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He flinches at my words, and his reaction, though pained, is telling because he doesn’t dismiss my observation. Not immediately. Not even close to immediately. His expression and actions morph through all of the appropriate phases—creased brow, forced incredulous smile, fluttering lashes, roll of the eyes, and a breath of a laugh. But I see right through it. And he knows I do.
“It’s not you,” he finally says.
“Ha!” I huff, stepping off the treadmill. James grabs my wrist before I leave our tight space completely.
“Morgan, listen. It’s football. It’s the pressure and this place,” he says, glancing around the room—around Welles. There’s desperation in his eyes when his gaze comes back to me, and I swallow hard, feeling the weight of everything he means. “It’s hard on us. My dad has coached for years. He’s won state titles with teams that are ten times the talent of this place, yet the Browns and Penns of the world don’t show up at those schools.
“We came here for the opportunity, and my dad is laser-focused on getting me to that next level, not just on a field but in a classroom that can make something of me. And when shit happens like what’s gone on this week, when colleges I have dreamt of getting into show up to look at some . . . some . . . fucking joke? I guess it turns both of us into royal assholes. I’m not proud of it. I hate that I let this get to me so hard. I want to run into the headmaster’s office and spout off all of Toby’s weaknesses. I want to beg him to look—to really look!”
His hand slowly loosens its grip, finally letting my wrist go, but I quickly snatch his hand and work our fingers together.
“It isn’t you. My dad is just intense, and he’s intense for me. He wants one hundred percent of my focus on the mission. But I am focused. And being with you . . . it balances out the garbage on the other side.”
“Are you saying I’m anti-trash?” I joke.Sort of.
A hint of a smile tugs at his mouth. He steps into me and takes my other hand, bring our tethered fingers up to the space between us, clutching our fisted hands against his heart. My skin beads with chills from the air conditioning, the sweat from my run cooling me quickly. Too quickly.
“My dad sees you as a distraction. I see you as a necessity.”
Well, damn.
The rage that held me up for the last thirty minutes is gone, and I think if James let go of my hands, I’d collapse at his feet. I’m charmed by his incredibly effective apology. Running my palms up the front of his shirt, I gather fists of cotton at the center of his chest and jerk him the final few inches into me. He lets out an exhausted laugh then cups my face, stroking the skin over my cheekbones before letting his forehead fall forward to rest on mine.
“Thanks for waiting around for me,” he mutters.
“Hmm, what makes you think I was here for you?”
He presses his lips to my forehead, and I feel his mouth stretch into a smile.
“You normally run two six-minute miles on a Friday night?”
I open my eyes and follow his gaze over my shoulder to the numbers blinking on the treadmill.Shit. That’s fast.
“I’m a real party animal,” I say, bringing my gaze back to his.
“Right,” he laughs out. “Well, party animal. How do you feel about taking a walk to the juice bar and getting a recovery smoothie with me? I need every edge I can get if I want to draw that Penn guy’s eyes my way during tomorrow’s game.”
“Do those smoothies come with new legs so I have something to walk back on?” I’m half joking as I bat my lashes and look up into his amused grin. My feet are numb, and I truly believe my knees will buckle the second I leave this room.
Shaking his head and laughing, James kneels then twists around, patting his shoulders.
“Go on. Hop on and I’ll carry you.”
“The whole way?” I question, already moving to climb onto his back. He sweeps his hands under my thighs and hoists me up like a backpack. I giggle, feeling ridiculous.
“Yes, Morgan. The whole way.” He leans across the treadmill and snatches my phone, handing it to me over his shoulder.
“I have things in the locker room,” I inform him when he reaches the door.
“Awesome. More weight,” he deadpans.
I wait until we’re in the hallway before I reach down and swat his ass, yelling, “Yaw!” His feet stop in their tracks, and he cranes his neck to look me in my eyes.
“Are you serious right now?” His brow arches.
My mouth settles into a timid smirk.
“I have never been more serious in my life.”
