Page 54 of The Love You Win

Logan in those crusty boxer briefs he wore throughout the postseason last year without washing them. Griffin eating a freeze-dried tarantula on a dare. Bash putting a raw egg in Clamato juice after a night of heavy drinking. Thinking the un-sexiest thoughts possible, I keep my dick from straining to break free from my suit pants.

Luckily, Isla isn’t privy to my scandalous thoughts, and after a moment of consideration and a couple of questioning looks at her friends, she nods. Her pretty red lips curve into a shy smile. “I’d like that. Thanks.”

“They’re both blushing,” Griffin stage-whispers to Sebastian, who shakes his head at our friend. “Isn’t that the cutest fucking thing you’ve ever seen?”

“Okay,” Bash says, grabbing Griffin’s elbow. “You’ve had a lot to drink tonight. Let’s get you home.”

Griffin nods, but then his eyes grow wide. “Wait! Has anyone seen Quinoa?”

Isla’s friends share a confused look. Welcome to the club, ladies.

“I didn’t get her number. She promised bendy sex,” Griffin whines.

Bash rolls his eyes and pats our inebriated teammate on the shoulder. “Sorry, man. I don’t see her anywhere. I’ll take you to the circus the next time it comes to town. I’m sure you could find a bendy carnie to screw.”

Isla tries to stifle a giggle, which has Sebastian giving her a friendly wink. When Griffin’s face lights up like a kid on Christmas morning, she can no longer muffle the sound. And when he loudly says, “I actually have banged a carnie. She had a really well-groomed beard. It kinda tickled my balls when she gave me head,” she loses it. We all lose it.

“Come on, bud. You can tell me all about it on the way home,” Bash says. The tone of his voice is slow and patient, like a kindergarten teacher who has to humor twenty overly excited kids all day.

Isla and her friends laugh and hug as they say goodnight. Logan waves from across the room where he’s chatting up a leggy brunette. And then I guide Isla to my car with a hand on her lower back. I parked it in the garage reserved exclusively for the players, and when we zip out onto the street and see the gaggle of photographers and reporters still camped out by the main entrance, I pat myself on the back for my foresight. Isla told me about the reporter asking her to comment on our relationship status. She didn’t need to say how uncomfortable that made her. It was clear in the stiffness of her posture and the way she worried at her lip as she recounted the moment.

I’ll have to do my best to shield her from that kind of attention once we start dating. Because we will date. Hopefully, she grows more comfortable with it as time goes on, but I suspect I’ll need to be patient with her. I know nothing about her relationship with her ex, but I can tell he messed with her head. Hell, just seeing his best friend sent her into a panic.

“Did you have fun?” Lights play over Isla’s pale skin as we drive, illuminating her face in washes of reds, greens, and diffused golden white. She’s a work of art, and my right hand reaches out and laces our fingers together. Her high cheekbones round when a smile overtakes her face. She doesn’t drop my hand.

“More than I thought I would. That kind of event isn’t usually my scene.” There’s something in the way she says those words that has my ears twitching. She’s not letting that douche from the bar get in her head, is she? My mind shouts to find out why her voice dipped and her volume dropped, but I don’t. Now’s not the time to push her. So I grin and agree with her.

“Mine either. I’d rather be somewhere quiet with a few people I like than surrounded by so many strangers.”

Humming low in her throat, Isla gives me her full attention. “Is it weird that everyone knows your name even though you’ve never met them?”

“Yeah,” I admit. “You get used to it after a while, but the more intrusive stuff—like fans thinking they know you and asking personal questions while you’re grocery shopping in sweats and sunglasses and just trying to be anonymous—you can’t really get used to that.”

“I can only imagine.” She squeezes my fingers. I feel it all the way to my chest. “I was uncomfortable being recognized by that reporter and that was just one person. And they’ll probably forget all about me tomorrow. I’m sure it gets old.” Her tone is soft, like she’s embarrassed to admit her discomfort, and my chest inflates with protectiveness.

“I’m sorry that happened. I’ll make sure no one finds out about our hot air balloon date.” I want it to be perfect. That means no nosey reporters.

Isla shifts in her seat and turns those doe-eyes on me. “You were serious about that?”

“Of course I was. I want to take you out on a real date, and what’s better than a magical hot air balloon ride?” My thumb traces along her hand. The pretty pink flush of her cheeks makes my cock ache when I steal a glance. But it’s not just my dick that responds to her. It’s all of me.

When was the last time I felt this way about a woman?

Things with Isla may never work out the way I’d like them to, but I already know she wouldn’t sell some bullshit story to the tabloids if it all ended. She’s not that type of person. I’m confident about that. My thumb traces along her soft hand. “Are you free Friday night?”

“I don’t have much of a life these days,” she responds, making a face. “So yeah, pretty sure I’m free.” Her shoulders stiffen as her nose scrunches up and her eyes close. “Can we pretend I didn’t say that? That sounded sad.”

It’s impossible to keep the corners of my lips from twitching, but I shrug and keep my eyes on the road. “Say what? All I heard was you’re available to go out with me on Friday night.”

That earns me a soft laugh. “It must have been hard for you.”

I wait for her to finish speaking, but she trails off and I steal a glance at her. “What must have been hard?”

“Pretending to be such an asshole the night we met.” She angles her body to face me. “Because you’re just a big, slightly grumpy softie, aren’t you?”

Her description has me chuckling. I don’t know how big of a softie I truly am, and it was easier than I’d like to admit being a jerk that night because I’d been assuming the worst about her, but god, I love that she’s giving me the benefit of the doubt. And not because she wants something from me, but because that’s just who she is. She’s kind and funny and good. Too good for me. Not that it’ll stop me from pursuing her. I’m not that good.

“Grumpy, yes. Softie? I’m not so sure about that.”

---