Page 63 of Bull Rush

“Secretly in love with me all along?” I tease, knowing full well he wasn’t.

“I don’t know what you’d call it. You were just under my skin. You always had some smart-ass comment. You weren’t scared of me. Didn’t give a shit about impressing me. I was so used to girls running around in low-cut tops and skirts that you in your cut-off, old jeans and dirty, tight white tees did it for me, I guess.” He laughs.

“I didn’t bother. You always treated me like I was just one of the guys. Another brother who just happened to have tits.” I shake my head remembering that I considered it once or twice in front of a mirror and forgot it just as quickly.

“Jesus, Haze.” He nearly sputters his wine onto the table but manages to swallow.

“What? It’s true. It wasn’t worth my time. Not to mention you weren’t about to ruin your Bo bromance for me, and I wasn’t going to suffer that kind of heartache.” I set my fork down and take a sip of my wine instead.

“But you went to prom with me.”

“I did. And then what happened after?” I ask, raising a brow and crossing my arms. “Nothing. That’s what.”

“You know what happened after. I got that scholarship, and I was going to be in college, on the road with games, and you were still going to be in high school.”

“Mm-hmm.” I shake my head, pretending to still be mad about the first time he left me for football. “Always for football.”

“I was always thinking you could do better.” There’s a pained expression on his face as he folds his napkin over.

“Isn’t that for me to decide?”

He doesn’t get a chance to answer because the waiter comes to take our food away, disappearing and returning withthe coveted cast iron skillet bread pudding a few moments later. I take a bite and let the flavors play over my tongue.

“And?” he asks.

“It’s not quite the same, but it’s not a bad imitation.”

“They’ve got the cook from Daniel’s back there these days,” Ramsey adds, like it might sway my opinion.

“Then maybe the cast iron was seasoned better. They should have stolen those with everything else they’ve taken in this town,” I grumble while I eat another bite. “I should see if Marlowe could make her own version.”

Ramsey shakes his head. “I think you need another whiskey and Coke.”

“Yes, please.” I grin.

He calls the waiter back and orders me another drink.

“Are you trying to get me liquored up?” I tease him as I lean over to feed him a bite of the dessert, and he takes it. My thoughts flash back to the night of the cake tasting, and I think of how much more he deserves.

“Maybe. Is it working?” His lips pull to the side even as he chews his bite.

“Yes.” I take some of the vanilla ice cream, letting it melt away the heat of the last mouthful. “You have a room for us upstairs already?” I hope he does because I’m ready for him to be out of the black Wranglers he has on and on his back so I can ride him.

“No. We’ve got another place to go to after this. I’m not a cheap date, Mrs. Stockton.” He presses a palm to his chest, pretending to be wounded.

“Well, that’s unfortunate.” For both of us—but I am curious about the surprise.

He spendsthe rest of dessert flirting with me heavily, and on our way to the truck, someone stops him for an autograph for their kid. He takes his time talking to them and thanking them for the kind words they offer up in support of his career and his early parole.

“Well, that was hot,” I say as we climb into the truck. “I think I regret missing that part of the experience.”

“What?” He glances at me as he starts the engine.

“The part where you’re all sexy and famous. Where people fawn all over you and how talented and brave you are. I think I might have just discovered a new turn-on.”

“Whatever helps my cause, I’ll take.” His face turns thoughtful as he looks out at the road, but his smile doesn’t fade. “You think you might be willing to do the jersey thing for me again?”

“I might.” I smile back at him. “You think you might play again? I know Cooper was encouraging you when he was here.”

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