Kenny keeps up the rotation of his dough and smiles at me around the side of his widening crust. “Mallory, right? Nice to officially meet you. Holland, step on up. Here’s your chance to show off your skills.”
“Mallory knows all about my skills.”
“That’s debatable,” I say with an eye roll.
Kenny laughs. “Golf skills and pizza skills are very different, my friend. Come show us what you got.”
Holland moves to where Kenny has another ball of dough, and he starts tossing it while Kenny offers instructions.
“Keep your movements constant. It’s all about the wrist action,” Kenny says as Holland tries and fails to get his dough tossing. “Then you can add some hip action if you’re feeling it,” Kenny says as he starts gyrating around in a circle.
The look on Holland’s face is priceless. He’s got his tongue between his teeth as he focuses on trying to mimic Kenny’smovements. He swivels his hips like he’s doing a hula hoop, and I let loose a bark of laughter. I clamp my hand over my mouth.
Holland tosses his dough higher in the air. It’s not looking at all like pizza crust, but I can’t argue that he’s committed. He swivels his hips and tosses his dough up in the air, but he has to lunge to catch it. He shakes his head and drops the dough back to the work surface, miming wiping his brow.
“I think I’ll leave the pizza making to the professionals.” He comes out from around the counter.
I click my tongue. “Such a shame. Would have liked to see some more hip action from you.”
Holland narrows his eyes at me. “Don’t tempt me like that, Walsh.” He stares at me for a second before looking up at Kenny. “Thanks for the lesson, man.”
“Come see me real soon,” Kenny says, eyes on his dough. “I’ve been working on a new protein crust recipe.”
“Save me a slice,” Holland says with a grin. We walk farther into the barn.
“Protein pizza?” I can’t help it. I scrunch up my nose.
“Here I thought, as my coach, you’d be thrilled I was trying to take care of my body.” He points at himself, and I take the opportunity to look at him again.
“Looks like you’ve got that covered.”
Holland’s grin widens. “You think I look good?”
He’s like a golden retriever puppy dog right now, hopping around my feet, waiting for me to pet him.
I huff. “Desperate much?”
“For a compliment from you? Always.”
I tip my chin to the side, pretending to study him. Looking at Holland, it’s hard for me to believe that I’ve been his coach for two years and haven’t acknowledged how handsome he is. Holland has got eyelashes for days. It’s unfair. His stubble lines his jaw in a perfect layer. It’s grown since early this morning, when we were on the golf course. The five o’clock shadow is a good look forhim, gives him a little edge. His hair is styled in a way that doesn’t look like he’s trying too hard. It’s golden with darker roots, and it’s mussed in just the right way. My fingers itch to feel it, but I squeeze them into balls. No need to get ahead of myself. This is our first real date, if you can even call it that with the cameras and producers tailing us, and if I suggested giving him a scalp massage, that would make things weird, fast.
Moving on!
“Come on, Bradley. You know you look good.”
“I do know that.”
I snort. “So modest too.”
He dips his chin in acknowledgment. “It’s a whole different thing to know that you think so too—if, in fact, you do?” He raises his voice in question.
There’s a large part of me that wants to retreat. That wants to shove him and tell him to shut up and stop being so cocky. But there’s another large part of me that recognizes that Holland put himself out there when he told me how he felt this morning. I respect his honesty, and if I’m serious about having a relationship with him, it has to be a two-way street. I want him to know that yeah, there’s something here between us that I recognize too. In the grand scheme of things, admitting that I find him attractive isn’t that big of a deal. It’s something I can do on camera that’s pretty harmless.
I let out an overdrawn sigh and meet his stare. “Well, guilty.”
I’m expecting his smile to widen into a cocky, flashy grin. Instead, it softens at the edges, and his eyes hold mine in their chocolatey depths. He’s not saying anything, but if his face was a word, it would bethanks.
32
