Page 36 of Anatomy of a Player

I’d been hoping for a less chilly reception—after the other night, I thought we’d be over the prickly starts to every conversation, but apparently not. Now I was thinking of Dane’s claim that she’d been friendly to him, and the jealousy I’d felt at the mention rose again. Suddenly I wanted to shove through the door and see if she had a guy over, which was three kinds of crazy, I knew.

“Just wanted to swing by. I thought maybe we could grab a bite to eat.” I attempted another smile, but her frown remained in place. She wasn’t wearing her glasses, and despite the grumpy expression and her tired eyes, the intensity of the unimpeded blue called me closer.

“I’m kind of in the middle of something,” she said, glancing back inside again, and I had to force my feet to remain glued to the cement walkway. “And I just ordered a pizza.”

I craned my neck for a peek, afraid my control might snap if she did have company, but unable to help myself. The only thing I saw was a couch and coffee table covered with stacks of paper.

She shoved her hands into my chest, pushing me back from the entryway. “Just…give me a minute.”

Before I could even say, “Okay,” she shut the door in my face. I stuck my hands in my pockets and hiked my shoulders against the cold—my coat was back in my truck, no good to me there, but too far away for me to bother going for it.

Finally the door swung open again. “Here’s the thing. I’ve had a hard day, and I just want to kick back, relax, and watch a show I’ve been looking forward to for longer than I care to say. So you can come in if, A, you don’t mock what I’m watching, and B, you pay for the pizza.” Whitney crossed her arms and then flinched, like the movement had hurt her. “Those are my terms.”

“I’m fine with B, but you better add another pizza to whatever you ordered. And as for the show, I’ll try my best.” If I had my way, we wouldn’t be watching anything for long anyway. I’d gone slow and bided my time, but I’d thought about kissing her a lot the past few days, and it was time to make a move, before I actually ended up in the “just a friend” penalty box. Once you got put there, there was no two- or five-minute penalties. No, get used to being encased in glass and watching everyone else play, because you were stuck.

Not that I had a lot of experience with that, because I didn’t often fall into the friend category with girls—not since high school—but I’d seen it happen plenty.

Now that I was inside, I noticed that several strands of Whitney’s hair had fallen from her bun. The knot was looser and messier than usual, too, giving her a softer, more laidback appearance, even if she looked a little tired.

The couch had been cleared of the papers, but Whitney’s gaze kept darting around, like she’d hidden a body and was sure I’d find it. Then she reached up and rubbed at her neck.

I lightly placed my hands on her shoulders. “You seem stressed.” I thought about spinning her around and massaging the tension out of her muscles, but it seemed like a creeper move, at least without first getting permission. “You know, I could help you work that out.”

Her muscles tightened even more, and I realized that for once I’d made it sound like an innuendo without trying. “Not that, dirty,” I said, giving her a gentle squeeze. “I meant massaging out the tension in your neck and shoulders—my other go-to is slamming into guys on the ice, but I’m not sure you’d find it as relaxing as I do.”

Of course, now all I could think about was sex and her soft skin under mine—it would be a killer way to relieve stress.

“I’m fine,” she said, but then she twisted her neck one way, and a loud pop sounded.

I gave her a look to let her know I was on to her, but she ignored it and grabbed her phone. “I better add that pizza to my order. Any requests?”

I asked for a large supreme, she made the call, and then we settled onto the couch.

“What is this, anyway?” I asked, pointing my chin toward the TV screen.

“It’s this documentary about neglected and abused dogs. They’re placed in a prison where inmates care for them, and it works as rehab for both the dog and the inmate.”

“That’s kind of cool.”

“That guy right there…” She gestured to the screen as a man with a baseball cap came on, talking to the camera as he bent down to pet a black Lab. “He goes around rescuing the abused and neglected dogs. I’ve only been watching this for, like, ten minutes, and I’m already sort of in love with him.”

“So the secret to winning your heart is rescuing a dog?”

She slowly glanced at me, a hint of mistrust in her eye. “He’s rescued over a thousand, actually.” The admiration was clear in her tone, a challenge layered underneath.

“Well, that does give me quite the goal to aspire to.” For some reason the sentence I’d thrown out as more of a joke boomeranged right back and hit me in the chest. When I’d first come to college, all shiny-eyed about what I could do with an education, my goal had to been to save kids from bad situations.

Now that goal seemed like it might as well be landing on Mars for how close I’d ever be to achieving it. Over the next half hour, I found myself identifying with dogs—and inmates. This documentary was fucking with my head.

Whitney ate up every second, too, concern and admiration flashing across her face in intervals. She was the do-gooder type, and I could tell she’d actually do something about it, not let one hard class hold her back. I had no doubt she was smart enough to get through all of her classes, though.

The pizza showed up, and since Whitney was trying to answer the door and still see the TV, I gently nudged her back to the couch and took care of it. I’d nearly attempted a move twice, but she was so into the documentary, I figured it could wait.

Over the next half hour, I ate my way through my entire pizza, as well as the last slice of hers—the amount she’d put down herself was pretty impressive, actually.

The documentary started to wrap up all the story lines, and suddenly Whitney said, “Okay, now you need to not look at me.” Her voice squeaked at the end, and I turned my face toward her. She reached up and covered my eyes with her hands. “I said don’t look!”

“Okay, okay.”

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