Page 14 of Touchdown, Tennessee
But he clearly didn’tthinkhe was smart.
Puzzle pieces started to fit together in my mind. Maybe academics were his only struggle in college.
It was the one weapon I hadalwayshad: I’d always been smart.
Poor as shit, yes.
From a bad family, undoubtedly.
And I wasdefinitelya terrible person.
But I’d always been smart.
“It’s just a word, Peachel,” I told him. “You know, in the first article I ever wrote, I was mistakenly misspelling ‘Connecticut’without the second C?”
His gaze was still hard, but he looked up at me. “No shot.”
I nodded.
I didn’t tell him that my first article had actually been in sixth grade, for my middle school’s little student paper. But it was the truth, nonetheless.
“Let’s get you some food at the diner. You can sit across from me and get more worked up about how badly you want to fuck me.”
He glared daggers at me. “I think I hate you.”
God, he was hot when he tried to intimidate me.
You’re a big, muscular football player, Peachel, but I could take you to the fucking ground the moment I wanted to.
And I kind of fucking want to.
“Come on,” I told him in a calm tone. “You can’t have my cock either, but if you’re good, maybe I’ll let you suck the tip a little, afterward. There’s probably some precum there for you. From when I denied you.”
I crossed the road toward the glowing windows of Red Fox Diner, half expecting him not to follow.
CHAPTER 3
ANDREW
I had dinner with the enemy.
Breakfast for dinner, actually, because I was ravenous and irritated and a little too drunk to care.
I ordered pancakes, eggs, bacon, sausage, toast, and one order of French fries for good measure. The diner was packed, mostly with teenagers needing a late-night place to hang.
I slathered syrup over most of the plates, digging in like I hadn’t eaten in weeks.
Fuck, I really hadn’t eaten much today at all. I had my normal shake this morning, but that was… hours and hours ago, now.
Gray ordered only a coffee, because apparently he was one of those stupid people who loaded up on caffeine when it was practically midnight.
“Tell me about your week,” Gray said.
“I know you’re just trying to get details out of me,” I said, stabbing my fork into my stack of fluffy pancakes. “You’re not going to get it.”
“You’re afraid to talk about what you did this week?” he asked. “Weird.”
I sat up straight. “I have nothing to hide, if that’s what you’re insinuating.”
