Page 21 of Not a Perfect Save

“I joined. Did all the training. Was deployed to Afghanistan.”

For a second I have terrifying images of Connor being out somewhere, hurt. He blushes and his eyes drop before he continues, “Turns out, I have really bad allergies. I was able to finish my tour, but my chances of being redeployed were limited. Especially to any kind of remote location. So it was either an honorable discharge or a desk job. I didn’t want to be stuck in an office. The scouts came back, and the rest is history.”

We go quiet. “Well, I hope the doctor gives you the all-clear soon.” My voice is soft.

“Thanks.”

“Otherwise, you can always become a personal chef.” I wave at my empty plate, wanting to lighten up the moment.

I am blinded by the smile that breaks on Connor’s face. My brain screams ‘Mayday, mayday.’ I need to get him away from me before I can catch feelings. It’s all well and good to enjoy the physicality of an attractive man. It’s only when you start pretending imaginary boyfriends that you know you’re in real trouble.

Connor grins. “I could, but maybe I’ll just stick with football for now, hmm?” He gets up and puts our dishes in the sink. After drying his hands on a tea towel, he folds it neatly back over the oven handle and turns to face me.

I push off the table and stand. “Then I have no further use for you, Boy Scout. It’s been twenty-four hours. We’re even now. I saved you from the robbery and the press. You saved me from the hospital and my parents. It’s off to your next rescue mission now.” I paste on a cheery smile.

For a second, I think Connor is going to protest. His blue gaze is skeptical, as if he can tell I don’t really mean my words, that I want to call them back. I swallow and force my grin to stretch, a tight rubber band across my face.

Thankfully, he doesn’t argue. I don’t know if I’d be able to resist him otherwise. I need him gone now.

Connor moves forward, arms stretching out. But I take a step in retreat and extend my hand out instead.

He inclines his head, eyes maybe seeing more than they should. Finally, he takes my hand. “Well then, I’m glad I got to know you, Miss Ella Marie Dixon.”

“Back at you, Mr. Connor Hall.”

We draw a breath in unison, and for a second, his grip tightens. And then I’m free. There’s a tightness in my chest and a sinking in my gut. Our interlude is over.

Chapter Twelve

CONNOR

Practice is crap.I barely slept, and a twitchy feeling has tormented me all day.

She’s okay.I’m well aware that Ella’s able to take care of herself and would argue to the death with anyone who suggested otherwise.

But still, my neck is tight. I rotate my head then my shoulders to try to loosen up. The coaches and even the team owner, billionaire Noah Winters, offered me a couple of days off to recover, but I declined. I focused on upper body exercises and did a session with the team physical therapist before my consultation with the team physician.

“So, can I play?” I can’t hold my silence while he pokes at my foot.

“Maybe. As long as you don’t go playing hero again,” the doctor says. My jaw tightens at that word. People need to stop thinking of me like that. It’s ridiculous.

He continues to prod at my ankle. “I’ll take another look in a few days. But you’re sitting out the next game, just to be safe.”

The words land hard in my gut, but I know there’s no arguing with him.

When I find myself jumping into the shower before the water has a second to warm up, I force myself to slow down, and take extra care with my appearance, even making myself shave for the second time that day. In the locker room, I change into dark jeans and a long-sleeved shirt then yank my sweater over my head. Halfway on, my elbow gets stuck in the fabric. “Shit.” I twist, trying to free myself.

“Where’s the fire?” Logan asks.

“No fire.” I straighten the material and grab my phone. Should have gotten Ella’s number. But I didn’t, so do the next best thing—google Thai restaurants. My heart thuds. I suspect this is what totally screwed feels like.

“No?” He has one brow raised, eyeing my open duffel. My normally neatly folded clothes are stuffed tight in there. I ignore him and wrench the zip shut.

“We’re getting tacos at Rosalita’s,” Jake calls out from his locker on the other side of the room.

“I’m ordering Thai.” I get up and heave the strap of my bag over my shoulder.

Mouths drop.

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