Page 166 of Only in Your Dreams

The one closest to where I’m standing with Mel is thecoo-erin question. She has her eyes stuck to Pete and the dog’s tail goes wild, basking in her attention.

“Wow, look how huge he is,” she says to her companion, who isn’t paying Pete any attention at all.

She’s staring at the field. But at her friend’s words she turns her chin over her shoulder, dark, near-black curtain of hair swinging across her back, shiny from the sun.

Damn.

If it’s at all possible for a person to look both sugar sweet and completely capable of holding their own in a dark alley with a scary-looking Pete, she’s it.

Silky-looking, sun-kissed skin, pink pouty mouth. Her blue-gray eyes are huge, lined with dark lashes that really make the color stand out, slap you right in the face. And they’re expressive as hell. I mean, she’s not doing anything but looking over her shoulder, face smooth, but her eyes find Pete and then she’s smiling.

Notactuallysmiling. Those pretty lips haven’t moved an inch. It’s a smile that seems to come from her eyes. This barely perceptible pull at the corners. But it brightens her whole face.

Feels warm, even from here.

And the feeling multiplies, intensifies to something that damn near cuts off my oxygen supply when her gaze travels over our little scene, Mel and Pete, and settles on me.

She gives me a sweeping look, head to toe.

I don’t know what possesses me, but I take an instinctive step away from Melody. It’s not that we were standing inappropriately close or anything. But—for some reason—I feel the very urgent need to convey that we are very much not together.

Platonic fake-exes. My best friend’s fiancée. Nothing to see here.

I could be yours, if you’ll have me.

I think she gets the hint. The woman’s nose scrunches in evident amusement before blinking away.

“Come on, we’re supposed to fly under the radar,” she says, tugging at the arm of her cooing friend. “We didn’t just Mission Impossible our way onto the field only to get thwarted by a cute dog.”

She glances back to find me staring, having clearly heard her say she’s somewhere she’s very much not supposed to be. I expect her to get shifty over getting caught out—not that I care. I haven’t worked here in months.

Instead, her mouth tugs into a half-smile bordering on a smirk. And she winks at me.

Jesus.

That wink, that entire display of nonchalance over the trespassing, hits me like a blow to the solar plexus.

Insanely pretty and capable of putting people on their knees with a wink.

By the time I recover, she’s already yards away, huddled over a phone with her friend.

“Here,” Melody says, pulling me out of my wink-induced trance. She hands me a tissue.

“What’s this for?”

“The drool on your chin.”

I crumple up the tissue and toss it at her. She looks infinitely pleased with her own comedic timing.

Still, I run my fingers along my chin. Just in case.

“Brooks, I know you’re all hyper-focused on this comeback and everything. But it’s okay to let yourself want someone,” Mel says tentatively. I don’t blame the hesitation. Since my break up, I haven’t been the most receptive when conversation turns to my non-existent dating life. “You could just keep it casual, you know. Dip your toes into the dating pool. See how it goes.”

I snort. “You sound like Zac.”

Mel shrugs. “Zac knows what he’s talking about. But don’t tell him I said that.”

I mime locking up my mouth. Throwing away the key. “As it happens, casual relationships are officially off the table for me, at least until I sign with a team. Josh’s orders.”

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