Page 15 of Full Court Love
I chuckle dryly. “No more dangerous than standing in close proximity to your pal Henry for another minute. Believe me, I’ve got this covered. Why don’t you head back in to your adoring fans?”
His eyebrows go up, and there’s a mischievous gleam in his eye when he responds. “Aww, are you jealous? That’s so sweet.”
It’s a small blessing that my cheeks are already rosy from the cold or he’d see me blush.
Yes, I’m definitely jealous. But he has no right to know that. I try to give a convincing laugh. “Ha, yes, very jealous of the groupies. For sure.”
He coughs, like maybe he just choked on his spit. Good. But sadly, I have a few drinks in me, so I’m not done.
“Here’s the thing: I already have a jersey to wear–my own. I certainly wouldn’t trade it for yours. So why don’t you just let me go home in peace? I can take care of myself.”
As if on cue, a carload of guys slows down on the road beside us. One of them leans out the window and wolf whistles. I ignore them and continue walking without breaking stride. They catcall for half a block and then one yells something from the back seat.
“Hey, Lucy! Why not let me score tonight? Come on, cutie. I promise I don’t miss.”
Jordan freezes. I hear them all roar with laughter as my cheeks burn red. I feel tears prick the backs of my eyes, but I refuse to give them the satisfaction of a reaction. Guys like this will take any sort of engagement as flirtation.
I just don’t want to cry. Not here. I maintain my best stoneface and stare straight ahead. The only time I break is to give a sideways glance at Jordan.
It’s a good thing I notice him. His fists are in balls. His jaw is clenched. It makes him look even more like a Greek god–I can’t believe that popped into my head at a moment like this. He has stopped walking, and when he starts to take a step toward the car, I realize he’s planning to respond–yeah, I need to put a stop to this. I always forget guys aren’t used to this kind of thing.
I grab his arm and practically drag him up the sidewalk. Thankfully, the car roars away–not without a few more comments flung my way first, of course. But still, they’re gone, and I can finally exhale. My heart is racing. I bet Jordan can hear it. It sounds like the bass thumping at a club to me.
Neither of us speak for a few minutes. I start to feel like I need to break the tension.
“Sorry you had to witness that.”
I’m aiming for a light tone, like I’m viewing the whole thing as a joke. But I don’t quite achieve it. My voice cracks right at the end. I bite my tongue. I won’t cry.
He looks over at me, and the next words out of his mouth are not at all what I was expecting.
“Can I put my arm around you?”
I nod silently, not trusting myself to talk again.
His arm pulls me close to him as we walk, and the heat of his body eases the tension in mine. Now my heart starts to race for a different reason. There’s that woodsy-smelling cologne again. Ugh—I want to wrap myself in it. I close my eyes and inhale.
What am I becoming?
My eyes snap back open, and I pray he didn’t notice what I just did. I look up at him. Thankfully, his mind is elsewhere. The silence isn’t awkward, but it’s also not comfortable. Not after what just transpired.
The streets are quiet, with everyone still partying atvarious houses and bars. In a few hours, these streets and sidewalks will be full of tipsy twenty-somethings stumbling home.
But right now, it’s just me and Jordan. Walking in step, like this is the most normal occurrence in the world. A part of me wishes it was. I look up at him again, and this time he meets my eyes with his. The way he’s staring at me is intense. It’s not an expression of pity–more like empathy. It’s disarming, and I don’t know what to do with it.
He speaks to me gently. “Lucy, are you okay?”
Again, I try to play it down. “Yeah, I’m fine. Sorry for the overreaction there.”
He stops walking and turns to face me. Putting his hands on my shoulders, he stares me square in the eyes. “You don’t have to say that. You don't. You didn’t overreact at all. If anyone was about to overreact, it was me. If you hadn’t pulled me away, at least three of those guys would’ve left with some black-and-blue souvenirs.”
I’m not sure why the thought of him beating people up makes me smile, but it does. “Thanks. I just…” I don’t know how to thank him for whatever this is. “Just thanks.”
To my absolute delight, he puts his arm back around me, and we keep walking.
“So, does that happen to you a lot?”
“Drunk catcalling? Yeah. But to be fair, it happens to basically every woman.”