Page 2 of Racing Heat
He looks over at me, and I’m struck by just how beautiful he is. He’s got wide shoulders and what looks like an amazing body under his tight running shirt and shorts. The sweat is running down the sides of his face, and his brown hair is becoming damp with it. Damn, he looks so good right now.
“You good?” he asks me.
Shit. I must have been staring at him for too long.
“Y-yeah, sorry,” I stutter, just as my foot gets caught on an imperfection in the boardwalk and I fall forward.
Strong hands grab ahold of my waist, and I let out a little yelp. He rights me before I can fall and hit the harsh wood of the boardwalk, keeping his hands on my waist. Our bodies arebrushing against each other, and I get a whiff of the sweet smell of his sweat and the musky scent of what is left of his cologne.
“Thanks,” I stammer out. He hasn’t moved yet, so I smile at him. “I think I’m good. I don’t think I’ll fall again.”
Jase chuckles. “Are you sure? You kind of looked like Bambi on brand new legs there for a moment.”
“Funny,” I deadpan.
We walk the rest of the way to the pier. I’m not sure why, but neither one of us begins running again. I decide that after almost falling, it’s probably best to walk it off for a bit. I’ve gotten a good workout in, and as Jase pointed out, this is supposed to be my day off.
“How are you finding living here in the US?” I ask him.
He sighs. “It’s okay. The last six months, all I’ve been doing is adjusting to how different it feels than in Manchester. The temperature is the biggest change I’ve had to get used to. It’s not this hot there, and the humidity is killing me.”
I nod. “I know what you mean. I used to play in Portland. Summers were never like this.” I lean forward on the rail of the pier, looking out at the crystal-blue water. “But views like this sure do make it better, huh?”
He inhales the ocean air like he’s tasting it. “Yeah, it’s peaceful here. I like it.”
“It’s why I run here so much. Gives me some perspective. Helps me clear my head and also reminds me that I’m living in an actual paradise.”
“A hot-as-hell paradise.”
“According to August, you get used to it,” I tell him.
“So, he says.” His tone wavers a bit. He certainly doesn’t sound sure about that.
“It’s nice that you and Danny hang out with him. I get the feeling friends aren’t necessarily easy to come by for him,” I say in an effort to keep conversation flowing.
“I like August. He’s doing great things with the team. He just hasn’t quite lost that frat boy image yet. But I’m sure he’ll get there.”
“Were you like that ever? Is that just the way men are?”
“Some men, yeah. But me? Nah. I was always very serious. I played in college and then I was drafted to Manchester United. I didn’t really want the entanglement of a relationship. But when I had it, it was fine. Just not as big of a need as it is for him.”
“Did you leave someone back in Manchester?” I ask him. The question slips out before I can stop it. “You don’t have to answer it if you don’t want to.”
“Are you interviewing me for something, Cassie Simmons?”
I like the way he says my name. My full name. That accent stirs something inside me. Usually, I’m not a girl who gets all riled up at a nice body and an accent, but with him…damn. There’s something about him. I hadn’t noticed it before. Jase has been around our particular friend group since before Danny and Mac went public with their relationship.
Mackenzie Dixon—Mac—is my best friend. We came to Tampa together from Portland, where we were teammates and roommates all four years. Mac shocked us all by sneaking around with Danny Taylor, the reporter who was assigned to interview her for team publicity. He lost his job, but he got to keep her, so I think it all worked out. This has changed up our social group a bit, bringing in more guys to our girl group—Jase being one of them. We haven’t talked much before, so I guess I never really noticed him.
Not like this.
“Jase Ford, I am merely trying to make conversation with you.”
“Ah, I see.” He sighs and turns to face me. “No one who would care that I’m here in Tampa while they are in Manchester. I’m free to do whatever I want.”
I hear the innuendo in his words. Or maybe I’m just hoping one was there.
“What about you?” he asks me. “Is there someone you left back in Portland?”
