Page 81 of Dirty Player
“Tough. Feels like Pomville is treating every one of our games this season as if it’s his last. He’s not cutting us any slack.”
“That’s a good thing, right?”
“Yeah, but sometimes it makes me feel like I’m getting too old for this.”
A frown pressed his lips down. I knew just as well as Oliver did that at over thirty years old, he couldn’t have many years left.
“Given any thought to what you want to do after?”
“Not a clue. Tell me about your day.”
His Adam’s apple dipped down his throat as he swallowed harshly. I took the hint: no more talking football—at least not involving the end of his career.
I did as he wished and filled the rest of the car ride with talk of Stamped and moved on to telling him how Melissa and I met and how she started her own graphic design business. She was working on revamping my website again, so I’d spent most of the day emailing her back and forth while she sent me proof designs.
When Oliver pulled into a parking space in front of Mama Casita’s, I smiled at the sound of music already filtering out of the restaurant and onto the sidewalk.
Oliver reached into the backseat and came back with a frayed Georgia Tech baseball hat. He slid it on his head, pushing it down low over his eyes. “There, now I’m ready.”
I grinned and gestured to his hat. “I’m not sure wearing a hat with your Alma Mater on it will hide your identity very well.” Another thought flickered in my mind and my smile vanished. “If you don’t like going out in public, we don’t have to. I just thought we could have some fun.”
His lips pressed together before he answered. “I don’t mind ending up in photographs and I actually do love the fans. I just don’t always like having meals interrupted. Most of the time it’s fine, though.”
I’d been by Beaux’s side enough to know that when one fan spotted you, the phones came out, the napkins were slid onto tables, and soon the quiet meal you’d wanted ended up with cold food, ice melted in drinks, and a constant stream of autographs being signed.
“How about a compromise?”
His eyes widened in surprised, like he couldn’t believe I’d get it. “What?”
“We go in, get an order to go, and I get one dance while we wait for our food. Then we can go eat it somewhere more private.”
I had the perfect place in mind. Mama Casita’s was near the NCSU campus and I’d heard it had beautiful parks.
“How is it that you always seem to know exactly what I need?”
His hand was at the back of my neck and his lips were on mine, his tongue seeking entrance into my mouth, before I could respond.
***
“You have a great arm,” Oliver said, his hands extended to catch the pass I’d thrown.
“I learned from the best.”
“I don’t know if I’d call Beaux thebest.”
I clapped my hands and opened them, signaling for him to throw the ball. “Fine, I learned from one of the best. Happy?”
He threw the ball into my outstretched hands perfectly. When I did a hip-shake for a celebration dance, Oliver’s gaze turned serious.
“Yes, I’m happy. Very.”
We’d danced our Mariachi dance and laughed ourselves silly. I learned that while Oliver could move like a God in the bedroom, a master on the football field, and could roll his hips seductively to hip-hop music, he absolutely sucked at other forms of dancing.
We’d gotten our food after one song, like I promised him, and then we’d left Mama Casita’s, Oliver holding on to my hand with one of his and our order of food in another, and gone straight to the perfect area of the university.
Fall term would start in a couple of weeks, so for the time being the campus was rather empty and Oliver had guided us to a small park that overlooked a nearby lake. When I’d started cleaning up our mess, he’d run to his car really quick and come back tossing a football in his hands.
I blinked away the emotion that his simple statement caused and threw him the ball.
