Page 10 of A Quarterback for Christmas

“No problem.” I do as she asks, noticing her skin prickle with goosebumps as the fabric skims across her smooth thighs. Once the shorts are in place, I turn away and shake the naughty thoughts plaguing my brain. She didn’t seem to notice my lusty glare, but she never has. Too caught up in her hate to see what’s staring straight at her. Or who.

I hear what sounds like her legs flicking over the side. “I’m ready,” she says somewhat reluctantly, and I roll the wheelchair in her direction.

Her eyes track the chair, calculating how she will make this move without asking for my help. I cock a smile, waiting for the show.

Pushing her hips forward, she slithers down the bed until her good foot is on the floor. Then, clutching the bed bars for dear life, she almost throws herself toward the chair. I hold the handlebars on the chair tight so that she can maintain some balance.

Her butt’s in the air, and I can’t see her face because her hair is so messy, but she’s still refusing to ask for help. Twirling her hips around, she aims her butt cheeks at the seat but sadly misses,whacking her ass crack against the armrest and yelping like an injured dog.

“Everything okay?”

She hasn’t moved her bowed head in minutes, and the only reason I know she hasn’t passed out is because she’s letting out a breath of air like she’s a deflating balloon.

“I’m fine.” It’s a squeak, but better than nothing. She eventually drops to the seat, and I raise her broken leg to the rest, so she doesn’t have to.

“Ready to go?” Bella refuses eye contact but gives me the slowest, most self-pitying nod I’ve ever seen.

“As I’ll ever be,” She sighs.

“Can’t wait for this either, B,” I retort.

As I roll her to my car in an uncomfortable silence, I wonder how on earth we will get through this next week without her killing me.

Chapter 3

Bella

The G wagon rolls to a stop. “We’re home,” Drew says with more pep than a hyped-up flyer that hit her mark. Stuck in my arch-nemesis’s jock house for Christmas wasn’t exactly in the plans, but karma had other ideas for me. I blame it on that time I was in London and didn’t tell that girl that her skirt was tucked into her underwear. That was the day I was put in karma jail, and this is my comeuppance.

Drew shuffles his bulky body beside me, and I don’t dare to look because every time I do, I see his happy-go-lucky, eager-to-please face, which annoys me.

He’s a gentleman who looks like the best-looking Hemsworth brother, and no matter how rude I am to him, he’s always, always, always got a smile on his face.

Everything about him is so damn perfect; it’s a constant reminder that I’m not. In fact, I’m so far out of orbit from the word, I’d need to hire Elon Musk to get remotely close.

“Are you awake?” I’m not surprised he’s asking. The only sign of life I’d given since we’d left the hospital was an angry mewl or two when he drove over a pothole a little too aggressively. At least I had the heated seat to cushion my ride, something Uber Dave could benefit from.

“I’m awake,” I answer, looking out at the beautiful suburban street and the traditional brick house with snow covering its black roof. “Is this it?”

“Mhm.”

“Not what I was expecting.” I crick my neck, still wondering how on earth we will get through living together. I can barely stand to be in the same room as Drew at the best of times, but now I’ll be breathing the same air as him all day, every day. I might even need his help.

“Where did you think I lived? Frat Row?” Ah, Frat Row. The exclusive neighborhood where I spent many nights during my younger years trying to find myself. Still haven’t found myself, but on the way, I found a few frat boys whose names I can’t remember and discovered that I was blackballed out of the neighborhood the minute they found out I was Coach Summers’ daughter. At least, I think it was that. It could have been when I fell face-first into a bush after drinking too many shots.

“Wouldn’t put it past you. You are the hot shot of St. Michael’s, after all.”

He adjusts his hat, seemingly uncomfortable with the fabric. “I was offered a place at three frats, but turned them down when Jacob offered me a place here.”

“Jacob? As in Jacob Miller?” That makes me glance over my shoulder for the first time in this journey.

Drew narrows his eyes, watching me skeptically. “Yeah, do you know him?”

I snort. “Everyone in the country knows Jacob Miller. Isn’t he expected to be the number one draft pick? If Dad isn’t boasting about you, Jacob’s his next favorite topic.”

Drew’s usually wide smile drops, and the way he looks at me makes my toes tingle. Maybe it’s just frostbite?

Saying nothing, his eyes drift down to my green shorts, and he takes in a sharp inhale. “Come on, let’s get you inside. You’regetting cold.” I cover my knees, feeling goosebumps across my skin. How could he see them from there?

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