Page 72 of When to Call a Blitz

I gasp. “You were the one pushing me to! Literally my number one cheerleader.”

“Yeah for a guy who can form better pickup lines.”

How about coffee tomorrow?

Tomorrow is Saturday, and I don’t have work or anything.

I can do that.

Then it’s a date.

“I just think that the Cobras need new management,” he tells me, setting the mug of coffee on the table between us.

I tilt my head, my restless leg syndrome acting up. “Didn’t they just win the Super Bowl?”

He shakes his head. “Yes, but they shouldn’t have. Leo is terrible since his injury and the defense is absolute shit.”

“I feel like they’re pretty good,” I defend before he can say anything else.

Connor shoots me a patronizing look, sitting crooked in his seat. “How much football do you watch?”

I debate being honest. Telling him that I actually have watched every single game this season, and spent every home game in the Warner suite.

But I don’t do that. Because that would instantly make him treat me differently, and I don’t want him to respect me because of who I know, I want him to respect me because of who I am.

“I watch some,” I say instead.

He smiles like he just won the lottery. “I’d love to take you to a game. I have these really great 5oo seats. Right in the front row. You see everything.”

My leg bobs faster.

“I think I’m actually set on that, but thank you,” I reply with a shy smile.

“You gotta,” he spreads his arms out, a sly smirk creeping across his lips.

I think about it for a moment. “I actually nanny for a football player, and I get some perks from it.” Although my tickets aren’t free, Leo or Emmett have always paid for them.

Connor’s eyes light up, his fluffy blonde hair bouncing as he rears back. “And you didn’t start with that? That’s amazing!”

I shyly tuck my hands between my thighs, leaning forward. I want to be anywhere but here. “Yeah, it’s pretty nice.”

“I’d love to meet them.”There it is.

Other than this unfortunate line of conversation, the date has been okay. Not great, but just okay. I don’t really think we have much in common other than football, apparently, and he’s made it clear he knows more than I do.

But he’s talked a lot about his parents, his grandmother he’s going to visit after this, and his small dog he kept from his last relationship, although I start suspecting it was more to do with making his ex upset than actually wanting the dog.

“Maybe.” I flash him a polite smile before checking my phone.

The problem is, I’m not made for dating. Not really. Like a lot of people in their late twenties, dating is tedious, annoying, and just overall the absolute worst thing in the world.

I don’t want to go on coffee date after coffee date. I don’t want to know why you named your dog Princess, or what your favorite color is, or what size shoe you wear—which is an actual topic that came up today. I want to know why you are the way you are and what you believe in. The crazy dreams you had as a kid and what they mean to you now.

But you don’t get to those bits unless you get past these awkward moments. The things you really don’t want to deal with.

Unless it’s Emmett Gardner.

34

---