Page 72 of Puck Block

Ford breathes heavily. “Because none of them are good enough for you.”

I roll my eyes. “Same story, different year. You and Emory have been saying that since I entered high school!”

Ford’s hand comes up to cover mine, trapping it against his chest. “Well, it’s the truth.”

I sigh and attempt to calm down. “Then who is good enough for me, Ford?”

His blue eyes bounce between mine when he opens his mouth. There’s the smallest divot in between his eyebrows that mimics mine as I wait for his answer. My heart slows when he wraps an arm around my waist and pulls me in closer. The lights grow dimmer, and the air is full of unshed chemistry brewing between us, but then, all of a sudden, the room starts to sway. At first, I think it’s because of his touch. But when I start to shake, I realize it’s not.

“Tay?”

My phone dings, and his eyes widen.

We both reach for my purse on the floor. My fingers tremble against the zipper, but Ford swoops in and pulls me into his arms. He studies the number on the screen and curses.

“It's in my bag.”

He quickly gets the pen ready with the right dosage without any direction from me. I slowly lift my shirt and flinch when he uses the alcohol pad to clean the area. His warm breath brushes against my skin until it’s dry, and then I turn away and bury my head into his chest.

Ford handles me like I’m a piece of china. He’s gentle, and I hardly feel the pinch. When the needle is inserted, I silently count to ten, then it’s done and over with, and Ford’s lips are brushing against my ear.

“All done,” he whispers. I nod against his chest, and he brushes my hair away from my face. “You okay now?”

I breathe deeply. “I will be.”

“Then let’s go home.” Ford doesn’t let me walk. He keeps me cradled to his chest after putting all my things back in my bagand carries me through the restaurant like a walking billboard for embarrassment.

“Will you please put me down?” I ask.

“And risk you fainting? No.”

I hide from all the staring and don’t pull my face away from his shirt until I feel the cool air wash over my warm skin. I wiggle to my feet, but Ford tightens his grip until the passenger door to his car opens, and he places me inside.

“Was that really necessary?” I ask.

He stays quiet when he pulls the seatbelt down and leans across me to buckle it. I get a strong whiff of his cologne, but it’s gone the moment he backs away and slams my door.

When we’re on the freeway, with nothing but the sound of tires against pavement, I finally get the nerve to speak.

“You never answered me.”

I feel the car pick up speed. “What are you talking about?”

“When I asked who was good enough for me.” I stare at the blurring line outside of my window and wait for his answer. I’m afraid if I look at him and he sees my expression after he gives me the name of some guy, he’ll see my disappointment.

I don’t know when it happened, but no matter who gives me a second glance or swipes right on my photo, I immediately compare him to Ford, and the one who comes out on top is the one who doesn’twantto be on top.

When we pull up to my sorority house, Ford puts his car in park and reaches for his phone. The light illuminates each of his strong features, and there’s something so incredibly comforting knowing that Ford is there to take care of me when I need it. He visibly relaxes after he reads my glucose level.

I nod. “See? All better. And before you get angry, I haven’t messed with my insulin since we talked.”

He grips the steering wheel and stares out the windshield. “Good.”

“You better go,” I say. “You’ve got a game tomorrow, and Emory is going to kill you if you play like shit again from lack of sleep.”

Ford turns to look at me. “Even on my worst days, I don’t play like shit, and you know it.”

I laugh quietly and open the passenger door to climb out of his car.

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