Page 4 of Play Maker

“I’m not,” I lied. He didn’t need to know about my sudden curiosity.

“If I ever do, just let me know. Hands off immediately, okay?”

I nodded, afraid my tongue would go rogue again and beg him to touch me. How different would it be if he did it with intent? No. Not going there. I’d been fighting this draw for months, nothing had to change now.

My shoulders threatened to stiffen up again, but I breathed through the reaction. He wasn’t making me uncomfortable—Iwas, with my inconvenient attraction and inability to stop picturing him with Eva.

Before I could formulate a verbal response, he pushed away from the counter and circled it to the barstools on the other side.

“How about if we get to know each other better? Right here, right now. I’ll tell you anything you want to know, and I promise not to get offended.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “Seriously?”

People generally didn’t like when I asked questions. Their preference for my silence didn’t stop me from asking anyway, but I wasn’t unaware of the awkward pauses that usually followed. For the most part, I’d stopped being embarrassed by it.

He spread his arms. “Yes, seriously. It’s our first ask me anything, Sunshine, so make it a good one.”

The sarcastic nickname he’d given me sparked an idea for my first question. “Why does everyone call you Mac? Why not Adam?”

A shadow darkened his eyes, but his smile didn’t waver. “My first football coach refused to use anyone’s first names. Mackenzie was too much of a mouthful for him, so he started calling me Mac. It stuck.”

I tilted my head to study him. Body language wasn’t my strong suit. I tended to misread any nuance I picked up, but for some reason, I had no trouble reading Mac. His shoulders hunched slightly, like he was bracing himself for disappointment. He didn’t like his nickname—or some part of him didn’t like it.

The reaction didn’t make sense. Hetoldpeople to call him Mac.

“Why does that bother you?” I expected him to offer a platitude, but I should have known better.

“Because that coach was an ass. He saw us as tools instead of little people with feelings and stuff. Our last names were printed on our uniforms, so he never bothered learning our first names. Easier to make a kid run until he pukes if you don’t think of him as a person.”

“Why do you still use it?”

“Because fuck that guy. I made some good friends on that team, and they liked little Mac. The coach made me faster, but the friends made me the Mac you see before you.”

Crap, I wanted to hug him again. What was he doing to me? I circled the island to take the seat next to him. “Eva too?”

“Yeah, her too. She liked the nickname.” He rubbed his jaw, now with several days’ worth of scruff instead of smooth like the last time I’d seen him, but he didn’t look away. “According to my mom, nicknames are supposed to be a way to forge a connection with someone. She calls memijo—no one else does that, not even my dad or my sisters. It’s a special thing between me and Mom. The way you talk to people—what you call them or what they choose to be called—matters.”

I tucked away the knowledge that Adam had sisters, right next to the surprising realization he was more perceptive than I’d given him credit for. Eva had warned me, in her own way, but I hadn’t completely believed her until now.

The serious moment ended with Adam flashing me a wide grin. “You can call me whatever you want though, Sunshine.”

He wantedmeto pick? The air between us thickened with expectation, and I almost looked behind me to make sure he was talking to me. I’d seen him with Eva, heard of his exploits with the ball bunnies before her. The sane part of my brain assured me he flirted with everyone. The part of me that knew better saw the mask he’d just donned.

The person he’d shown me today didn’t mesh with the Mac everyone else knew. Confident, yes, but also sweet and understanding—and sad. Underneath it all, he was sad. I wondered if the others knew how deeply it went.

I felt like he let me see the real person beneath the hotshot football player. With that realization, the decision was easy. I’d always called him Adam in my head anyway. If he was looking for a connection through a nickname, he’d probably be disappointed, but I was who I was.

“Mac is nice, but I like this version of you better, Adam.”

He pressed his lips together for a beat, then nodded. “Okay.”

My eyes narrowed at his one-word answer. “That’s all? No snappy comeback?”

“For you, I can be Adam.”

Frustration kicked at me that he was still trying to perform. “I don’t need you to be anyone. You said you wanted to be friends with the real me… that goes both ways. I want the real Adam, not a construct you created.”

“Ah, so you admit you want me.” He wagged his finger at me.

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