Page 29 of The Reality of Wanting Him

Blake rubs the back of his neck, he’s smiling but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Yep. I got drafted to the NFL, thought I was set, and then… well. I wasn’t.”

I just look at him, unsure what to say. I didn’t realize you could be drafted andnotactually play in the NFL, but that just goes to show how little I know about sports.

He shrugs then continues. “It never went anywhere. Didn’t even make it through training camp. I thought it was my entire future, and then it was nothing.”

I give him a nod and think about what he just said. “So, what, you played football for a while, it didn’t work out, and then you just… didn’t try anything else?”

He doesn’t react right away, but I can see him lick his lips before he swallows and looks up at me.

He finally exhales. “Uh, yeah. It’s kind of embarrassing when you put it that way. I was pretty lost for a while until I got Lucky. She keeps me busy and a lot of my friends were in similar situations—not needing to work—so I didn’t think muchof it until my parents called me out. The last year and a half has really given me a lot of new awareness.”

At least he acknowledges it. It explains why he said he didn’t care about the money from the show. It won’t do anything to change his life, but it’d sure as hell change mine.There have been moments since we met where I think I could really like him. Moments when he’s funny, or thoughtful, and he actually seems like a real person with depth. And then there are moments like this, where I’m just left staring at him, wondering what the hell I got myself into.

There are layers to everyone, him included.

So, instead of making him feel worse, I decide to lighten things up and switch the conversation back to the here and now.

“Well, since I cooked, do you think you can handle the dishes? Can’t burn those,” I tease.

Blake perks up instantly, like the emotional moment never even happened. “You’re assigning me chores now? Damn, so bossy. At least take me out to dinner first.”

I shake my head, pushing my plate forward. “You’re about to eat my cooking every day. That’s better than paying someone else to cook for us.”

“Is it?” he questions, but his tone is still teasing. “Fine. Since you asked so nicely, I guess I can grace you with my dishwashing skills.”

Except, I quickly learn he does not have dishwashing skills. After watching what’s unfolding in the sink, I don’t know if Blake has ever washed a dish in his life. He turned the water on full blast, grabbed a plate, and just sort of waved it under the water like that’s enough. He hasn’t even reached for the soap or the brush, and then he just sets it on the counter.

“What are you doing?” I can’t take this anymore. As amusing as he is, I have to say something.

“Uh, washing the dishes?” he responds with a smile, but his tone makes it clear he’s confused about why I’m asking.

“Well, if you’re going to wash the dishes, you need to actuallywashthe dishes. That means getting soap on the sponge and scrubbing them clean,” I explain. I know what I’m about to ask is likely condescending, but I need to know.“Blake, uh, have you ever washed dishes before?”

He scoffs. “Duh. Of course I’ve washed dishes before.”

“Okay, whatever you say.” I laugh and shake my head. “But this is painful to watch.” There’s no way he’s ever washed a dishproperly. I’m sure he had a housekeeper or someone come in behind him and rewash them all without him knowing. It’s kind of cute, really.

“Then don’t watch.” He tosses me a wink before going back tonotwashing the dishes, and I can’t help but laugh again.

I should be annoyed, but the way he’s standing there, sleeves pushed up, abs peeking out where his too tight shirt rides up? I can’t look away, and I hate myself a little for even noticing.But damn, he looks good. What am I supposed to do? Not look?

Ignoring my intuition, I come up right behind him and say, “I’m taking over. There’s no use when I'll have to rewash everything anyway at this rate.”

My shoulder is brushing against his, and I feel him lean in a little when I reach around him for the sponge, before he steps aside, motioning toward the sink. “Be my guest. But if you wanted to get all handsy with me, you could’ve just said so.”

I go still for half a second, dropping the sponge into the sink as I stare at him like he’s lost his mind.What the actual hell is happening right now?

This man—thisallegedly-self-proclaimed-straight-man-as-of-yesterday—is flirting with me.Intentionallyflirting with me, after being excited about apparently getting hard thinking about me this morning. No hesitation, no awkward backpedaling. He’s justin itlike he said.

I’m moving before I really make a conscious decision, and apparently the only thing my brain can think of in this moment isto take the now wet and soapy sponge and throw it at him. It hits him square in the chest when he doesn’t move out of the way in time. His eyes are wide and his mouth is hanging open as he stares at me in shock. I’m a little surprised myself, I don’t know why I even did that, but I clearly did.

“Oh, you little—” He doesn’t finish, and I see why a second too late to react. He lunges for the sink hose, grinning like crazy, and squeezes the handle as he aims it at me. Cold water sprays me right in the face, and Blake absolutely loses it laughing.

“You asshole!” I cry, laughing too.

He drops the sprayer like it’s on fire and starts running through the apartment, still laughing his ass off. When I catch up to him, I don’t think as I grab his wrist and pull him back into me. We’re chest to chest as we crash into each other, and for a moment, neither of us moves.

We’re both breathless from laughing. Water is dripping down my hair and face, and my fingers are still curled around his wrist. I can feel the rapid flutter of his heartbeat in my grip as his breath ghosts across my face. His hazel gaze bounces between my eyes, and I get distracted by all of the colors I hadn’t noticed in his before this moment.Are they more brown or green?

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