realizing too late that he’s teasing me. I scowl at him instantly and flop back into my pillow.
“That was mean.”
I pout for a few seconds, until he grazes my arm with his fingertips and utters an apology.
