Page 31 of Love at Teamsgiving
“Never.” Wait. Would he even want to? I blink a few times, adding eye safety to my list of protective gear for cleaning out this place.
“Considering it’s a Thanksgiving wedding, I’m thinking we should try pumpkin pie. Your favorite.”
I hate that he remembers my weakness for pumpkin pie and even more how much I crave him.
“You’ve made yourself a real ladies’ man. I’m sure you can find someone to accompany you.” Eyes slit, I glare at him.
He faces me and we’re nearly toe to toe. He’s so close, I have to tip my head back, back, back as my gaze travels with the villainous little fluttering butterflies in me up his chest to his neck, and skates across his familiar and devastatingly handsome features. I want to report them to air traffic control and tell them they’re not authorized to land here.
“It’s overrated.”
“But not overstated.”
Towering over me, Miguel tips his head from side to side. “Would you believe me if I regret it?”
What does he regret? I won’t dignify him by asking. Changing tack, I say, “I think you just want an excuse to hang out with me.”
Just then, Margo bursts in, pure sunshine in what was sure to become a thunderstorm. “The gang is all here.”
I practically rush into her arms like she’s my rescuer in cheerful armor.
I’m not sure how much Margo witnessed, but apparently enough when she says, “Let’s not waste the team’s precious time by reenacting a tele-novella.” Clapping her hands, she says, “Chop chop. Back to work, boys.”
Miguel hardly leaves my side as if we’re back in high school and he’s my watchdog sicced on me by my brother.
After tossing a Styrofoam cup in a trash bag, I asked something that I thought I understood, but just turned blurry as if I might have had it all wrong. “During the Wild Cats days, did my brother make you fend off all the football players?”
“Asher? No. Why would he do that?”
“Because he’s my brother and was looking out for me.”
“He was looking at chicks.”
For multiple reasons, he gets a dirty look for that comment.
But does this mean Miguel wanted me to have a miserable, dateless high school experience or keep me for himself? I’m afraid of the answer, so I go back to cleaning up.
A few minutes later, I breathe in Miguel’s aftershave scent. Sensing warmth behind me, I go still.
He whispers in my ear, “There’s no forgetting about us, Junie.”
He’s right and for that, I hate him except I hatehim not... but there’s no avoiding him.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Junie and Margohead down the street to the hardware store to grab some more supplies, likely gabbing about our exchange the entire time.
As soon as they’re out of earshot, Grady, one of the guys on the team, asks, “Who’s the hater?”
I blink a few times, and Junie’s vibrant brown eyes that see everything somehow still in my line of vision. Her voice in my head. Her almond and orange blossom scent in my nose. I shouldn’t want her, I know better, but here we are.
Pierre says, “He has that glazed look.”
“You’re right. Unfortunately, it’s one I’m familiar with,” Grady adds.
Redd scoffs. “Don’t let Coach find out.”
“If Cruz is on our team, he already did. The sneaky Cupid,” comes another voice from my haze—Hayden possibly.
