Page 9 of Only Between Us

Please. Like I wasn’t already running through a list of excuses to get near her again. “Here, my arms are longer.”

Siena hands me her phone and slides under the arm I hold out for her. I snap some photos, only half paying attention. She smells like… what is that? I turn my chin, momentarily burying my face in her hair, trying to pin down her scent.

Salt water? Sunshine?

Does the sun have a scent?

She scrolls through the pictures when I hand her back her phone. “Your eyes are closed in half of these.” She chuckles before tucking it into the pocket at the front of her overalls. “Well, as nice as this was, shall we head back down?”

I put an arm out, blocking her path as she heads for the door.“Hold up. Aren’t you supposed to be posting pictures for the Huskies?”

She tenses against my arm. Definitely avoids my eye. “As soon as we get out of here. I don’t want to hold you up.”

“I’ve got time. Unless you’re ready to admit you were actually trespassing down there?”

I beam when she gives me a sharp look, pulls out her phone, and taps away at it.

“There. Pictures posted.” She gives me a saccharine smile as she waves the screen, flashing a glimpse of photos of the field on a social media feed. “Satisfied?”

“Incredibly.”

“Fantastic.” Siena tugs at the door of the coaches’ booth. Then again. And again when it doesn’t budge. She turns an inquisitive look on me, moving aside when I reach for the door myself.

Definitely locked. From the outside.

Siena tsks. “I’m gettingchopped into meat loafvibes again, Brooks Attwood.”

“I didn’t plan this, I swear.” I slide down the wall by the door, sitting on the ground and pulling out my phone. “Let me message someone to get us out of here.”

“Oh. I can just—”

“It shouldn’t take long. My friend Summer was with a client in the gym, but she should be wrapping up soon.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Siena sits on the floor beside me. I peek at her from the corner of my eye. Find her doing the same with me.

We soften into simultaneous chuckles. I can’t remember the last time I hung out with a woman I wasn’t related to, fake dating, or best friends with.

It’s… nice.

I hadn’t intended on staying single after things ended with my ex. In fact, the prospect of dating was just about the only bright spotonce I stopped self-destructing. I figured losing football might get me closer to what I wanted: a partnership like my parents’. A little hellion like my sister’s son, Leo.

And I’d be able to find the right person this time. Someone who wanted me and not, it turned out, the allure of my ex-career. Who wouldn’t throw away an eight-year relationship and find another pro athlete to sink her claws into, after my own career in professional sports went bust.

Instead, I traded liquor and back-alley hookups for second-guesses and paranoia, and every woman who looked at me twice became heartbreak and betrayal just waiting to happen.

When the dating thing never went anywhere, the idea of a comeback to my old team became an obsession. At least I could have football. I could be back with the coaches and teammates I’d loved playing with. One out of two isn’t bad, as far as life goes.

Except now, the Rebels won’t touch me.

Sighing, I rest my head against the wall behind me and pick at the sole of my sneaker.

“Midnight skinny-dips.”

“Pardon me?”

“Midnight skinny-dips.” Siena’s almond-shaped eyes look at me like they’re trying to pierce into my brain, my soul. Trying to figure out this silence. “Whenever I sigh that hard, I strip down and hop in the bay in the middle of the night. Doesn’t always work, I’ll admit. But nine out of ten times, it gets me out of whatever funk I’m in. Give it a shot. Report back.” She gives me an expectant look, and when I don’t say anything, she adds, “Or not. What’s your thing? When you’re sighing that hard?”

What does it say about me that I come up with nothing?

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