Page 3 of The Mistletoe Trap
He laughed, because he’d tried that very method. “I went on and on about how you’d landed a big promotion and added how proud I am of mygood buddy.” Her intelligence had never been in question, and neither were any of the other positive attributes Mom rattled off whenever Julie’s name came up. But they’d never had the sort of spark that led to more.
He supposed if he looked at Julie objectively, taking into account the blond waves, bright blue eyes, and those dimples Jason had referred to, she was beautiful.
But he couldn’t look at her objectively.
She was Julie, daughter of his parents’ best friends. They’d been pals since birth. While it’d been a bit forced during the toddler stage and they often fought like siblings, they’d grown even closer as they struggled through the awkward junior high phase. By the time high school rolled around, their names were synonymous with each other—which had caused plenty of friction when it came to other women. Although having known both of them for most of their lives, his last ex-girlfriend, Kristin, had been more understanding than most.
When his parents weren’t stirring the pot.
Separating for college only magnified how nice it was to have a friend who knew you backward and forward, didn’t put up with your crap, and gave a mixture of encouragement and tough love.
The best thing was, Julie felt the same way about him. People often asked if they were more than friends, and they’d both always replied with a resounding no. That was what made things so easy and uncomplicated between them. They could kick back and just be—thelastthing he’d ever do was mess that up.
He’d already done that to his other most-important hometown relationship, and the loss of it…Never again.
“On my end, my parents keep reciting your impressive football stats,” Julie said, “as if I’m not watching your games myself every weekend.”
Warmth flooded his chest. It was good to know she was cheering for him from the sidelines, even if the sidelines were farther away than he’d prefer.
“My mom says stuff like, ‘Look at the way he and the Mustangs are pulling together and climbing the ranks! If you don’t act soon, you’re gonna lose him to some trophy wife type.’ Which is insulting on two levels—one, it’s not very feminist-forward thinking, and two, she’s implying that I’mnottrophy wife material.”
“Well, I’ve seen your impressive collection of science trophies, so I have no doubt that one day you’ll make some man a very opinionated trophy wife. Who runs several labs and doesn’t take shit from anyone.”
“Aww, you sweet talker, you. By the way, after last week’s game, my dad asked if I saw that amazing route you ran. And I was like ‘of course I did. I actually taught him that move at the very end.’”
Since the call was going longer than expected—not that he was in a hurry to end it—Gavin tucked the phone between his shoulder and neck and pulled on his jeans. “Wait. I don’t remember you teaching me that move.” He’d learned that “thread the needle and pivot” technique during his time second-stringing it on the Pythons.
“You fell at the end, didn’t you?’
His chuckle nearly made him drop the phone. “I was tackled.”
“Dude, I don’t even needhelpto fall. Pretty sure that puts my skills ahead of yours.”
“Normally I’m competitive to a fault—”
“Oh, I know.”
He slipped his T-shirt over his head. “But I’ll let you have that one.”
“Iearnedthat title. Don’t go acting like you gave it to me.”
Damn, he missed her. He always did, but with her voice in his ear, reminding him how easy talking to her was, he somehow missed her that much more. Nobody made him laugh the way she did, and his grin spread as he recalled how she sometimes got so excited she forgot to pay attention to her surroundings and tripped over inanimate objects. While he’d be the first to pick her up and dust her off, she always poked fun at herself and shook it off.
She was the smartest, most awkward person he knew, and she could put her foot in her mouth in two seconds flat. They’d made do with texts, calls, and video chats, but in person, he experienced that same calm as getting home after a hard day, pulling on a pair of worn-in sweatpants, and flopping on the couch.
They’d always had each other’s backs, too. “Pack both swimsuits,” he said. “It’s not like they take up much room, and then you’ll be prepared for anything. And if you want to flirt with some beefcake at the hot springs, I’ll block our families and help you score.”
“Wow, a beefcake, even,” she said with a laugh, which was why he’d chosen that word. But then a wistful exhalation carried over the line. “It’s been an awful long time since I scored.”
When it came to touchdowns, he’d had several this past season and hopefully would complete more in tomorrow night’s game. In the sense of the word they were currently discussing, though, he was experiencing a dry spell himself. Not only had he uprooted his life to move to Texas, he hadn’t even fully unpacked before practices began. In a lot of ways, the team had been re-formed from scratch. The first few games of the season were sloppy, but they’d hit their stride and were second in their league as of last weekend.
“Sorry, Jules. But speaking of time, I gotta go. Unlike you, I haven’t made a list or done laundry, and until I do, I don’t have any clean clothes to pack.”
Her familiar, exasperated sigh caused an odd swirl of happiness. “All that traveling, and you still procrastinate till the last minute? Have I taught you nothing?”
“I guess I need a refresher. See you soon.”
“Can’t wait,” she said, and she wasn’t the only one.
