Page 56 of Not Just a Trick Play

Shyness washes over me at the intensity of his stare, but I’m saved from finding some witty response when the server approaches. I decline the offer of a champagne accompaniment to my tea, and Jake does the same.

Reclining slightly, his gaze doesn’t leave mine. “You were really good back there.” He continues, “People were super into your stuff. Maybe you should think of offering music tours or something.”

“Music tours?” I blink. Truth be told, I did enjoy sharing the stories. They were comforting, familiar, reminded me of Dad and my own countless hours watching old videos and reading anything I could get my hands on. Jake’s suggestion is intriguing and dangles as a wispy what if. But with everything going on, it would be madness. I shrug.

“I’m serious. You should do it.”

“I couldn’t.” Though doing something like that would be kind of amazing.

“How do you know?” he counters. “You miss one hundred percent of the shots you don’t take.”

“Oh, you Americans and your sports adages.” I roll my eyes. Because that’s what I should be focused on sports. Specifically, football.

“I’m just saying you shouldcarpe diemthat shit.”

A selection of sandwiches, sweets, and scones with clotted cream appears before us on a multitiered cake stand that resembles a big wheel from a carnival. My mouth waters as I admire the artistry of the arrangement. This is exactly what I want to carpe diem.

Delicate teacups appear on the table, handles at the precise three o’clock position. Strainers are positioned on top, andloose-leaf tea is scooped in. Hot water is poured, and the familiar scent of Earl Grey envelops me.

The waiter holds up a silver jug. “Milk, madam?”

Jake takes it then shoos him off.

I raise my brow. At my expression, he says, “I watchedBridgertonon Netflix.”

“You did?”

“Yep.” He lifts the little pitcher. The handle is so dainty, he has to pinch it between his thumb and forefinger. He flashes me a small smile and makes a production of pouring milk into my tea.

“Whatever milady wants, milady gets.” He taps the lid of the sugar bowl next. “Sugar, Sweets?”

I shake my head. He proceeds to load up his own cup with both milk and sugar.

Bringing the piping-hot drink to my mouth, I take a slow sip, savoring the warmth. He meets my gaze over the rim of my cup, his eyes twinkling as he lifts his own teacup in salute. Once again, I’m drawn to his massive hands. Hands that have traveled every inch of my skin, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. I cross my legs, trying to ignore the now-familiar heat pooling within me and focus on my tea.

He sticks out his pinkie, affecting a high-toned English accent that is more peasant than posh. “In the words of the late, great Monty Python, ‘make tea, not war.’” A smirk settles on his lips.

“You might want to fold that in,” I tell him, nodding at his little finger.

He wiggles it. “You don’t like my fingering action?”

I set my cup down and meet his dancing gaze. “In sixteenth-century France, you’d hold your pinkie up to indicate that you were either taken or,”—I drop my voice theatrically and glance around the room— “diseased.”

Jake’s face goes comically horrified. “Diseased,” he echoes. That last digit snaps back in and cowers under his ring finger.

I nod, my expression composed. “Mmm-hmm.” I take another nonchalant sip of my tea.

“I’ll have you know that I am not diseased. The team gets tested regularly.” He scowls. “And you’re the only one I’ve slept with in months.”

The air thickens around us, laden with the significance of his words. Call me a jealous slag, but a sudden surge of delight fills my chest at his admission.

Abruptly, he shifts gears, his voice tight as he studies me intently. “Are you just going along with Yvonne’s bullshit? Or do you seriously want to meet someone?”

I don’t answer. Instead, I pick one of the dainty sandwiches off the tray.

“Well?” he presses, not letting it go.

I shrug, popping a bit of goodness into my mouth. I chew, then swallow. “Truthfully, I don’t need another man in my life right now. I need to learn about football. I need to keep this job, so I can stay here.”

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