Page 6 of Floored

"Lia," she answered.

I held out my hand. "Jude."

No last names were offered, which was fine by me. If she didn't live here, and paid no attention to football, my last name wouldn't mean anything to her. But all the same, I decided not to risk it.

The past few weeks, the pressure of being me—Jude McAllister, who was carrying his team on his slowly aging back and trying desperately to keep them out of mediocrity, who was trying to keep his younger brother from meddling in his life, who was making sure his family knew how wrong they'd been about him—was a slowly growing millstone around my neck.

For one night, I didn't want to feel any of those things.

Each day that I poorly juggled my responsibilities while balancing a high-demand career was another day that I craved an escape. One night, like this one, where I could pretend no one wanted anything of me. One night when I could flirt with a beautiful woman, a night when I could indulge in something harmless and only for me.

When she slid her cool fingers up my palm, I felt the charge of it up the length of my arm, like she'd plugged me into a socket.

"Jude," she repeated slowly.

Lia was tasting those letters on her tongue, and fuck all if it wasn't the sexiest thing I'd ever seen. I wanted to hear her gasp it into my ear with her nails digging into my back.

Because I was feeling particularly turned on by every facet of this brief interaction, I did the same back. I licked my bottom lip and met her eyes. "Lia," I murmured. Her pupils dilated, a pulse fluttering wildly at the base of her slender throat.

"We are definitely having a moment here." She glanced down at my hand, still holding hers.

Slowly, I pulled mine away, using the tips of my fingers to curl along the edges of hers, and she swallowed.

I watched her face as she settled her hands back around the pint glass in front of her. "How very American of you to point it out."

She lifted her beer, and I clinked my glass against it.

"Don't worry," she said. "I'm about to ruin it."

"Are you now?"

Lia set her chin in her hand, like she had earlier, only she fully turned on her stool, so I had no choice but to either bracket her crossed legs with mine or be turned away.

I chose the former, stretching one arm along the back of her seat. That long, curling hair brushed against my forearm, and I fought the urge to see how it felt tangled in my fingers.

We both took another pull from our drinks, and as I was setting my glass down, she said, "I think your football is the most boring sport in the entire world."

My entire body froze. "I beg your pardon."

Glancing over his shoulder, Carl whistled under his breath.

She shrugged. "They just ... run all over. There doesn't seem to be any strategy that I can see."

Was my jaw on the floor? My heart pulsing in a bloody heap just next to it? That was what it felt like.

I took a moment to recover the absolute heartbreak that anyone would say those words to me, but when I caught a flash of anticipation on her face, I knew she was looking forward to my reaction.

Lia was an unlit match, simply waiting for someone to provide the friction she needed to ignite.

I'd provide that happily.

"I can see why it might be difficult for you to understand the grace and fluidity of the game," I told her quietly, leaning in just enough that her breath caught. "Given there's no smash, grab, graceless violence like you lot think is interesting."

A spark flared hot behind her eyes. "It's hardly graceless."

"Do tell," I drawled.

Lia took the challenge like a relay baton, and oh, did she run with it.

---