Page 30 of Third and Ten

“Guess we could fix them something cold to drink. We owe them that, at least,” my mom says, eventually. She steps away to find a pitcher, leaving me pondering her words while the caffeine works its way through my system.

Then, just as I bring the cup to my lips for the last sip, Ethan jumps up in front of the window and taps loudly on the glass, scaring the living daylights out of me. I flinch and shout a few profanities, splashing the rest of my coffee down the front of my shirt in the process. He doubles over with laughter on the other side, evidently surmising exactly why I’ve been standing there for so long.

I take a step forward, dropping the empty cup into the sink and using my palm to make a loud thud on the window. “I’m going to pay you back for that later, kid!” I scream loud enough for him to hear me, my face flushing.

“I was only checking on you,” he calls back. “You look like you might have been daydreaming…or having a stroke,” he says with feigned concern for my well-being and a knowing smile.

“Someone has to make sure you’re doing a good job,” I return.

“Oh, is that why you were supervising so carefully?”

My mom chuckles from across the kitchen. I narrow my eyes in my best attempt at intimidation, but he laughs to himself as he walks off to restart his trimmer.

As soon as Ethan clears my line of sight, JD rides by again, bobbing his head as if he’s missed the entire exchange. He is wearing earbuds, so maybe noise-cancelation has saved me from humiliation, at least this once.

Yeah, right.

He stops the mower abruptly, right in front of the window, then stretches his long, muscular arms, lifting them over his head and giving me an even better look at his triceps. I gulp, wondering how I’ve gotten myself into this situation, forced to attend a gun show against my will. He twists his neck and spins his cap around. Then he reaches down to restart the mower, but not before turning to face the window and aiming a smirk and a wink my way. The engine roars back to life as JD continues down the row, leaving me there with my jaw hanging open.

“You know, you’ll have to acknowledge him eventually,” I hear my mom say as she brushes up against me.

I swallow hard. “We’re friends. I thank him all the time.”

She scrunches her nose. “I think he may be looking for a less friendly form of gratitude, baby.”

“Mo-om,” I groan.

“Enjoy it while you can,” she starts, ignoring my protests. “In a few years you’ll be griping at him to mow the lawn and begging him to keep his shirt on so he doesn’t scare the neighbors.”

I sigh. “You do realize I’m not going to randomly marry and live happily ever after with Ethan’s football coach just because of a few nice gestures, right?”

“You could start by agreeing to go on a date with him, though,” she murmurs, taking a pitcher of sweet tea out to the front porch. I roll my eyes as I follow with a few glasses of ice.

She sets the tea down on a small side table, just as the mower quiets down. I look away once I see JD walking over, pulling a shirt down over his head and replacing his cap.

Thank God.

He and Ethan trudge up the steps, and my mom greets each of them with a cold drink and a cheek kiss, thanking them for their labors. I cross my arms in front of me tightly, regretting my decision to stay in this sports bra instead of changing into a more proper underwire death trap and replacing my coffee-stained pajama top. My discomfort is compounded by the fact that JD’s T-shirt is missing its sleeves, and I can’t help but watch his arms flexing and glistening as he raises a glass to drink.

My mom nudges me until I blurt out an awkward “thank you” and sit on the porch swing, becoming increasingly self-aware of my messy morning bun and lack of makeup.

“No worries,” JD answers between gulps. “I was actually hoping to borrow Ethan to help me back at home since we’re finished here.” He settles across from me in the nearest chair, casually glancing down at my bare legs as my mom refills his drink. His massive hands make the glass he’s holding look comically small.

“We’ve figured out that it’s easier if we just double-team both yards,” Ethan adds, using the collar of his shirt to wipe the sweat from his upper lip. “So we went to church earlier this morning and planned to finish our work before it got too hot.”

But why do they always have to double-team me like this? The two of them are so much cuter together—not that I think JD is cute.

I finally admit defeat and allow my gaze to return to his arms. They’re pink and slightly sunburned toward the top, as are his neck and the bits of his shoulders I can see over his shirt collar. I tell myself he was just evening out his tan today, but that doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy the view, especially since he’s torn open the armholes of his shirt wide enough to reveal the extra back muscles that reside on top of his normal human muscles. He tilts his head and exposes his throat as he swallows the last of his second glass. Then a single bead of sweat drips down beneath his collar, and I gulp along with him.

The hell with cute. JD Bourgeois is freaking hot.

But like, in a totally objective, non-datable way, right?

I blink, forcing myself to look away and crossing my arms even tighter across my chest. My mom glares at me knowingly, her lips pursed in a cue for me to wipe the drool off my chin.

“Aunt Ten? Is it cool if I go to Coach JD’s?” Ethan asks expectantly.

“Uh, well, don’t we have to go to Mass?” I realize too late that Ethan already addressed that detail, but I was too busy gawking for it to register. He stifles a laugh, having caught me checking out JD for the second time today. “Right, sorry. You went this morning. Yeah, that’s fine.”

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