Page 19 of Their Greatest Strength

His voice hits me, and a beat later, I’m increasing my pace.

“I know you can hear me! Just wait up for a second. Please,” Jamie begs before footsteps start pounding the pavement.

“My name isn’t Bandit!” I yell back, unable to help myself.

“So, tell me what it is. I’m desperate here. And slow down, I had practice today already!”

“Aren’t you supposed to be some fancy football player? How are you winded?”

“So, you do know who I am after all.”

I can just hear how wide his smug grin must be.

“Only because I had your name shoved in my face so many times in that store,” I toss back.

He blows out a laugh, sounding far closer than he was a second ago. His cologne hits me first, and then his bicep brushes my shoulder.

I refuse to look at him and keep my eyes trained on the pedestrians crossing the street ahead of us.

“You know more about me than I do about you. How about we change that?”

“How about you stop following me like a weirdo instead,” I suggest.

He doesn’t get offended by my rudeness. “I wasn’t expecting to see you in there. Wasn’t expecting to see you at all without a lot of effort, to be honest. But I’m happy I did.”

Coming to a sudden stop, I plant my feet on the concrete and pin him beneath narrowed eyes. He realizes that I’ve stopped walking half a second after and does the same. When he looks back at me, I stomp down on the part of me that screams about how attractive this man is.

I thought having to stare at him half-naked in his house was the worst possible thing for me, but today, right now, I’m not faring much better.

He’s wearing the same baseball hat as last night, keeping it fixed backward, but instead of sweatpants, he’s in a pair of above-the-knee, olive-green shorts. They’re short enough that I can make out the bottom of his thick hamstrings and the bulging muscles in his calves as he stands in front of me. They’re criminally sexy. Maybe even more so than his abs.

Maybe.

I jab a finger into the air and hope I don’t look as flushed as I feel. “Don’t say stuff like that.”

“Stuff like what? I’m a very honest guy. It’s impossible for me not to tell someone how I’m feeling,” he admits.

“Well, stop. You don’t even know me. While I appreciate you saving me from embarrassment back there, it doesn’t make us friends.”

“What would, then?” he asks without a hint of hesitation.

“I don’t understand you.”

“What’s there to understand other than that I want to get to know you?”

“Stop saying stuff like that!”

The corner of his mouth quirks. “Does it make you uncomfortable?”

“Is this charity or something?” I accuse.

His smile falls. “Charity for what?”

“You caught me trying to steal from you, and now I can’t even afford a pair of shoes? I didn’t need you to butt in and buy them for me either. I’ve never taken a handout in my life, and I don’t plan on making a habit of it now.”

We’ve stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. It’s beyond awkward when people begin to pass us with odd, curious looks. Either they recognize him and don’t understand why he’s dealing with a crazy chick on the street yelling at him, or they’re just judging our conversation. Either way, it doesn’t help my emotional turmoil right now.

Jamie slides his hands into his pockets and rolls his bottom lip into his mouth. “You’re not charity, Bandit. I didn’t think thatlast night, and I don’t today. The only thing I’ve been thinking these past few minutes is how grateful I feel to have seen you again. And I know that sounds like a line, but it’s not.”

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