We stop outside my car. “Alright, then. Let me know the details. I’m going to head home.”
“To Cashmere Cove, right? Noli mentioned that’s where you’re living these days.”
Darn him and his open-faced interest in me. He’s not supposed to care. The fact that he does makes it harder for menot to want him.
“Yeah. It’s a small town—“
“Up the bay. I know it.” He nods thoughtfully. “It’s wild you’ve been so close, and I had no idea.”
“Yeah. Same here. I sort of stopped following the league after getting out of cheering.” That’s a bold-faced lie, and I chew the inside of my cheek to keep from saying anything incriminating. No one knows he’s the reason I was so willing to follow Poppy to Wisconsin. It’s pathetic of me, really, but somehow being in the same state as him eased the pain of our break up, which still ate at me, even years later.
He studies me, a whole slew of questions scampering across his unfairly handsome face. “You still writing?”
“No.” I shake my head briskly. “I don’t think I’ll ever come up with something good enough to publish.”
He frowns. “I don’t believe that.”
I shrug. “It is what it is.”
“But you loved writing.” He sounds almost accusatory, like he can’t believe I had the audacity to quit.
I tap my bag. “I’m still writing, aren’t I? That’s what I’m doing here.”
“It’s not the same thing.” He crosses his arms. “You told me writing makes you feel the most like yourself—writing fiction,” he says, as if I don’t know exactly what he’s talking about.
It’s my own fault he knows this about me. I opened up to him and shared the real, true parts of me all those years ago. I’m paying the price now. But if I’m being honest, deep down, it’s nice to feel known—scary too.
“Yeah, well, life happens.” It’s a cop-out response, but I don’t have a better one. I’ve dabbled with different story ideas over the years, but I can’t seem to stick on one.
“What else have you been up to?” Anton looks like he’s settling in for a heart-to-heart. How is he not freezing? It’s going to take three large cups of cocoa to warm me up after this.
“If you insist on giving me the third degree, get in.” I unlock my door and get behind the wheel, turning the car on and cranking the heat in one swift motion.
Anton jogs around to the passenger side and slides in. Slide isn’t exactly accurate in this case. He folds himself in, but his knees go up to his chest in the cramped space.
“Uh…” He feels around on both sides of the chair for the lever to move the seat back.
“Sorry, it’s right here.” Without thinking, I reach toward the lever directly in front of him. My hand grazes the inside of his thigh.
Do not dwell on his muscular legs. Do. Not. Dwell.
I pull up on the lever, and he shifts back. The movement sends me careening into his lap, but I lunge back to my own side of the car as quickly as possible, like an unhinged jack-in-the-box. One of those creepy ones.
“Where are you parked?” I grab the steering wheel to give myself something to focus on that isn’t the warmth of his body. “I’ll drive you to your car.”
“Head that way.” He points me forward, and I feel his gaze on me and hear the smile in his voice. “You were about to tell me what else you’ve been up to.”
“I’m the one who’s supposed to do the interviewing.”
“Humor me.” He throws my own words back at me.
I make a face at him. “Nothing exciting. I worked abroad for a while, then lived down in Florida, and then followed my big sister up here. The three of us all live in Cashmere Cove now. I work at Mood Reader, the bookstore in town.”
“That’s fitting for you,” he says. “Nice to be close to your family, I’m sure.”
He directs me to a side lot. He has to hold out a badge to get the gate to go up so I can get in. That’s good from a security standpoint, but it won’t help him if it’s someone within the River Foxes organization who has it out for him. But why would they? He’s their star. Who would want him out of the picture?
I make a mental note to look into the backup quarterback. Maybe he’s dying for more playing time or something? It’s a weak motive, and I know it, but I need to cover all my bases.
