Page 5 of Overtime with Orion
“And you don’t want any of that.”
“I don’t know what I want.” The honesty surprised me. I’d been giving everyone the same line about “taking time to figure things out” and “exploring options.” But something about Larkin made me want to tell the truth. “I’ve been playing football since I was six years old. It’s all I’ve ever known. And now…”
“Now you’re figuring out who Orion is when he’s not on a football field.”
“Exactly.” My eyes met hers. “You get it.”
“I get feeling lost.” She leaned against the table. “I never wanted to be anything but a librarian. Even as a kid, I was organizing my books by reading level and making card catalogs for my dolls. But sometimes I wonder if I’m hiding behind it. Using organization and systems to avoid the messiness of real life.”
“Is that what you’re doing now? Hiding?”
“Maybe.” She smiled, but it was self-deprecating. “It’s safer than taking risks.”
I took a step closer. “What kind of risks?”
The air between us charged again, just like it had at Cassie’s booth. She looked up at me, those green eyes wide, and I could see the moment she realized what kind of risk I was talking about.
“Orion…”
“I know. I know all the reasons this is complicated.” I reached out and tucked that stubborn strand of hair behind her ear again. “But I can’t stop thinking about you.”
“You barely know me.”
“Then help me fix that.” I let my hand linger against her cheek. “Show me what’s changed in town since I’ve been gone.”
“I…” She leaned into my touch for just a second before stepping back. “That’s probably not a good idea.”
“Probably not,” I agreed. “But I’m asking anyway.”
She studied my face, and I could practically see her weighing pros and cons, making mental lists of reasons to say no. Finally, she sighed. “Okay. But I have one condition.”
“Name it.”
“You have to teach me something about football.”
I blinked. “Football?”
“Cassie talks about it constantly, but I know literally nothing about the sport. I mean, I know there’s a ball and people run around, but that’s about it.” She looked almost embarrassed. “I’ve been nodding along for months, pretending I understand what she’s saying.”
A laugh bubbled up from my chest—the first real laugh I’d had in months. “You want me to teach you football.”
“Is that weird?”
“It’s perfect.” And it was. Here was this brilliant woman who could organize the entire world but didn’t know a touchdown from a field goal. It was charming and refreshing and completely unexpected. “When do we start?”
“How about tonight? After the festival dies down?” She bit her lip, thinking. “Though I’m not sure where we could go that’s not completely crowded…”
“I know a place.” The words came out before I’d really thought them through. “Osprey Lake. Do you know it?”
Her eyes lit up. “I’ve heard about it but never been.”
“It’s quiet. Private. And there’s enough open space by the water to actually throw a ball around without hitting anyone.” I found myself looking forward to showing her the place. I’d discovered it years ago during high school, back when I needed somewhere to think without the whole town watching. “Plus, if I embarrass myself trying to explain football basics, there won’t be witnesses.”
“Sounds perfect.”
“It’s a date.”
The words hung between us, heavier than I’d intended. Because it was a date, wasn’t it? Despite all the reasons it shouldn’t be, despite the complications and the fact that I was only in town temporarily, I wanted it to be a date.
