Page 32 of Play the Last Card

While running drills on the field, or throwing the ball down the line … damn my mind should be on practice but it’s not. Her face is right there, the forefront of my brain.

I can’t get the girl out of my head.

Might not be affecting my game but it’s beginning to affect my sanity.

I’m still deflecting any work-related questions she throws at me. It’s clear she has no idea who I am and Flynn has confirmed her friend doesn’t either. It isn’t that I want to keep it a secret forever but considering how she feels about football and considering my job, I just want time.

I want time to show her I’m more than a football player, more than a quarterback.

But she knows I work for the team and I want an excuse to talk to her. She has not sent a reply since this morning. I gathered this morning it was because she was wrangling children but it’s now just after seven. She’ll be home now.

I lean back, turning the brightness on my phone all the way down and snap a picture of my outstretched legs with the screen clearly showing the game tape we are watching.

Scott:*1 Attachment*

I wait, phone in my hand, eyes watching the screen whilst my mind replays the almost kiss for the millionth time over. Next to me, Flynn shifts further down in his seat.

Ivy:Looks like my worst nightmare.

Scott:And mine tonight …

Ivy:Tired?

Scott:You’ve no idea.

Ivy:I just got into bed, Friends is on and I’ll be out any minute …

Jealous?

Scott:That sounds like a dream

Ivy:*1 Attachment*

Her room is bathed in shadows. A lamp must be on next to her, lowly lit. There is a small lump in her bedding where I guess she must have her legs curled up. As promised, the TV plays an episode ofFriends. I’velearned it is her comfort show and, even when she’s watching some other new series, she is always watchingFriends.

When I asked how she could watch the same show over and over, she’d told me that sometimes she just needed the background noise. And she likes that she knows how it all ends: happily.

I glance toward the front of the room at Coach. He is focused on the screen, laser pointer in his hand and red dot furiously moving across it.

When I look back down at the picture, I study her surroundings. White furniture, what looks to be a light pink color on the walls—although it is difficult to tell when the picture isn’t all that well lit—a few pillows scattered on the floor in front of her bed.

Her room is all soft edges and comfortable landings.

Just like her.

Scott:I like your room.

Ivy:Ha! I haven’t changed it since high school.

But thank you.

I hesitate. The almost kiss replays over and over, melding with the moment she turned her head at the end of the night and my lips had landed on her cheek.Her cheek?

She’d turned her head so I’d caught her cheek, for fuck’s sake.

When did my ability to ‘woo’ a woman go to shit?

I type out the question that has been burning inside my chest since I’d pressed my lips against her soft skin for the first time.