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“So what? He asked if you were good-looking. What was I going to say?”
“Well, we know what you said, don’t we?”
I turned so fast she didn’t have time to move. Once again, I had her backed up against the car with both hands on each side of her pretty face.
“Are you telling me you don’t think I’m good-looking? I caught you staring earlier, didn’t I?”
She flashed me a wicked smile. “You’re all right. Definitely not my type.”
“Oh, really. And what’s your type? Sexist pigs who play hockey?”
“You have a real obsession with Breen Lockhart, don’t you? You almost sound jealous.”
I stepped back and dropped my arms. “Not the jealous type, sweetheart. Let’s go.”
She reached into the back seat for the poster she made and handed it to me. We fell into stride beside one another, and we walked toward the football field.
“So, New York is where you’re thinking, huh?”
“It’s high on the list,” I said, not telling her the whole truth. It was the only one on the list besides the team I’d been playing for. I was fairly certain I was ready to make the decision, and it would probably happen very soon. “How about you go with me to New York next week? Nothing will go to print until after I make my decision. But you’ll get to meet a few of the guys and see that I’m not a complete asshole when I’m around the people I’m close to. I’ll find out how much I can trust you at that point.”
“Have I given you any reason not to trust me? You’re so skeptical of people,” she snarled beside me.
I came to a stop. She was right. She’d gone along with everything I’d asked of her so far, and I’d been an asshole most of the time. “Aside from arguing with me daily, you’ve done everything I’ve asked.”
“Is that an apology?” she asked, tucking her dark hair behind her ear.
She was so fucking pretty.
“Do you want an apology?”
“I do, actually,” she said, putting her hands on her hips.
“Good. Ask for it tomorrow as one of your questions.” I started walking and chuckled when I heard her grunt from behind me.
“You’re such a stubborn ass.”
“Been called worse, sweetheart. Usually by you, if I’m being honest.”
“If the shoe fits,” she hissed as she jogged to catch up to me as I strode toward the field.
“Oh, the shoe fits, but it has to be specially made because it’s so big.” I winked as we came to a stop at the chain-link fence.
Lionel was sitting on a blanket with Brandy, who looked up and squealed that deafening sound again.
“You came!” she shouted.
The girl had texted me five thousand times. Did I have a choice?
“Let’s go.” Brinkley elbowed me in the side and reached for the gate before pushing it open. She marched in front of me, her tanned legs striding in her boots toward Brandy and Lionel. I couldn’t take my eyes off her ass.
Her hair moved from side to side across her back.
“Mr. Hendrix. Is that you?” Lionel said, pushing to his feet as he hugged Brinkley quickly.
“I told you, you can call me Lincoln.” I extended a hand, and he shook it with a bit more strength than I’d expected, and then I handed him the poster that Brinkley made. She’d gone all out, and there was most likely glitter all over my car now. “Happy Birthday, buddy.”
“How is this happening?” he said, letting my hand go as he bent over his knees like he’d done the first time I’d met him as he tried to catch his breath.
