Page 30 of The Game Plan

“It’ll be our little secret,” she whispers, grinning up at me.

My heart slams into my chest with the force of a freight train.

The kettle sings, and I pour hot water into two mugs. She mixes in the hot chocolate powder. I top the mugs with a small handful of the mini marshmallows.

When we get back to the main room, the couch is conspicuously clear. Wes has his book again. Barrett and Tucker have relocated to the armchairs.

“You guys moved,” Sam says, pouting.

“I need the back support,” Tucker lies.

“I didn’t want to sit on the couch by myself,” Barrett lies.

Idiots. I know what they’re trying to do. It’s not going to work.

Sam settles on the couch, and I gingerly sit beside her. She scoots over until our thighs are nearly touching.

“So what are we watching?”

Barrett names the latest superhero movie. “That’s okay with you?”

“Sounds perfect,” she says. She tucks her feet under her legs and takes a sip of her cocoa, letting out a contented sigh.

“This really is turning into the perfect night,” she says. “Thank you for inviting me. I’m glad you did.”

I clear my throat. “Thanks for joining us.”

Tucker turns on the movie, and Barrett dims the lights, so we’re immersed in the brightness of the TV.

Ever so casually, I rest my arm on the back of the sofa. Sam scoots closer to me, her hand on her thigh brushing against my leg. Arousal jolts down the backs of my legs and settles deep in the pit of my stomach.

Her braid brushes against my arm, tickling me even through the thick fabric of my sweatshirt. She shifts, her head falling against my shoulder.

I don’t hate it. I don’t hate it one bit.

She adjusts again.

“You okay?” I murmur quietly, as to not distract the guys. Or to not attract their attention.

She swallows. “Do you have, like, a throw blanket? I’m a little cold.”

We normally keep a blanket on the back of the couch. Wes’s sister bought it when she visited last spring, to make the place more “homey,” whatever that means. It went in the laundry last month and never made it out. It’s probably still in the dryer.

“I’ll go grab one.”

“No, I’ll be fine.”

“Sam, it’s not a big deal. We have plenty of blankets.”

We disentangle, and I head for the stairs. Swiping the soft blanket off the top of my bed, I retake my place on the couch. She tucks the blanket around her legs and immediately scoots in next to me. I move to put my arm on the back of the couch again and she shifts, pulling my arm down around her so my hand rests on her hip.

Okay, then.

“Thank you,” she whispers quietly in my ear, so the other guys can’t hear. “This helps a lot.”

I’m basically hugging her. Her hand settles on my knee. I can’t think, can’t breathe.

“You doing okay?”

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