Page 7 of Floored

"Have you ever seen a receiver stretched out in the air to make a catch, so aware of his entire body, so in control of it, that he manages to get one"—she licked her lips slowly—"just one edge of his toe inside the line so it counts."

My voice sounded like I'd chewed glass when I answered. "Those games are like watching a car wreck that someone starts and stops a thousand times and you can't quite stop looking to see where it all went wrong."

In truth, I had nothing against American football. The opposite, really. As was true of most professional athletes, I had a thorough enjoyment of all sports. Yes, football was my favorite, and it was in my blood, but I watched the Super Bowl almost every year. I tuned in when the league played games in London.

But there was no way I was admitting that now. Not when it was triggering the strangest type of foreplay I'd ever encountered. She'd slid forward in her seat, foot curling around the back of my calf, my fingers were toying with the edge of her hair. It was soft and cool from the rain.

"Ahh," she said triumphantly, "but you can't quit watching. There's a structure to it. A framework that requires critical thinking and forethought." Lia glanced at me underneath her long lashes. "When they line up against each other, they're reading everything about their opponent. Each flinch, each flicker of the eyes, each word that's shouted. Will it be a run or a pass? Is that defender going to blitz? Every answer is a different option, and they're ready for all of them."

It sounded like she was talking dirty, in the hushed secretive tone to her voice. I couldn't tell if I wanted to laugh at what we were doing, or tear her clothes off on top of the bar.

From the look in her eye, she wasn't entirely sure either.

I chuckled under my breath. "Look at the telly," I told her, tapping the side of her leg. She turned her face toward it, jaw set stubbornly. Before I slid my stool closer, I glanced over my shoulder. The pub was still practically empty, which suited me fine at the moment. No one was watching us. My arm curled fully around her back as I moved closer, setting my face just over her shoulder so I could murmur in her ear. "Watch," I instructed. "Not just the ball. Watch all the players move along the field. It's like a chess game, see? You can't move too far forward or you're offside, you have to have total awareness of the people playing against you, and the people playing with you. Total awareness of where the ball is and how your body is positioned." My lips brushed against her hair and her entire frame shivered. "Watch the defenders hang back when the other team has possession. Now look, their striker has the ball, and they'll move up, in case they can help. They have to work as one moving piece."

"Mm-hmm," she managed. "I-I see it." Lia cleared her throat delicately, and from the corner of my eye, I noticed her fingers curl into a fist.

She smelled fresh, and I turned just slightly, placing my nose in the crown of her hair.

I inhaled.

She exhaled, a shaky gust of air as it passed her lips.

"The back and forth of the game is what makes it so beautiful," I whispered. "It's like water. There's an ebb and flow, a movement that never quite stops. That's what makes it so hypnotizing."

Her knee pressed against my leg, a helpless gesture she may not have even realized she'd made because her chest was rising and falling so rapidly.

My voice got deeper. "That's why you can't look away for a single moment. Because that moment might change everything. See," I murmured, sliding my hand over her back until my fingers found the curve of her waist under the cotton of her shirt, "that pass was perfection. If one person hadn't paid attention, if one person wasn't exactly where they needed to be …" I paused, watching a player dart up from midfield, watching one of the strikers hook the ball high in his direction, and the other drilled it into to corner of the net with a perfect header. The stands erupted, the players gathered to celebrate, and an unwitting smile curled my lips. Bethnal Green, the arseholes, would gain three points on the table today.

When I glanced sideways, Lia was smiling too.

"There it is," I whispered. Her face turned, and our mouths were a hairsbreadth apart.

"What?" She spoke so quietly I could barely hear her.

I licked my bottom lip, and her navy eyes tracked the movement. "The moment you see it, how utterly perfect this game is."

Lia blinked, backing away slightly, and I fought a wave of disappointment.

Her hand reached for her pint glass, and as she lifted it to her mouth, the one I very much wanted to taste, the sound of a loud crash and breaking glass had her jumping. Beer sloshed over the lip of her cup, dousing the front of her shirt. She cursed, her face twisting up in frustration.

"Hold on," I said, leaping out of my chair to snag a bar towel from Carl.

Carl headed back to the kitchen to find the source of the sound, and I rubbed the back of my neck as Lia sopped at the mess all the way down the front of her black shirt. It wasn't even remotely supposed to be cut in a sexy way, but it clung to her chest nonetheless, making the line of her bra visible against the wet material

She laughed under her breath. "What a perfect end to this day," she said. "I'm going to smell like a frat house until I get back to my flat."

"No spare in that bag of yours?" I asked.

Lia shook her head. "Of course, I decided I didn't want to look like a tourist today and left my backpack behind." She continued to use the towel to sop up the beer. She looked miserable.

I glanced around again, making a split-second decision before I could think too hard on it. The couple in the corner had only looked up once but returned their attention to each other shortly after Carl had left the front.

"If you'd like a clean shirt, there's a spare room upstairs," I told her.

Lia's hands slowed, and it took a moment for her to look up. Her eyes studied my face intently.

"Only if you want," I said quietly. "Or I can get one for you and be right back down. There's a toilet downstairs where you could change if you'd rather."

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