Page 13 of Good Guy Gabe

I shrug. “I throw a ball between my legs and hit people really hard. It’s not that amazing.”

“It’s way more complicated than that.”

I take a glance at her and see the sincerity in her expression. I was just regurgitating what I’ve heard hundreds of times in my life. Mostly from people who don’t care about football, but I’ve gotten it from my own quarterbacks before, too. One of the things that drew me to Blaise was the fact that he might be chaotic and hard to rein in at the best of times, but he’s only ever been respectful to me.

“I like to think it is,” I say gently before resting my hand over hers and driving to my favorite pizza place.

Chapter 6

Joss

ISHAMELESSLY DONthe garbage bag that the pizza place provides me with and even cuts a neck hole out at my request. I’m rewarded with Gabe’s praise of, “That’s the smartest thing I’ve ever seen,” when I’m halfway through my chicken wing flight and drop one. There’s a Louisiana dry rub and a crispy adobo, but it’s the juicy, greasy, sticky raspberry habanero wing that goes splat in my lap. Thanks to the industrial-sized trash bag poncho, the only tragedy is I feel like I shouldn’t eat the wing off the trash bag, even if it is clean. It’s a principle thing.

If I were home alone, I’d do it. But I don’t want Gabe to think I’m a total trash panda. We’ll leave that for Jerry.

“If you think dropping a wing is smart, wait ‘til you see me try to peel shrimp.”

Gabe’s hazel eyes glitter at that. “You want some shrimp?”

I look down at the table. It’s just the two of us, but the hostess took one look at Gabe and sat us at a six-top. The plastic red-and-white tablecloth is now barely visible beneath my wings, Gabe’s pizza, my margarita, his hard seltzer, the nachos and mozzarella sticks we got as an appetizer, and the basket of bread. Gabe’s had the lion’s share of it, but I’ve had plenty myself. I’m about to steal a slice of his Hawaiian pizza.

But shrimp? “Ummm, yes?”

“They’re bacon-wrapped coconut shrimp.”

I gasp. “Oh my god, yes!”

At that, Gabe laughs boldly and loudly, attracting the attention of our fellow diners. People have taken note of us the entire time we’ve been here. Before we even sat, three separate tables stopped us to ask Gabe about the upcoming season and request signatures. The woman at the table next to us slides her eyes up and down Gabe as he laughs, the third time she’s done it.

And why shouldn’t she? He’s hot. Every man I’ve been in a relationship with in the past has been the intellectual sort. Attractive men, but smaller and more polished. Gabe is an absolute beast, an aesthetic I’d never think I’d be attracted to until he walked into my life. Now, I can’t stop staring at him.

It’s been six years since I last went to Wilmington. Only a twenty-minute drive, but I was so traumatized last time I was here that none of my friends or employees question why I refuse to drive those couple miles. It’s rare for me to even leave my property. I get almost everything delivered.

Gabe doesn’t know why I need to be protected, but Cora certainly did, and he’s taking his promise seriously. He’s been incredibly polite with his fans, so I don’t think anyone has even noticed the way he’s placed himself between me and them except me. I feel safe with him in a way I haven’t in a very long time. Certainly not with any other man.

So I take no offense when he says, “I don’t think I seen another woman get so excited about trash food. Except Leah, my baby sister. This is awesome. If you like ethnic stuff too, I have so many places I wanna take you. And I wasn’t talking about the wing. I meant the bag. That’s genius. I need to tell my mom about that. She’ll throw us all in bags at the Christmas party this year.”

I giggle. Honest to goodness giggle. “I can’t take credit for it. I did pageants growing up, and it’s an old pageant mom trick.”

Gabe folds a slice of pizza in half and takes a single bite that’s half the slice, washing it down with water. He’s barely touched his seltzer. “Oh yeah? Phoebe — that’s my older sister — she was obsessed with Toddlers and Tiaras, made me watch it with her. Was it any of those pageants?”

I duck my head down to hide my blush. “Yeah, I’m way older than them, but I met most of the kids on the show when I was Miss Alabama.”

Gabe freezes in the middle of lifting a stack of at least six nachos, somehow masterfully balancing them so not a single jalapeño falls off. “Holy crap, you were a Miss Alabama? Like,theMiss Alabama?”

“Like, was I Miss Alabama in the Miss America pageant? Yeah,” I admit, wishing I’d insisted on an opaque foundation for today. There’s no way he’s not seeing my face go beet red. “But I lost terribly. I was basically a back-up dancer.”

“That’s still incredible,” Gabe says with a giant, enamored grin that I can’t help but warm up to. “Do you still do it? Is there an adult version of pageants?”

“God no. I mean, yes, there are adult pageants. But I’m certainly not competing. Look at me!”

“I am.”

He says it so gravely that my breath catches in my throat. He’s staring hard at me, his lids going heavy like he’s thinking thoughts far darker than this ridiculous moment of a grease buffet between us and a black trash bag for a dress. My thoughts go straight to my dining room when I forgot that I was toplessand bared myself for him, and he did the gentlemanly thing and covered me from his eyes.

But his gruff, gigantic, sinfully warm palms grazed my breasts, and for a second, every forgotten, abandoned nerve ending there lit up, pebbling my flesh to push back into him, begging for more touch, forgetting that we were nearly strangers and Cora stood there watching.

I had to run to the restroom the moment he left to clean myself up, and thank goodness the morning required no more wardrobe changes, because Cora certainly would have noticed I changed my underwear during my potty break.

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