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He pulls up the requirements on his phone, places his arm on the back of my chair and scoots in.
“Hey, it looks like our professor organized this with our coaches.”
He extends his hand so I can get a better view of his phone. I lean down and read the schedule. I feel a slight tug of my hair and I notice Hagan’s looking at my hair while barely touching the ends. Goosebumps travel across my skin as he flirts with me. No one has ever touched my hair so gently and made my pulse race so hard from a simple gesture.
Is he flirting with me?
“So we’ll meet at the job site tomorrow?” I ask.
“No, I’ll pick you up.” I open my mouth to protest that I can drive, but Hagan starts shaking his head. “Before you say no, let me remind you that there’s very little parking downtown during the day. Plus, I’m going to prove to you that I’m a good guy.” He pauses, “Now come on, I’ll take you to the weight room.”
“How did you know I have weight training today?”
“Adalee, never underestimate me.”
He’s wearing me down with that smile and that boyish grin that holds so much happiness. He grabs under my elbow and helps me through the door. We talk about class and the project on the short walk to his home. By the time we arrive, my leg is swelling. The house is quiet; his roommates must either be in class or in bed. As I plop down on the couch, I raise my leg, resting it on the coffee table. The sight of my brace reminds me that I’m in this condition because of Hagan.
Once he returns from his room in a tight white tank with the Chicago Kodiaks logo stretching across his chest, I almost forget that my resolution to not date athletes. He gives his car keys a little toss and catches them back in his palm, moving it quickly in front of him, reminding me of playing Jack’s by myself when I was young.
“Do you play Jacks? The way you caught your keys makes me think you’re good with your hands,” I state, trying to maintain a straight face. It doesn’t work. The expression on his face is priceless. His eyebrows practically reach his hairline, eyes are as open as I’ve ever seen them. A goofy yet bashful smile appears, briefly showing teeth. But it’s the dimple that makes my knees weak.
“Yes,” he squeaks out, but instead of a sarcastic remark about how good he is with his hands, he asks, “Ready?”
It feels good to catch him off guard. I dip my head, feeling a little flirtatious before glancing back up at Hagan Chatham, and thinking of all the ways he could turn me inside out. “Ready for what?”
ChapterTwelve
Hagan
Takea deep breath and just be yourself. It’s easier said than done. After Adalee’s flirty words yesterday, I’ve thought of having her in every position imaginable. She’s fucking beautiful even when she’s hating on me. Honestly, I feel her sadness in my bones just by the tone of her voice. She has barbed wire keeping her heart safe but if she would give me a chance, I’ll prove I’m worthy.
When we went to the weight room, she saw the trainer while I was lifting. My hopes died when she didn’t enter with the rest of gymnastics team.
I hope her leg is okay. I didn’t know I said it out loud because I was waiting for my sister to answer the phone. She called me in a panic so I’m returning her call at the most inopportune time.
My sister asks, “Whose leg?”
I stammer, “Oh—a—no one. Are you okay? Your message sounded like you were…”
I’m picking up Adalee to ride to the jobsite together. As I swing my leg to get out, Adalee appears on the sidewalk. Her brown hair is in a ponytail, swishing and shimmering from the fall sun. She’s petite perfection.
Harper fills the void. “Freaking out. You can say it. Why is it that you can do life without me, but I can’t do it without you?” Hap’s voice is full of discontent. “Are you even listening to me?”
No. I’m watching the woman I’m going to marry walk down the sidewalk.
Adalee pulls the door open, and I run around helping her up, holding my cell between my shoulder and cheek. My reward is a slight grin. Her gift is the burn marks my hands must leave when my fingers touch the delicate skin on her wrist.
I hold up a finger, gesturing to Adalee that I’ll be off the phone in one minute and stay outside talking.
“Sorry, Hap. You need to find something that you love to do. I’ve always had baseball, and I’ve loved every minute that you tagged along, but I want you to be happy.”
My sister quickly says, “It’s all your fault, you know, taking up more food and fluid inside Mom’s stomach.”
I react like I’m hurt. “I didn’t.”
“You did. The doctor told mom.”
“Are we still having this argument twenty-one years later? Tell me what’s wrong.”
