Page 54 of Playing By The Rules

I glance down at her, drowning in her green eyes for a moment. “My favorite color is green. My favorite food is…pizza. I’m scared of failure. Football makes me happy. My first kiss was with Lara Young. We were six.”

“Aw.”

“My first heartbreak? Hasn’t happened yet. My first job was at McDonald’s.”

Blair giggles. “McDonald’s? Really?”

“Don’t knock it.” I tap her shoulder with my index finger, leaving my fingers there, savoring her smooth skin. “I worked there the summer before my junior year in high school. I made decent money, but the hours were shit. And I knew I wanted to be a football player when my parents put me in pee-wee football. I was six and wanted to conquer the world.”

“You did a lot when you were six,” she notes, amusement lacing her voice.

“I’ve been focused since birth.”

“I believe it.” She’s quiet for a moment. “You skipped a few questions.”

“I did?”

“Yeah.” She glances over at me the same time I look down at her. “If you could be anywhere in the world right now, where would you go?”

I get a little lost in her eyes for a second, that look on her face. She’s waiting for my answer, expectant, and I realize I have to be one hundred percent real with her right now.

“You really want to know?”

“I’m dying to know,” she admits.

“I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else right now, because I’m perfectly happy right here with you,” I answer her, staring into her eyes.

They widen slightly, my answer shocking her, and I know why.

This is not normal for me. I’m the guy who pushes her away. Who tells her it can’t happen.

Tonight…fuck it. She wants to have a real conversation with me, so I’m going to be real with her.

“Oh,” she finally says, dropping her gaze so she’s staring at her lap, where her hands currently rest. “Wow.”

I lean into her, inhaling the scent of her hair as discreetly as possible. “I mean it. I like spending time with you, B.”

“I like it when you call me B.” I see just the corner of her mouth turn up and I know she’s smiling. I give her shoulders a squeeze, savoring the feel of her silky-smooth skin beneath my palm.

“Your turn.” When she finally meets my gaze, I explain, “I have a few questions for you.”

She sits up straighter, but I don’t let my arm fall from her shoulders. “Shoot.”

“Favorite color?”

“Pink.”

“Favorite number?”

“Four.”

“Bullshit,” I drawl, shaking my head. That’smyfucking number. The only one I’ve ever worn on my jersey. Even when I was six, they gave me the first available jersey for a quarterback and it was the number four.

Been my lucky number ever since.

“It’s true! It really is my favorite number. Every address I’ve ever had, there’s a four in it. My apartment I live in now is 248. And everywhere I go, I see forty-four. Like, it’s everywhere. That’s my number. Four,” she says firmly.

“That’s my number,” I tell her, and she grins, briefly leaning into me.

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