Page 8 of Winning the Quarterback
"You really got roped into all this on your first weekend back?" I ask, genuinely impressed.
Devin shrugs, but I catch the hint of a pleased smile. "Chief's son played football for me when I coached a summer camp years ago. And honestly, it feels good to be useful for something besides signing autographs."
The vulnerability in his admission catches me off guard. Before I can respond, he takes my hand, his fingers warm against mine. "Come on, I'll give you the VIP tour."
My heart stutters at the casual contact. His palm is rough with calluses, engulfing my hand completely. It should feel presumptuous, this hand-holding, but instead it feels natural, like we've done this a hundred times before.
The haunted house is both cheesy and impressively detailed. Devin guides me through cobwebbed corridors, past animatronic zombies, and through a graveyard populated with firefighters in various states of decay. He points out his contributions—a particularly effective jump scare involving pressurized air and a trapdoor that made me yelp embarrassingly loud.
"That was my design," he says proudly after I nearly jump out of my skin. "Chief called it 'inspired.'"
"I have other words for it," I grumble, but I can't stop the laughter bubbling up. Despite my fears, there's somethingfreeing about being scared in this controlled, ridiculous environment, especially with Devin's solid presence beside me.
At one point, a volunteer dressed as a mummy leaps out from behind a sarcophagus, and I instinctively grab Devin's arm with both hands, pressing myself against his side. I feel his chuckle more than hear it, rumbling through his chest.
"You know that was Mark from the hardware store, right?" he murmurs, but makes no move to dislodge me.
"Shut up. I'm method-testing your haunted house."
"Is that what we're calling it?" His voice drops lower, sending a shiver through me that has nothing to do with fear.
I'm suddenly aware of how close we're standing, how my body is pressed along the length of his side, how his muscles feel beneath my fingers. I should step away.
I don't.
"What else would we call it?" My voice comes out huskier than intended.
His eyes meet mine in the dim, flickering light, and something electric passes between us. "I have a few ideas."
The moment stretches, until a crash and curse from the next room breaks the spell. I reluctantly release his arm, though he catches my hand again as we continue the tour.
By the time we reach the exit, I'm breathless from a combination of laughter, lingering adrenaline, and the constant, humming awareness of Devin beside me.
"What's your verdict?" Devin asks as we emerge into the cool evening air. "Are we getting that Burlington championship?"
"Definitely," I assure him. "Though I might be biased since my tour guide was considerably more attractive than anything they could offer."
The words slip out before I can censor them. Devin's eyebrows rise, a slow smile spreading across his face. "Was that a compliment, Nora Bell?"
Heat floods my cheeks. "It was an objective observation."
"I'll take it." He tugs me gently toward a quiet corner of the grounds, where several hay bales are arranged around a small bonfire. The flames cast dancing light across his features, highlighting the strong line of his jaw, the curve of his mouth. "Want to sit for a minute before we head to The Copper Kettle?"
I nod, suddenly shy again. We settle on a hay bale just far enough from the main activity to feel private. The bonfire crackles and pops, sending sparks spiraling into the darkening sky.
I shiver slightly as the temperature drops, and Devin immediately shrugs out of his jacket.
"Here," he says, draping it around my shoulders before I can protest.
The warmth of it envelops me, along with his scent. It's such a cliché, the jacket offering, straight out of every romance novel ever written. But clichés become clichés because they work, and feeling wrapped in his lingering body heat makes my insides melt in ways I couldn't have anticipated.
"Thank you," I murmur, pulling it closer around me.
He watches me with an intensity that makes my pulse quicken.
"I'm glad you came today," Devin says finally, his voice low. "Even if I did subject you to firefighter-grade terror."
"It wasn't so bad." I smile up at him. "I might have exaggerated my fear slightly."
