Page 41 of Look What You Made Me Do

He chuckled. “And the walls are still standing?” he teased. “Who’d have thought: Ella Lucas voluntarily talking football.”

Ella shrugged. “I’m pretty tipsy.”

Jake laughed this time. She did look a little buzzed, her eyes bright, her cheeks pink. But, more than that, she looked… carefree. Not a state he’d ever associated with her.

“I suspect you’re probably going to be getting a lot more Monday morning quarterbacking from me in your future.”

As if finding that inordinately funny, Ella laughed, before plucking the bright red cherry off the rim of her glass and licking the creamy froth from its glazed skin.

“Where’d that term come from anyway?” she asked as she sucked the de-creamed cherry into her mouth with a moist, wet-sounding ffft, her lips glistening with sticky glaze.

Jake completely lost his ability to communicate as every ounce of blood he possessed rushed to his dick. Even when she looked at him, blinking cluelessly, waiting for him to respond and then frowning at him in that impatient schoolteacher way she’d perfected, the blood refused to shift.

“Jake?”

He nodded, willing himself to speak. Nope. Blood still in pants. Not in brain.

“Jake!” She snapped her fingers in front of his face, which yanked him out of his glitch even if it did nothing for the blood situation.

“Right.”

He flicked a glance at Rosie who’d been watching him watch Ella with a smile on her face before he returned his attention to the cherry sucker extraordinaire. “I’m not sure of the origins, I’m afraid. It goes back a ways though, I think.”

She frowned. “What’s the use of having a football legend in your camp if they don’t know important stuff like this?”

Jake shook his head as her use of legend contributed to the major swelling action in his jeans. Even though he knew it hadn’t been her intention to stroke his ego, his dick gave zero fucks. “The only thing that’s important is winning.”

She swished the creamy content of her drink around the glass with her straw. “You’re such a jock.”

“Lucky for you I’m a jock who knows how to win.”

She rolled her eyes at Rosie. “There’s that ego again.”

Rosie shrugged. “It’s kind of cute, doncha think?”

“No.” Ella shook her head. “Puppies are cute. Fluffy yellow ducklings are cute. Little naked babies in pot plants are cute. Men with egos the size of Texas are not cute.”

“Sure we are.” Jake chuckled. “Maybe you just need another drink.” He turned and gestured to Pete, holding up four fingers.

“Let me just” – Ella waved in the general direction of the restrooms – “go and relieve myself of the first few.”

Jake scooted out of the booth, holding his breath as she brushed past him. She smelled like pineapple and was wearing one of those flowing skirts that moved with her body and almost brushed her ankles, elongating her shape.

The kind that made a man want to know what was underneath.

He sat as he tracked her progress and was relieved when she finally disappeared through the bathroom door. Hopefully, with the temptation of her well out of reach, he’d be able to coax some blood flow back to his brain.

Facing the table, he found Rosie and Simon watching him. “What?” he asked warily.

“Nothing,” Rosie dismissed, waving her fingers in the air.

Jake wasn’t falling for that. “What?” he demanded again.

She glanced at Simon who gave a barely perceptible shake of the head. Ignoring him, she asked, “Are you two going to step this up? Or are we going to have to keep watching it in slow motion?”

Jake grinned. He had to admit that, despite Ella’s assertion that he was backward, there was an inevitability he felt whenever he was around Ella. Right now, his groin was hoping for the fast forward version but there wasn’t enough beer in Mexico to make him think, even for a second, that Ella wouldn’t take her own damn sweet time.

He regarded Rosie for a long moment, so different from Ella and yet somehow so right for her too. “Why don’t you tell me? You know her better than I do. You met in twelfth grade, right?”

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