Page 27 of The Red-Hot Stakes

The crinkle appeared between his brows, and he closed the gap between us. “Gina, you’ve been so distant ever since you and Josh broke up. You were practically a zombie. The only time I even saw a spark of anything close to the real you was when you got mad.” He hesitated. “So I kept pushing and poking and prodding until you’d explode. Just to make sure you were still in there.”

When I searched his eyes, his intensity took my breath away.

He brushed a knuckle against my cheek before dropping his hand. “And I’ll keep doing it because I don’t want to lose you. Especially now that you’re finally coming back.”

I replayed the last few weeks, recalling the numbness that made it feel like my emotions were coated in rubber and I couldn’t get to them. I sucked in a breath, realizing that coating had slowly dissipated over the past few weeks, crumbling more each time Liam had nudged me to fight. I searched inside myself and realized my spark was still there.

Thanks to Liam.

“So you’ve been pissing me off because you like me?” I decided to do what Avery suggested, looking at him from a new angle. Like I did when he sang.

He nodded his gorgeous head, a tantalizing smile tilting up one corner of his lips. I wondered what it would feel like to have those lips touch mine.

“Where were you this week?” I couldn’t help asking.

“Oh, did you miss me?” he teased.

I bit my lip, not quite able to answer.

He tilted his head. “I thought it might be best for both of us to have some space. But I came back tonight because I couldn’t stay away any longer.”

Oh. I swallowed, my heart beating faster. “Can you explain the shoe thing to me again?” The confused crinkle appeared, and I tried to remember the right term. “Cleats, you said.”

He chuckled, leaning his broad shoulder against the brick wall. “I should’ve known better than to use football lingo with you.”

I waited, open and eager to hear his explanation this time.

One big hand tentatively touched mine, then fell away. “In football, the players run around on grass, turf. That can be pretty slick in normal tennis shoes, so they wear a special type of shoe called cleats.”

“I know what cleats are, just not why—”

“Bear with me, please?”

I forced myself to hold my tongue and just listen.

“The spikes of the cleats are what’s important. They help the players get where they’re going, or they hold the players in place. A lot of football is blocking, a player squats down and says, ‘I’m not going anywhere, and neither are you’. Those cleats are what makes them able to meet that goal. Cleats are what make touchdowns possible. You, Gina, are a pair of cleats in a world of ice skates.”

My stomach fluttered at the absurd analogy, but it was one of the sweetest, most heartfelt compliments I’d ever received. “Oh.” I knew my stunned response was less than adequate, but it was all I could manage. Then I frowned as my thoughts took another turn. “Won’t it be a conflict of interest if we’re dating and you make me manager?”

His forehead furrowed. “Maybe. But your work is solid, and your coworkers know that. If they have a problem, they can address it with me. I’ll talk to them when you’re ready to take the position.” He paused. “If that’s what you want.”

I thought for a minute, then nodded. “Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, I’ll be your manager.” I strode back to the door, then I turned to call over my shoulder, “And yes, I’ll have dinner with you.” I flounced into the bar feeling almost giddy, the most emotion I’d felt in weeks. I couldn’t keep the smile off my face.

Sarah’s eyes widened when she saw me. “Whoa, what’s that about?”

“Liam asked me to dinner.”

He came around to sit on his stool, a dazed expression on his face. “I don’t know what to do next.” His Guinness was still practically full.

I smirked. “Grab glass. Lift to lips. Swallow beer.”

“Smart-ass.” He took a sip.

And I knew exactly what to tell him. “Go sing me a song, then we’ll figure out what’s next.”

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