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Reed nods, and I can’t quite get a good read on his expression. “Yeah. Let’s do it.”
He doesn’t necessarily sound enthusiastic about it, but he’s not exactly running for the hills either, yet. I’d say that’s a step in the right direction, I think.
I do my best to ignore the heat of his body when he comes to stand next to me, because acknowledging that I’m affected by his proximity would be to acknowledge my foolish attraction to him, which I refuse to do. In my earpiece I’m given my cue, and I smile towards the camera and begin my brief introduction before launching into the questions. I look at Reed, heart jumping at finding his dark eyes already set on me. “So, you’re winning 14-0, and in the span of five minutes, the Riders score two touchdowns and tie up the score.” They had lost the lead in the fourth quarter, the other team having the momentum and making the game go into overtime. “But you bring it back in overtime and win the game. What was going through your head during that time?”
A wry smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, which startles me a little and I wonder, in that moment, what a real, full-blown grin from him would look like. “Well, I’m not going to lie, at a time like that, the natural instinct is to panic a little,” Reed says, and I can feel a smile starting to pull at my lips because as stiff as he may still look, at least his answer isn’t short and clipped. “But the panic will keep you from staying focused. So, I just reminded myself to keep my head in the game, told my teammates as much, and just focused on playing well instead of looking at the time or score.”
“Looks like it paid off,” I say with a nod before drifting into another question.
I ask him about different plays he made during the game, referencing the notes I took, and much to my delight, Reed answers all of my questions easily. Not as if someone is pulling his teeth out. The weight of his gaze is constant, yet not uncomfortable. It’s warm and intense and I find myself liking the feel of it, wanting more of it, as foolish as that may be. There are people everywhere, all around us, but Reed’s presence seems to take precedence, drowning out everyone else effortlessly. He’s had an incredible season so far, on the track to winning MVP, and it shows in the way he carries himself.
Confident with a hint of cockiness, which he somehow makes work, and yet the perpetual frown on his face doesn’t take away from that.
Except right now, as I ask him questions that he answers properly and a little more thoughtfully than he’s known to, his gaze never leaves mine. The eye contact is. . . Penetrating, to say the least.
“Alright, I’ll let you get back to your team,” I say to lead into the end of the interview after asking the questions I needed to. I look at Reed and smile, “Thank you for your time.”
Reed’s gaze is locked on mine, and there’s a flutter in my chest when he returns a small smile and says, “No problem.”
My grip on the microphone tightens, the air in my lungs stilling for a moment at the sight of his small smile. When the interview ends and Michael gives me a thumbs up to signal as such, I drop my hand to my side and let out a breath. When I look back at Reed, he’s got an unreadable look on his face as he casually says, “Told you I wanted to apologize.”
His words pull a chuckle out of me, lightly biting my lower lip as I shake my head. Him being a little more pleasant in our second interview is a step in the right direction for sure, but I want to see how much he really means his apology and see if he’s going to keep up this lighter attitude for future interviews.
“You did,” I agree with a nod. A small smile tugs on one corner of my mouth as I look up at him, trying to remind myself we are surrounded by people everywhere. Reed has the habit of stealing all of the attention even within a crowd. “I’m interested to see how much you mean it. Can’t let you off the hook that easily.”
I don’t mean for my words to come out as flirtatious, but I can hear the accidental tone of voice I speak them in. Teasing, playful—unprofessional. It makes my cheeks flame up, especially when I see Reed’s brown eyes glint in a way that sends my heart tripping over itself.
The air around us feels electric, the space between us begging to be nonexistent, but I don’t allow myself to give in. Not here and, if I know what’s good for me, not ever. Not when I’m at such a pivotal point of my career. I can’t afford to let anything or anyone screw with that—especially someone as handsome and unattainable as Reed Maxwell.
I need to maintain space. I need to keep things professional.
My eyes lift and my gaze snags with his, and the blood in my veins turns as electric as the air, being on the receiving end of such an intense, meaningful stare that makes my heart clench.
Fuck me, I think I might be in trouble.
Chapter 6
Reed
“Loosenup,man.Havea shot,” JJ shouts over the heavy music pumping through the speakers of the club, nearly deafening in its volume. He tries to shove an overflowing shot glass of vodka toward me, but I wave him off with my free hand, the other nursing a bottle of beer.
“I’m good,” I tell him, earning a huff and a roll of his eyes from JJ. He doesn’t hesitate to take the shot himself without a flinch. The guy is well on his way to getting wasted, the alcohol is probably going down like water for him at this point.
Meanwhile I, on the other hand, have been sticking to my beers. I’m on my third one, and I’m a big guy, so beers don’t do much, but it would be a lie to say I am one hundred percent sober. The beer is doing a good job in keeping my irritation at the atmosphere at bay for the most part.
I’m not much of a fan of going out to clubs; if I don’t have to go to them, then I don’t bother. That being said, the guys from the team like having a fun weekend every now and then, and I would be a shitty captain if I didn’t come with them after they invite me out. The guys on the team—most of them—are good men, and if Leo can find a couple hours to come out with us before going back home to his daughter, then I have no excuse not to.
We’ve had an excellent season so far, so of course the team wants to celebrate. Many of them are here, scattered around the VIP section of the club, but I’m comfortable occupying a booth with JJ, Leo, and Caden. The music pumps throughout the club and from where we are sitting on the balcony on the second floor, we’ve got a view of the entire dancefloor and bar below us. The DJ yells into the microphone every now and then, pulling reactions from the drunken and dancing crowd, which pulses with the continuous movements of everyone present.
As I watch people take shots at the bar or dance mindlessly within the crowd, my thoughts start to drift. I can’t remember the last time I had gotten as drunk as some of the people below—or, hell, as some of my teammates currently are. The focus had always been on football; training, working out, being the best I can be. Those things took precedence over something as trivial as getting drunk—or allowing myself to have any kind of meaningful relationships.
I didn’t want them, and didn't go out of my way to find one because right now is the time to focus on my career. Sex is just a release; everyone needs it and, frankly, there’s no shortage of women I can take to bed and find momentary pleasure in. Even if, sometimes, it feels more like a transaction than anything else. But it’s been working, so why fix something that isn’t broken?
As soon as that thought crosses my mind, my brain involuntarily conjures up an image of strawberry blonde hair, green eyes, and a dimpled smile I haven’t stopped picturing for weeks. It’s not a coincidence that Willow’s face flashes through my mind right as I’m thinking of relationships, of sex.
Is that what this is? Is my attraction to her just solely physical? As much as I want that to be true, because that would sure as shit be a lot less complicated, I have a feeling that that’s not the case. Of course, Willow is beautiful—easily the most stunning woman I’ve ever laid eyes on, and the truth of that is startling. I’ve made an ass of myself in front of her more than once, and I hate to admit it, but I have never really experienced the consequences of being a dick to people. Or, well, if I have, then I didn’t care.
But with Willow, it feels different. Like something inside me is inherently telling me Ineedto care what she thinks. She looks at me, and those green eyes that remind me of spring leaves have me caught in a trance, unable to look away. Her smile is contagious, enough to make me want to smile, and it’s difficult to contain it because that would be a terrible, sure-fire way of giving myself and my traitorous thoughts away. The woman is beginning to occupy more and more space in my head, and while a small part of me is bothered by it, a bigger part welcomes it. Craves it. Cravesher.
