Page 88 of How to Prevent a Fumble

“Thank you for the help,” I mutter.

“You’re welcome,” she responds.

Annoyed, I start my search once more, finally finding a small thing of syrup in the back of a different cabinet.

Once a few slices are cooked, I add them to a plate and push it toward Elara.

“Do we have orange juice?” she asks, already digging in.

“You could get it yourself you know,” I say, but I’m already at the fridge, pulling it out. Grabbing a cup, I fill it before pushing it toward her and placing more soggy bread on the skillet.

“Leo! I’m so sorry,” Briar’s voice echoes around the room, filled with panic. I turn, watching as she adjusts her small bottoms to cover more of her ass. I do everything I can to keep my eyes off her chest, her nipples peeking through the thin fabric of her small shirt.

“It’s okay, I got her everything she needs.”

“I’m the one who's supposed to be making you food though. I thought you guys were going to be away for longer.”

I shrug. I didn’t tell her when we were going to be home, so it’s really not an issue at all. And even if I had told her, she’s allowed to sleep in sometimes. “It’s okay, I promise.”

“Leo got me juice!” Elara declares, lifting her cup.

“Did you help him?”

“Help me?” I ask.

“She helps me make her breakfast most of the time,” she says, kissing the top of Elara’s head.

I scowl at her as she sticks her tongue out at me. “She was a great help,” I lie, recognizing her game.

Ten minutes later, the three of us are digging into Frenchtoast, and I realize that I’m having what feels like family breakfast for the first time in years.

It’s something I want to keep doing.

“There’s not a single thing you could wear that you would look terrible in,” I tell Briar from outside her bedroom.

“You’re not the one we have to worry about, Leo. It’s everyone else.”

“Everyone thinks you’re too good for me,” I tell her simply. Because they do. Ever since the first photos were published, my comment sections have been flooded with comments about how I’m going to end up hurting my best friend’s sister. It didn’t take long for them to realize who Briar was.

When Crosby was asked about it after our last game, he said that he thinks we’re perfect together, which has seemed to help some. He did well for the camera, but I could tell by the way he winced coming into the locker room that the words were like vinegar on his tongue.

“Thanks for doing that, man,” I had told him, pulling him in for a hug.

“I didn’t do it for you,” he assured me.

Despite his words hurting, I understood them. All it did was make the drive stronger to be someone who deserves her.

“I doubt that,” she says, and I hear her walking toward the door. A second later, it swings open, and the air leaves my lungs.

Because Briar Crosby is gorgeous. Well, she’s always gorgeous. But tonight?

She looks down at herself, pulling on her short leather skirt just slightly, as if to cover herself more.

“Is this too much?” she asks, spreading her arms out.

I shake my head, because no. I don’t even understand why she’d ask that. Nothing is ever too much for her. She could be wearing nothing and it wouldn’t be too much.

Wait, I think this is scrambling my brain.

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