Page 11 of A Quarterback for Christmas

Drew’s quickly by my side, and when he opens my door, he dips his hands under my knees and across my back. The touch startles me, but I hide the surprise with an annoyed gripe and push him away.

“What the hell are you doing, you beanie hat-wearing heathen?”

Drew chuckles.Chuckles.At me. Then he throws his hands in the air, getting them as far away as possible. Strangely, my body misses the heat of his hands as the cold, snowy air bites across my skin.

“Sorry, I was going to help you since we don’t have a wheelchair. The path to my door is icy, and I didn’t think you’d want to use your crutches in the snow. Your balance has already been tested, and look how well that turned out for you.”

I grind my teeth. It doesn’t matter that he’s probably right. I hate that mocking me comes so easily to him that he can do it with such a brilliant smile splashed across his face.

“I’m fine, thanks,” I quip, already readying myself to get out of the car to face my impending doom. Death by ice would be better than asking Drew for any more help.

He lifts a shoulder and backs away. “Suit yourself.”

Rounding the G-wagon, he opens the back door and gets my crutches out. As I half sit on the seat, clutching at the side of the car, Drew hands the crutches to me and raises his brow in a challenge.

Not one to back down, I snatch the crutches and angle them to touch the concrete.

The minute I put pressure on them, the ice cracks, and my confidence wavers.

“You sure you want to do this?” Drew’s tentative voice only makes me more determined, even though I know it’s a bad idea.I can already feel the lack of grip from the sleet, and when I hazard a step onto the snow, the move only confirms it.

“I’m fine.”

Somehow, I'd forgotten that I was wearing a cast with my toes exposed and a pair of foam sandals that would offer me zero protection from the elements when I so stubbornly refused his help. Not being able to back down now, I push past the tingling feeling in my toes when they touch the snow and ignore Drew’s smug glare as I attempt to walk to the door.

It’s not that far, but the door feels farther away with every wobbled step.

I barely make it three steps before Drew slams the car door, and I can hear his hard, determined steps behind me. Without warning, he wraps his muscular arms around my waist and lifts me with ease as my crutches fall to the ground.

“What the…”

“Sorry, B, but I’m not doing extra drills because Coach blames me for you breaking your other leg.” His biceps clench tighter, holding my arms in place.

“Let me go.” I try to squirm out of his hold, but I can’t move.

“Relax, B,” he whispers into my hair, his warm breath fanning my cold skin. There’s a shiver of intensity, but I push past that feeling. I’m used to my body betraying me after what feels like ninety years of chastity.

He walks up the dark oak steps and opens the door with ease. I’m immediately hit with a warm, woodsy scent when I’m dropped onto the large, U-shaped sectional. A plaid blanket falls across me from the back of the sofa, and my eyes grow wide as I take in my surroundings.

“So, this is it,” he says, almost bashfully, as he wipes his hands on his jeans. Is he nervous? He shouldn’t be. Although not to my taste, this place is a guy’s paradise. Wood accents andwarm blankets could make anyone feel at home here. Not that I’d ever refer to a place with Drew McCallister in it as home.

“It’s nice,” I offer because I feel the need to fill the awkward silence. “Do you live with a few gamers?” I tilt my chin toward the gaming chairs and four TVs.

Drew’s mouth curves as he presses his lips together to suppress a smile. “With football and classes, we’ve gotta relax somehow.” I groan because that’s a lie. Drew’s not Henry Cavill. He doesn’t sit at home tinkering with machinery to get himself off. A testosterone beast like him would need something with a little more kick than beating a few pimply kids inFortnight.

And that’s where Brianna comes in. I roll my eyes at my thought process because it always has to come back to the perfect girl, dating the perfect guy, having perfect sex.

“Oh, sorry.” Drew raises his hands in defense. “Is the gamer talk bringing back bad memories of Jimmy?”

And it happens just like that. I thought we were having a pleasant conversation, but he had to burn it down the only way he sees fit.

“Nah. I already know you’ll fuck anything with a hole. Have you tried out your vacuum yet? I bet it gives great suction.” That shuts him up, but my tongue feels heavy, spewing all that vitriol. Don’t get me wrong, I like a good verbal spar with Drew, but sometimes, it feels like I have to say these things to remind myself why I hate him so much.

Drew swallows, and his eyes track my shorts as I shift uncomfortably into the pillows. A small smirk plays on his lips, but he quickly recovers by tipping onto his toes and pointing his thumb behind him. “I’ll just go and grab the rest of our stuff.”

Watching Drew walk out, I can’t help but notice how well his ass fits in his jeans. Pert and muscular. Just like everything else on him. Leaning back on the sofa, I twiddle my thumbs and blow out a breath because I feel awkward sitting in his house onmy own. Even without him in it, it feels like his presence is all around me.

Thankfully, he comes in quicker than expected, carrying two bags and my crutches. As he drops the bags by the door, a piece of bright pink fabric catches my eye.

---