Page 29 of Play the Last Card

“Yes!”

Scott groans, shaking his head as he collects my dropped putter. “Damn.”

I laugh. “Told you. Admit it, I’m a better golfer.”

“Mini golfer,” he corrects. I drop my hands and rest them on my hips, raising a brow, and wait. He sighs. “Fine … you’re better. I admit defeat.”

I throw my head back and laugh again, but this time his laugh joins mine. I’m about to tell him that he shouldn’t have doubted my skills in the first place when he steps into my space, face hovering above mine. He’s so close I can see the detailed, clean lines along his jaw where he trims his beard. He smells like soap, and cinnamon, and something else I can’t quite place. He smells delicious. I feel myself rising on my toes. His lips are right there, hovering so closely above mine.

It would be so easy.

I stare at the gold flecks embedded into the forest green of his eyes. His cap casts a shadow and when he tilts his head slightly, the golden flecks shift and swirl. They’re captivating. He’s captivating.

He’s staring at my lips. My eyes flicker down to his.

In the background, a door slams. I jolt. My heels drop back to the floor. I shoot up a hand and take the cap off his head. The moment’s gone.

“I’m taking this. As my prize.”

He continues to stare, gaze dragging between my lips and my own eyes, and back again.

“All yours.”

Chapter Seven

Scott

With every drip ofsweat making its way down the side of my face the same phrase turns over and over in my head; I should have kissed her.

I should have kissed her next to that stupid plastic wave and I should have kissed her when I dropped her off. She seemed to shrug off thealmost kisseasier than me. I thought about it as I’d driven her to a park nearby where I’d organized a taco food truck to meet us for dinner. I’d thought about it as I watched her put away no less than six tacos, only four less than myself, and I’d thought about it as she laughed at my story about the time my mom had interrupted an exam in my final year at school because I’d forgotten to wear my lucky pineapple socks.

When I dropped her home, I’d driven five miles under the limit just to prolong my time with her. I practically tripped over the bonnet of my car trying to open her door for her and I had to bury my hands in my pockets in an effort not to touch her. I stood on the porch in front of her door and I studied her soft looking lips down to the exact shade of pink.

When I leaned down, my hand finding her hip and my fingers splaying across the fabric of her shorts, I hesitated for the smallest moment and gave her the chance to turn her head. My lips met her cheek and my pride had plummeted.

I’m a fucking idiot.

At least, when it comes to Ivy I am. My performance on the field is better than ever. She’s in the back of my mind but my focus is on the team and it’s showing. My teammates and I are starting to click. Therunning backs are learning my quirks, I’ve finally started to mesh with the offensive line after the center and I got on the same page. Flynn is my tight end but it only took us half a practice to get back into the rhythm of things. It’s like playing in college with him again.

I’m getting comfortable.

Thank god for that.

Summer may have turned into autumn, the leaves have started to change their colors, but the sun is still beating down on our backs during this morning's practice. Flynn strolls up next to me, ripping his helmet off and lifting his practice jersey to wipe the sweat building up on his forehead.

“Honestly, fuck this heat.” He lifts the water bottle, squirting it into his mouth. If only the jersey chasers could see him now. Flynn has always been good looking, but in college it was more of a baby-face-innocent look. My mom would squeeze his cheeks after wrapping his large frame up into a hug whenever we’d go to see my parents.

I shared a wall with the guy in college. He is anything but innocent.

He lost his baby face just before senior year. Now, he’s all straight jawlines and abs. Before I moved to Boston, he had hair longer than his shoulders. He called it sex appeal but I just had the urge to cut it off with scissors. Thank god he did it himself before the season started.

Flynn shakes out his hair, sweat drops flying from the short strands.

I turn my eyes on him, leveling him with a stare as I drag a hand down the arm closest to him. “Gross.”

“I’m allowed to be sweaty. I work hard,” he replies while running a hand through the sweat soaked strands.

“Go be sweaty somewhere else.”