Page 19 of Lawson

I hope it doesn't show.

I hope he can't tell the effect he has on me.

He must take my hesitation for a denial, because he hurries to continue. “Please,” he says, the word coming out of his mouth shocking me once again. “I promise I won't try anything funny. I know I've been joking with you at practice, but it actually does mean something to me to improve my skills. I always want to get better and even though I think I'm the best, I'm willing to try.”

“Wow, so the overconfident player is capable of practicing humility.” I hate how much I like that.

“Come on,” he says, turning up the charm factor. “There has to be something you want, something I can help you with that will convince you to forget all the reasons why you shouldn't coach me alone.”

My earlier conversation with my friends comes back front and center as does the anxiety clinging to my insides regarding the text that sprung the conversation.

“Ohh,” he says, his eyes brightening as he points at me. “Thereis. I can tell. Name it, Coach. You need money? I can pay you.”

“The Badgers pay me,” I fire back.

“Then what is it?”

“It's...” I shake my head, having a hard-as-hell time trying to find the words. Am I actually about to ask for this? “I can't,” I say.

“Sure you can,” he says. “I need something, you need something. That's how deals work.”

“It's ridiculous,” I say.

His grin widens. “What is it? You need me to organize your closet and do your laundry?”

I laugh, shaking my head.

“Tell me.”

I bite my lower lip, wondering how pathetic this is going to sound when I open my mouth?—

“Tell me, damsel,” he says, stopping suddenly. He catches me against his body, barely budging as our skating comes to a quick stop. His hands are on my arms, the heat searing as little sparks shoot along my nerves. He's looking down at me, those hazel eyes filled with want and sincerity and I just can't take my eyes off of him. “Tell me,” he says again.

We may be standing on the ice, but our bodies are flush from the momentum. All those feelings from a week ago resurface, unfurling with a hunger that almost hurts.

“I have some events that I have to go to,” I admit. “I'm speaking at a few of them at the college.”

Lawson cocks an eyebrow as he looks down at me, still not letting me go. “And you need someone that looks as good as me to be on your arm?”

“Something like that,” I say, nerves tangling in my stomach.

“Ohh,” he says, recognition clicking. “You need me to play that little part we played atThe Queens Rum, don't you?”

“I told you it was ridiculous.”

“Douchebag’s still bothering you, huh?”

I look down, studying the way our skates are almost intertwined, but Lawson tips my chin up to meet his eyes. “Is he?” he presses.

“Yes,” I admit. “He sent another text this morning. My friends are encouraging this idea, thinking if he sees me with the same guy more than a few times he'll finally take the hint. Because telling him like an adult that I have no interest in him anymore and don’t want him in my life isn’t enough. Apparently, I need amanto help me get rid of another man.” I roll my eyes at the audacity of it, and the inner feminist in me dies just a little.

Lawson’s hand is still gently gripping my chin, the touch between us somehow familiar even though it shouldn't be. “There's nothing wrong with asking for help,” he says. “And I'm sorry that some men are wired to only respect the opinions of other men. Trust me, we're not all like that, but if the douchebag is, then I'm more than willing to help you.”

Hope flares in my chest. “Really?”

“I am a hero after all,” he says.

“Even though it'd be for show? Even though I have no interest in being in an actual relationship?”

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