Page 12 of Falling for the Quarterback
Everything about him makes me want to tell him to drop trou and let me hop on for a quick, rough ride. It’s been like the Sahara Desert between my thighs for as long as I can remember, and suddenly now, I’m raring to go. This man is magical, and he doesn’t even know it.
After he helps with my seatbelt, nearly buckling me in himself, he carefully closes the door. I watch with rapt attention ashe walks around the front, his tall frame making the truck not seem quite as big anymore. It suits him now that I’m sitting back, studying him. He climbs inside, and as soon as his door closes, the cab fills with his scent all over again. I breathe it in like a weirdo, but thankfully, he doesn’t comment.
He shifts the truck into reverse and, rather than be lazy to use the backup camera, his arm stretches to hold on to the back of my seat as he turns to look behind him and reverse us out of my driveway. It’s sexy, seeing the muscles in his arm flex as he lightly holds on to my seat and maneuvers the vehicle effortlessly. He shifts into drive, and as the truck rolls forward, I break the silence.
“So, uh, do you eat red onions?”
A chuckle spills from his lips, and I’m reminded again how much I enjoy the sound. He finds me funny, and most guys consider it a winning trait from what I hear. “Red onions? That was random and weirdly specific.”
“I’m random, sometimes. Okay, a lot.” I admit. “So, do you like them?”
He glances at me, his gaze intense for a beat, almost as if he’s attempting to gauge whether I want him to eat them or not. He clears his throat, “No. I actually find them to be disgusting. I’m allergic to onions.”
I gasp.
The sound is louder than appropriate for the situation, garnering his attention again. “No way! I’m allergic to them, too.Sogross. Repulsive.” I shudder. “But can you, like have small amounts if they’re really tiny?”
He shrugs, “Yeah, that doesn’t botherme too much.”
I sit back in my seat again, preening a bit. He just keeps getting better and better. “Fuck onions,” I say after a beat, and he shakes with laughter.
“Exactly, fuck onions.”
Well, this is off to a good start.
Chapter Six
JJ
She’sfunnyandIlike it. I thought she was snarky before, possibly a bit sarcastic, but I didn’t imagine she’d actually be funny. I’ve laughed more in her presence tonight, already, than I would’ve around any of my ex-girlfriends or dates when I’d take them out. They were always far too consumed over where we were going that night, or if I would fly them out to my next game, to even consider asking me what foods I disliked. It’s refreshing, reminding me of when I was in high school and things were so much more innocent and organic. You dated someone because of the person and not their profession.
“I wasn’t sure if you were picky or not, so I tried to go with something more widely appreciated.” I won’t lie, I was scrambling over the best place to take her, knowing virtually nothing about what she enjoys. It was this or barbecue. I figured if she hated my choices, we could go wherever she wanted. I pull into a parking spot, shifting the truck into park and turning the engine off. I quickly climb out, hurrying around the truck before she has a chance to get out without my help.
Her door’s already open when I make it to her side, so I open it a bit wider and hold out my hand for her again. She takes it right away, and I swear the feeling of her hand in mine just seems right somehow. Is that weird I feel connected to her so soon?
I don’t let her go as she asks, “Pizza? You brought me to a brick oven pizza place?”
“Yeah, have you ever eaten here before?”
“It’s been a long time, but yes.”
“Did I mess up?” I tip my chin down, meeting her chocolate irises. Worry twists in my gut, as I want to get this right and not mess up the first impression she has of me outside of the lumber store. I know pizza isn’t necessarily gourmet in most cases, but this place is cool and its brick oven. I could eat it practically every day if my diet weren’t so strict.
“No, I freaking love brick oven pizza. I mean, you can’t go wrong with this, barbecue, or tacos.”
“Oh, thank God, I was worried you’d write those off with the onions. It would’ve broken my heart.” I lay a hand over my chest, making her smirk.
“You’re cute. I guess the only next question to ask is if you enjoy sweet tea or not.”
I appreciate that she’s keeping the conversation light and flowing. I want to get to know her on a deeper level, but I know it’ll take time and more chat. I’m fine with that over the usual surface-level stuff, which leads to a quick bang a first date typically brings for me. I don’t mind waiting for a deeper connection or sex, I’m not looking for an easy roll in the hay. I’m searching for my future wife.
“Made with honey or with pure cane sugar?” I find myself feeling giddy inside as I ask.
She gasps, her hand falling to my forearm as she gazes up at me in surprise. “Honey-sweet tea? Why have I not heard of this miracle before?”
My smile is wide. I was right about her being a bit of a smartass, and I adore it instantly. I’m used to a lot of shit-talking and ribbing on and off the field around my teammates, so a woman who can appreciate dry humor and sarcasm is a must. “I’ll have to make it for you sometime. It’s delicious.”
“Sounds like it. I do love a good, sweet, peach or strawberry iced tea, too.”
