Page 44 of Third and Ten

She cranes her neck around to look at me. “Oh, hey, JD,” she returns, a smile spreading across her face as if she’s happy to see me. But it’s like a punch to the gut, triggering that “not gonna happen” track that’s been playing on loop in my brain.

“I’m just finishing up, but thanks. Make yourself at home,” she adds before setting the spoon down.

I nod and lean back against the counter, trying not to stare too hard as she bends to pull a cast iron skillet of corn bread from the oven.

“Thirsty?” she asks.

“What?” I respond, straightening up as panic sets in.

“Do you want anything to drink?” she tries again, regarding me suspiciously.

“Oh, uh, yeah. Water would be great.” I exhale and will away the heat rushing to my cheeks.

She retrieves a bottle from the fridge and hands it over as her mom enters the kitchen. “Thanks,” I mumble before I unscrew the cap and take a few gulps.

“So, where’s the birthday boy?” I venture once I get my heart rate down a little.

“I think he’s still in the shower,” Tenley answers.

Her mom passes through a door on the back side of the kitchen and returns a second later with a basket full of laundry. “I forgot to put these away earlier,” she says. “He might actually be waiting on a clean towel, so I’d better go check on him.”

She rushes past me, not noticing when a couple of items fall off the top of the stack. I automatically stoop to pick up the clothes from the floor, just as Tenley comes closer for the same reason. Without thinking, I pluck a bundle of black fabric and hold it out for her. Her eyes widen and she lets out a soft gasp, so I glance down to see why she’s panicking about whatever’s dangling from my fingertips.

Holy mother of over-the-shoulder boulder-holders…

I am holding Tenley’s very sexy lacy bra, suspending it midair. Its generous-sized cups are relaxed and hanging open, giving me and my cursed imagination an all-too-clear representation of the actual size of her assumed voluptuous chest. And boy, have I underestimated that figure. I gape at it for a second longer, my jaw slack, fighting the urge to pull it closer and keep it for myself like a creepy, perverted Gollum. But she reaches out to snatch it from my hand before I can say “my precious.”

“Um, sorry, I didn’t realize…” I begin awkwardly, trailing off once my gaze meets hers. She looks absolutely mortified. Her face is completely flushed, and there’s a gleam from the tears pooling in her eyes. She pulls her bottom lip in between her teeth and mumbles something unintelligible, making me regret inadvertently stopping to examine her bra before handing it back to her. I may have given up on convincing Tenley to go out with me, but I still care about her. And the last thing that I want to do is to make her feel bad.

I can’t understand why she’s so embarrassed, though. We’re both adults, and she’s made it clear that she has no romantic interest in me. Sure, I doubt anyone enjoys accidentally showing our undergarments to strangers of the opposite sex, but it’s not like I’ve seen her granny panties or anything…only her beautiful, lace-encrusted, bust-enhancing lingerie. I mean, she has to have bought a black bra with the intention of feeling and looking sexy, right? Why else would one wear underwear that looks like that? And why should it bother her if I see it, anyway?

I furrow my brow as I continue to study her unexpected reaction. She finally turns away, tucking the bra under her arm before scurrying out of the room. I blow out a breath and rub my hand over my face, frustrated and wondering if I’m ever going to manage a simple interaction with Tenley. It seems like all I ever do is upset or irritate her, even when I try my best to rein in my attraction and act friendly.

“Oh, baby, I’m sorry. Did I drop some of your things?” I hear Mrs. T asking Tenley on her way back to the kitchen. She winks at me before returning to the laundry room with the empty basket.

I press my lips together in a smile when I realize she set her daughter up. The funny part is that she thinks I need another incentive to be attracted to Tenley. Though, up until today, I honestly didn’t know that they make bras with three rows of hooks in the back. (Is that to compensate for the added weight in the front? Or is it one of those things, like, the harder you have to work to get it undone, the bigger the prize? There are so many questions floating around inside my head now.)

Tenley interrupts my inappropriate thoughts once again when she walks back into the kitchen, stopping abruptly. “Are you seriously laughing at me?” she asks as she regards me incredulously.

Truthfully, I am doing my best to stifle a laugh, but not for the same reasons she’s imagining. “No, no—of course not,” I reply innocently.

“You know, God makes women of all shapes and sizes. I guess you haven’t had much experience noticing the ones who wear cup sizes past the letter D, though, based on your reaction just now. But I see these women every day, and I hear their stories and how they are made to feel terrible about themselves because they don’t fit someone else’s mold,” she scolds me with her hands on her hips.

Man, I love it when she stands like this, her fists digging into her sides and pulling her shirt in tighter so I can study her curves. Apparently, she’s assumed that the size of her bra offends me when, ironically, she’d probably kick me out of her house if she knew exactly how much seeing her underwear has turned me into an infatuated adolescent boy again.

“Well, Nurse Tenley,” I begin, smirking at her and feeding off her annoyance. I know I promised not to flirt with her anymore, but she’s kind of asking for it. I take a few steps forward and lean down to whisper beside her ear. “I only reacted that way because I definitely noticed the cup size of that bra, and now I’m probably ruined for all other women. And, for the record, I definitely would have wanted to make its owner feel really good about herself, because I happen to think her shape and size are perfect.”

I linger for a second before I pull away, sensing her nervousness. Her breathing slows down and she shivers once, despite what looks like her best effort to seem unbothered by my proximity and my comments about her body. However, I remind myself that I’m not here to bother her. Regardless of whether she likes me, she’s not willing to act on it. And I promised myself I would walk out of here with my pride intact at the end of the night.

“But I figured that might have made you—or the anonymous bra owner—feel uncomfortable,” I add, taking a few steps back and leaning against the nearest countertop. “So I thought it best to keep my compliments to myself.”

She narrows her eyes, obviously upset, though I’m not sure whether she’s angry because I called her a hypocrite or because she didn’t intend to react to me at all. I cross my arms, flashing her a cocky smile and maybe even a slight flex; you know, just for good measure.

And—yep. There it is. One tiny, infinitesimal glance down to check out the guns.

I knew it.

But dammit if I can focus or look detached with her staring me down like that. Every time she shows the smallest bit of interest, my body reacts before my brain can catch up, and I transform into a goofy, awkward teenager again.

---