Page 49 of The Game Plan

That’s why I’m going to take her out on a date, so we can get to know each other better. Every time she’s around me, my mind goes blank, and my tongue gets tied. I can’t talk, can’t think. Hopefully with repeated exposure I’ll be able to keep my wits about me. She won’t like me if all I ever contribute is grunts and monosyllables. I’m better than that.

“So you really like her,” Amir says, his voice low and his eyes on her.

Like doesn’t begin to cover it.

“Yeah.”

“Good for you,” he says. “She’s way out of your league.”

“Tell me about it.”

She’s gorgeous, she’s fun to be around, she’s popular. Everyone likes her—except for O’Rourke, who doesn’t like anyone. She’s a fucking catch, and she wants to be with me. Withme. With the tubby loser who can’t seem to talk in her general vicinity, the guy who stands out in a crowd no matter how much I want to blend in.

She stirs, making a noise deep in her throat, and it goes straight to my cock. She adjusts the angle of her head on my chest and tightens her grip around me. She likes this.

I don’t know how the movie ends. I’ve seen it a few times before. I’m watching the best thing there is: Sam’s face as she sleeps.

Is that weird? It’s weird.

A deep and overwhelming affection for her threatens to overtake me. There’s a lump in my throat I can’t clear. She feels safe with me, comfortable enough to fall asleep on top of me. She can’t be repulsed by me if she’s snuggling with me.

I shake her shoulder.

“Sam.”

She sighs and burrows into me.

“Baby, it’s time to get up.”

“Don’t wanna.”

“We need to go to sleep. In a bed and not on the floor.”

She lifts her head a fraction of an inch. “Floor?”

“That’s right, baby, we’re on the floor.” I brush some loose strands of hair out of her face. “Let’s get you to bed.”

“Mm. Okay.” She plops her head back down on my chest.

“Sam.”

She doesn’t wake.

Greg and Tucker are laughing.

“You okay over there, big guy?” Barrett asks. He’s heard her nickname for me.

“Fuck you. All of you.”

Gently disentangling my limbs from hers, I struggle to my feet and rearrange the blanket over her. In a movement that isn’t nearly as graceful as I’d like it to be, I scoop her into my arms, cradling her to my chest. I can lift more than double my considerable body weight. She weighs practically nothing in my arms.

Amir tucks the blanket in around her. I nod at him, and he laughs. Fucker. All of them. I hate them all.

Lumbering slowly up the stairs, I make my way to my room. Luckily, it’s not too messy. My bed isn’t made—it never is—but I change my sheets religiously every Friday night so I can crash into a clean bed after a brutal game.

Sam stirs when I set her down on the bed. I wait with baited breath as she settles again. I go to take off her boots and she thrashes awake.

“Wha’s goin’ on?”

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