Page 37 of Stick Move

I nod as my heart squeezes. “Right.” I glance into the kitchen to see Camryn at the table, playing with an electronic toy with the volume on full blast. “Then I will do my best to make her lumpy pancakes.”

Noah opens and closes a few cupboards. “I can’t remember where I put anything.” I follow behind him and help, our bodies touching and bumping as we search. I steal a glance at Camryn, who is too enthralled with her game to see the lightening strikes between us. I bend to check the lower cupboard. “Found it,” I say and when Noah’s growl reaches my ears, I grin. I stand and put the pan on the stove. “Now where is the flour?”

“Flour?” He reaches into the pantry. “I use a mix.”

“Uh, and that’s why you get lumps.”

“That’s not the only reason I get lumps,” he murmurs, and adjusts his sweatpants. I bite my cheek to keep from laughing, loving the way I seem to mess with him.

“Fine, I’ll use the mix today. Make sure you get flour on your next visit to the grocery store.” He produces a bowl and goes to work on coffee as I prepare pancakes for three, which is far more fun than making them for one, which is probably why I never do it.

When the coffee is done, he hands me a cup and I grin. “Peachy.” He rolls his eyes. “I’m surprised the guys don’t call you peach instead of Jonesburger.” I flip the pancake, worried that it doesn’t have any lumps. “Why do they call you that anyway?” I pause for a second. “Maybe I should call you peach.”

“Don’t you dare,” he warns with a laugh. “They call me that because one time after practice, when I was a rookie, I scarfed down a hamburger in record time.” Another roll of his eyes. “That’s all it took. One hamburger. You do one thing and they never let you live it down.”

“Even the commentators call you that.”

He cocks a brow as he reaches for the plates. “I didn’t know you watched.”

Busted.

I brush it off like it’s nothing, like I’m not glued to the TV when the Bucks play. “Dad used to have it on in the background at times. It’s not like I’m a fan or anything.”

“Sure,” he mocks.

“Fine, some of the guys look pretty good in their suits before a game. A girl can admire that, right?”

He pulls out the silverware and sets it on the table. “That’s what you like? A guy in a suit?”

“Sure, and I mean it’s not like I can admire you guys in your huge costumes.”

His jaw drops. I put Camryn’s pancake on a plate. “Costumes?”

“Whatever you call what you wear.”

“How about uniform?”

“Sure, but they’re big and bulky. I mean, it’s not like you’re a football player in tight pants. Now that I can get behind.”

“Jesus,” he curses quietly and picks up Camryn’s plate.

“Wait, do you have any fruit or whipped cream? I love whipped cream. It’s my weakness.”

He eyes me like I might have a very specific use for the whipped cream and now it’s my turn to roll my eyes at him.

“Not even in your wildest dreams.”

He winks at me, and I’m aware that he’s keeping everything light and flirtatious between us. If he thinks he needs to remind me what this is and what this isn’t, he’s wrong. I know full well what’s between us and I’m not about to mistake it for anything other than revenge sex. Which is great because that’s all I want, the sex not the revenge. No way do I want a ready-made family with a guy who is likely still in love with his ex.

“In my fantasies, you mean,” he whispers.

Does Noah fantasize about me? I can’t imagine he has. I wasn’t nice to him in high school and he has an arena full of puck bunnies that would be happy to fill his bed and thoughts.

“That’s a no?” I ask.

“Yes on fruit, and no on whipped cream, but I’ll add it to my grocery list.” He opens the fridge and hands me some blueberries and strawberries, which I wash and arrange on Camryn’s pancake to make a happy face.

He examines it as I place it in front of Camryn. “Cute.”

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