Page 20 of Not a Perfect Save

Connor looks over his shoulder. “Makes the world go round.”

“Totally.” We exchange nods of solidarity.

I tip my head to the side, pursing my lips. “What if I was a vegetarian?”

He turns to face me fully, crossing his arms over his chest. “You’re not.” There’s not a speck of doubt in his voice.

My brows furrow at his contrariness. “How do you know?”

Connor’s eyes twinkle. “You’re too bloodthirsty. A carnivore through and through.”

A laugh escapes me. I take him in—the muscles of his arms are thick, straining beneath his shirtsleeves. I can’t disagree. There are a few things I’d like to sink my teeth into. I catch myself licking my lips.

He motions me to a chair, and I make no protest. A grilled cheese sandwich is set down in front of me, cut diagonally with military precision.

A bite later, my lashes flutter over my cheeks and I moan. It is like manna from heaven. When I open my eyes, Connor’s gaze is on me, and he’s grinning. “Come on. I know you can say it. Thank. You. Connor,” he cajoles.

“I’ve been an ungrateful bitch, hmm?” I say once I’ve chomped down a couple more bites. My own smile is wry.

“Nah. It’s all good.” He sits across from me and brings his own sandwich to his mouth. His isn’t sliced in half. We eat in companionable silence. It’s my first meal since lunch the day before, and it’s all I can do not to devour it like a rabid dog.

Once I’ve gobbled down the rest of the food, I lean back, barely refraining from rubbing my belly in satisfaction. “So, do you think it worked?”

“Hmm?” He takes another bite and meets my eyes while he chews.

“The press conference. Will they let you play?”

Connors shoulders lift an inch then drop. “We’ll see.”

I frown. “I thought that was the whole point of earlier?”

“The press conference will help for sure, but the team doctor will make the final call.” His jaw tightens.

“You really want to play?”

Blue eyes lift to mine for a second before shifting back to his sandwich. “Of course. My team is depending on me.” His expression is a mix of earnest determination that I can identify with.

“You love it, hmm?”

“I do.”

My fingers run over the few crumbs I left on my plate. “How did you get into it, anyway? Weren’t you in the military?”

His eyes lower, and he tips his head, yes, and takes another bite.

“Well?”

Connor clears his throat. For a second I think he is going to deflect, but then he says, “We moved a lot as a kid. My parents are career army folks. Mom’s a colonel. Dad’s a general. So it was a new base every couple of years. It was always easier to meet people if I joined some kind of extracurricular.”

“Football,” I say.

He nods. “Football.”

“So then what?”

“Scouts approached me when I was eighteen. But I had already made plans to enlist after college. You could say that the army was the family business.”

“So then?”

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