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My cheeks flare with heat again as I suddenly realize how that must sound. My eyes wide and my heart trying to beat its way out of my chest, I raise my gaze to his only to find him looking back at me with a wide smile and those mesmerizing eyes. All of a sudden, my heart stops dead in its tracks. I find myself wanting to dive into those eyes. Lose myself in them.
“Sorry,” I say. “I’ve just… I mean… I’ve been following you for your entire career. You were always my favorite player when I was a kid.”
He recoils and a frown pulls the corners of his mouth down. “Since you were a kid. Wow. Way to make a guy feel old.”
“No. I didn’t mean it like that. T-that’s totally not how I meant it,” I stammer.
“Relax, I’m just teasing you," he says with a wry chuckle. “Sort of.”
I look down and try to gather my wits about me—an almost impossible feat with Carter sitting here looking at me and every fantasy I’ve ever had about him scrolling through my head like a highlight reel. I clear my throat again and go back to taping his ankle, trying to focus on the mundane and get these thoughts out of my mind. I’m painfully aware of his eyes on me, watching my every movement. It's like his gaze has a physical weight that's pressing down on me, making it hard to concentrate. Making it difficult to even breathe.
“So, you’ve watched me play since you were a kid, huh?” he asks, breaking the awkward tension in the air. “How old are you, Cami?”
“Twenty-three. But I’ve been around the game all my life. I guess you could say I was born into it. I love the game.”
“Is that why you’re working here? To be around it?”
I shake my head. “No. Not really. I mean, I love being around the game, but I just graduated from school and need to get some experience. I figured working on the training staff for a team would give me that.”
“Oh, where’d you go to school?”
“USC.”
He pulls a face. “I’ll try not to hold that against you. I’m just sad you went to such an inferior school.”
It makes me laugh. “Are you really going to play the college rivalry card on me? I mean was there even much of a rivalry way back in the olden days when you were there?”
“Ouch. That hurts,” he says and laughs.
“Don’t mess with me, Cole. I’ve got claws.”
“I can see that.”
We laugh together and the conversation that flows from that feels natural and… well… normal. Strangely enough, he seems like a normal guy and doesn’t seem like the prima donna most superstar athletes tend to act like. And just like that, the tension that fills the air around us seems to dissipate, replaced by something more comfortable.
It’s strange, but a sense of ease between us develops. He’s a lot easier going than I would have imagined him to be and has a decent sense of humor. His laugh and that twinkle in his eye only make him more attractive to me. I shift on my feet, desperately trying to stem the tide that’s soaking my panties.
“So, what’s the plan when you’re done getting the experience you want here?” he asks.
“I’m going to open my own physical therapy clinic, focused on sports injury rehab. I want to help people.”
“I can see that. That seems to fit you.”
“That man you were speaking to out on the field yesterday—was that your agent or something?”
He nods. “How’d you know?”
“He just had that slick, slimy look most agents have.”
Carter laughs. “Yeah, I suppose he has that look, doesn’t he?”
“Was he just checking up on his prized client?”
The smile slips from his face, and he frowns. A look of sadness fills his eyes so poignant that sends a sharp sting through my own heart. Carter Cole, always so full of swagger and bravado suddenly looks like a little boy lost. I never would have imagined he could be, but he suddenly looks… vulnerable. It’s twisted, I know, but seeing that kind of emotion in him makes me curious.
“What is it?” I ask.
He runs a hand across his face as if trying to wipe away the thick mélange of complex emotions and shakes his head. My hand trembling and my heart racing, I reach out and put a hand on his upper arm, trying to silently convey that he can talk to me.
