Page 87 of The Problem with Players

She stepped closer to me. “Maybe a little slightest?”

Her proximity felt foreign to me. Like a dream I’d been dreaming of for a long-ass time coming true. Was that…playfulness in her stare, too? Was Avery being playful with me again? This day was taking a turn I didn’t expect it to take.

“Maybe a little,” I confessed, stepping in closer, too. I’d move in closer and closer as long as she allowed it. “A tiny bit.”

“Don’t worry, Nathaniel.” Her smile grew, and she placed a comforting hand against my forearm. “River’s not my type.”

“And what is your type, Coach?”

With a mischievous glint in her eyes, she gave me a once-over, a playful look on her face, before she coyly started off toward her table. “I need more mimosas.”

This woman was going to be the end of me.

I followed her footsteps like a puppy dog in need of its owner’s attention. “I’m just saying. Wesley didn’t exactly seem like your type to me.”

She glanced back at me and arched an eyebrow. “Is that so?”

“That’s so.”

“And what about Wesley didn’t seem like my type?”

“He seemed weak.”

“You think I don’t have a thing for weak men?”

“I know you don’t have a thing for weak men.”

“Okay, wise guy. You seem to know me well. So you tell me,” she said as she picked up her Mason jar and took a swig. “What do you think my type is?”

I swiped her Mason jar from her grip and took a sip, too. “Someone with a dash of cockiness and a sprinkle of charm.”

“True. And maybe handsome, too. And funny.”

“I’m hilarious,” I said with a wide grin. “Knock, knock.”

“Who’s there?”

“Your future husband.”

She rolled her eyes. I loved when she rolled her eyes at me. She did it so dramatically that I couldn’t help but feel turned on.

“You’re not my type, Nathaniel,” she said.

“Why’s that?”

She snatched her drink back. “Because you annoy me too much.”

“That sounds like a compliment.”

“That’s only because your peanut brain doesn’t know how to decipher insults from compliments.”

I smirked. “Thanks, Coach.”

Another eye roll. “Truthfully, I don’t have a type. I don’t like men, so that makes it next to impossible for me to have a type. Most of you just piss me off.”

“You seem to like my brothers well enough.”

“That’s because they aren’t major pains in my ass.”

---