Page 22 of His Jersey

“That’s—” He cuts himself off.

“Were you going to say that’s rare? Are you used toall the girls falling for you?” I can’t keep the playful teasing from my voice, which regrettably sounds a lot like flirting.

“Actually, yeah." Relief seems to wash over his features, but then they sharpen like he’s seizing a target.

Our gazes meet. The moment stretches between us. I search his eyes because there’s no denying the elastic pull that started last year and hasn’t ceased. But I can’t fathom what he sees in me. Jack could have any woman he wants. Probably has an arena full, as he said.

I cannot imagine, in any world except clown town, that he’d possibly be attracted to me. I mean, I’ve got a great tan now from living on a tropical island, but that’s about it.

Laughter dances on his lips. “Attractive and also, maybe I’m a little arrogant at times.”

I poke him in the ribs because I see what he did there and counter, “Must come with the territory of wearing a fancy watch.”

He glances at it. “My grandfather gave it to me when I got called up.”

I tip my head, unsure I heard him correctly. Called up? Like the first time he used the phone? This past year, I’ve seen rich people do extravagant things with their money, but rewarding their grandson for making a phone call is pretty extreme.

He holds out his hand for me to shake and says, “It’s nice to officially meet you, Ella.”

I slide my palm against his. His skin is rough and his grip is strong. For one strange moment, I imagine myself curling up in his massive hands and taking refuge there.

Giving my head a little shake, my vision blurs for a second until I regain focus.

Jack’s eyes sparkle. “That’s more like it. I knew your name wasn’t Jasmin. Ella suits you.”

The way he says my name, smoothing out theLs, suits me just fine. It’s soft when everything about him is the opposite. It’s like he caresses the letters, somehow making each one his own.

Or maybe the cheeseburger, fries, and milkshake is what’s making me feel tipsy and snoozy—my most substantial meal in a long time.

I’m the real trash panda here.

We start walking. Before I make my confession, Jack tells me about encountering a woman at the airport who gave him the dog.

“He was stuffed in her sweatshirt? Poor thing. That must’ve been traumatic.” I scratch Bark Wallburger by the ears.

I’m still dancing around answering his original question. With the ice broken, I take a deep breath, preparing to tell him the story that I’ve never revealed to anyone. “The first time I came to Jewel Island, I was here for spring break during my senior year at college.”

“I remember you from the Beachside.”

“If only we’d made eye contact earlier. Before you left …” I go quiet because I don’t want it to sound like I’ve been pining over him. I haven’t. It’s just what happened next was the catalyst for everything that went wrong.

His voice is grave when he says, “No. You wouldn’t have wanted to meet me that day.”

Oh. Alrighty then.

“Anyway, there were a couple of guys there too. They asked my friends and me to dance. I was the only single one at the time and let myself be smooth-talked by Slater.” I whisper his name in case we’re somehow being recorded. Unlikely, considering the lapping of the water and our distance from the resort, but I have to be careful.

“We had fun that night, I guess, then stayed in touch. That fall, I went through a really tough time. He was sort of there forme. Looking back, more like I told myself that story because I was seeking comfort.”

“What happened?” Jack asks.

“He said?—”

Jack interrupts. “I meant what caused the tough time?”

I’m afraid that once I open the box that had been stowed in the back of my mental closet, deep in my heart, I’ll never be able to close it again.

THE CORN HUSKER

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