Page 25 of My (Not So) Perfect Plan

“Don’t be a Neanderthal,” she says.

I pull the shirt off my head, and contemplate not putting it on, but stop moving when I see that her eyes can’t seem to pull away from my body.

“You were saying?” I ask, incapable of keeping the smug note out of my voice.

She whips around, putting her back to me, her embarrassment palpable. I laugh and pull the shirt over my head.

“We have about four hours before the game starts. Rachel is going to pick me up on her way there,” she says when I’m decent.

I frown before I can stop myself.

“Hey,” she reaches out and touches my forearm fleetingly, “I was thinking though, your team would appreciate your support, wouldn’t they? They would love to see you at the game. Why don’t we take your truck instead?”

That brings on about a ton of guilt. I’ve let them down with this stupid injury. Thankfully, our second string is almost as good as I am, so I know they have a fighting chance. But I’ve pretty much cut myself off from them, just because the reminder has been painful. But I miss it. And she’s right about showing support for the team. Coach Jenkins and Coach Carter have been really good about checking in on me, even though we all know my football career is done for.

I nod my head. “Yeah. Okay. Let’s do it.”

“Are you going to be okay showing up with me?” she asks.

I look over at her. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“I don’t know. Because people will talk and it will hurt your street cred to be seen arriving with strait-laced Claire Brown?”

“I’d think I should be asking if you’re concerned about showing up withmeconsidering your reputation might take a hit because of rumors.” I raise my eyebrows at her. Is it something she’s worried about, but didn’t want to say? “Or we could save ourselves the trouble of explaining how we aren’t together and just let people think we are together since they are going to want to think that anyway.”

And then we could kiss without any problems. Oh, crap.

“Um…” she says, her eyebrows coming together in confusion.

I think I might have just kind of asked her to be my girlfriend.

“So I’ll be your girlfriend because it’sconvenient?” she asks. Her voice kind of squeaks at the end and the downward turn of her mouth should be a huge blinking neon sign to me that she’s offended, but me being me, I don’t catch on.

“Sure.”

Claire laughs, but not like she finds it funny, and rolls her eyes. “Yeah, no. That’s not going to happen.”

“So youdon’twant to be my girlfriend?” I ask. I swear it’s like I have no control over my mouth around her. Do I want her to be my girlfriend? A girlfriend right now is not a good idea. What the hell am I saying?

“I didn’t say that,” she says, staring down at her fingers.

“So youdowant to be my girlfriend.” I laugh. I’m relieved and disappointed at the same time.

“I’m not opposed to it, but that doesn’t mean I want you to be my secret boyfriend or my boyfriend or my boyfriend of convenience or anything else,” she blurts out in a rush. She has a full body blush going on and I just want to take her into my arms and kiss her until that blush calms down.

“How about this? Claire, will you please take me to the game?” I try to restrain the laughter in my voice but it bleeds through anyway.

“Sure. Thanks for asking. You’re a goodfriend,” she says.

Being around Claire is both hard and easy. Hard because I can’t just touch her the way I want to, drag her onto the bed, tickle her until she screams, and then kiss her until her lips areswollen. It’s easy because she seems to know what I need before I need it, she gets my snarky sense of humor, and she’s drama free.

I have to remind myself that I don’t really want her like that, I just think I do, that it’s the proximity to a pretty girl, and the lack of other female interaction that is making me go a little nuts hormonally and speak without thinking it through. On the other hand, with the way my thoughts have been going, not thinking has been a bit of a relief.

I feel kind of bad about the fact that this is happening in the first place because I never considered myself such a horn dog, but maybe I am. I know Claire finds the idea of a relationship with me laughably absurd, probably because of my reputation with the ladies. On the other hand, I’m a guy. God made me want women and be attracted to females. Is that such a bad thing? No conceit intended because it’s just true, but is it my fault women find me attractive and throw themselves at me?

We work on the homework and leg exercises and I really have to try to stay focused, especially when the scent of her perfume and the touch of her fingers on my abdomen and legs wreak havoc on my senses. It’s a good thing we’re going to this game tonight, I realize, because it will give my lizard brain the opportunity to realize there are other women out other than Claire. A bevy of hot girls ready to kiss up the injured football star has to pull me out of this, right?

Claire turns off the truck and sits back, looking over at me.

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