She stares at me, her eyes narrowing like she’s searching for cracks in my resolve. “Dylan, this isn’t just about me. I have responsibilities. I can’t just... I can’t be selfish.”
I can tell she didn’t mean to admit to responsibilities. Part of me wants to call her out and demand an explanation. But then I’d feel guilted into telling her about Little Squid and my need to get him away from our father. How can I tell Emma I want to be my brother’s legal guardian without telling her why?
“It’s not selfish to want something for yourself,” I counter, deciding she can keep her secrets, and I’ll keep mine for the minute. “And I’m not asking you to risk everything. Just one date at a time. That’s it. Let me show you that what we felt wasn’t just alcohol or a fluke.”
Emma hesitates, her lips parting as if she’s about to say something, but no words come out. Her hands grip the edge of the table, knuckles whitening.
“Please,” I say, my voice softer now. “One chance. If it’s nothing, I’ll back off. But if it’s something... don’t we owe it to ourselves to find out?”
Her shoulders sag slightly, and she exhales a long, shaky breath. “You don’t fight fair, you know that?”
I grin. “Never said I did. Haven’t you heard? I’m a Maverick.”
She shakes her head, biting her lip as if trying to hold back either a smile or a grimace. Finally, she mutters, as if disgusted with herself for caving in, “Fine. One date. But if anyone finds out …”
“They won’t,” I promise, wondering who can give me tips on planning the best first date in the history of first dates. I don’t have sisters, and the guys from the team will never believe me or set me up for failure. Kenzie would have an opinion—but then I’d have to convince her that my date is someone special who doesn’t want the spotlight. And then she’d remind me of the wholeAustralia’s Favorite Bachelorbullshit. Then I remember who I’m planning a date for, Emma. She’s unpretentious and genuine. Whatever we do will be special because it’s us, and exciting because being seen in public is hella forbidden. “Tomorrow night, after the game. I’ll text you the address.”
“Why? Because you might be in hospital with a concussion?”
I shrug with a laugh, “Wouldn’t be the first time. In any case, cheer isn’t without injury. What if you end up in hospital with a sprained ankle or pulled thigh muscle?”
“Don’t worry about me, I’m good at stretching.” Fuck me. When Emma makes innocent comments with a side of flirt, I want to cover her mouth with my tongue and cock at the same time.
“We can do this, Em. Trust me. Tomorrow night we’ll go out on a real date, on one condition.”
Emma fixes me with a look that has so much need and fear that I want to kiss it away. Only this isn’t the time or the place—not with a cell phone in almost every hand. People talking doesn’t get attention. A couple passionately kissing, and there is no other way to kiss Emma, would have phones recording and posting with hearts. Then, someone would recognize me, and … not going to do that to her.
When she moistens her full lips and presses them together to form words, my chest tightens as if I’m underneath a bomb with forwards racing to pummel me to the ground. Have I blown my chance? And why do I care? I’m Dylan-Fucking-Fleski, who can can find, fuck, and forget more women in a weekend than most men can find in a lifetime.But there’s only one Emma.Just as I’m about to laugh away the whole putting a condition on our date, Emma shakes her head, smiles, and asks, “And your condition is?”
“You come back to my place if you want dessert.”
“Then you’d better be worth it.”
Hell. The. Fuck. Yeah.
Chapter 14
Sage
Emma
He wants to eat me for dessert.Okay, that isn’t exactly what Dylan said, but it’s the way my lady parts have decided to interpret his condition of dating.Dating.
No. I’m not dating Dylan Fleski.
I did not intentionally agree to break theno-fraternization contractclause. Technically, the Mavericks could describe meeting Dylan for coffee as dating, but I could still explain …no, I can’t. No matter how hard I try to justify meeting up with Dylan as innocent, I can’t. Not when our first coffee ended up in a hotel room with his head between my thighs. In that moment, I wouldn’t have rememberedmyname, let alone his name, or why the orgasmic high put my job at risk.
Then again, what’s the difference between being friends who catch up on the reg with occasional benefits, and dating?
I leave the coffee shop in a post-Dylan high that lasts the half-hour drive through traffic to my apartment.
“Hi, Sage, how was your day?” I’m glad she can’t ask me about my day and when she looks at me with teenage attitude and refuses to adjust her headphones to let me into her world, I don’t insist on some sisterly bonding time. Somehow, she can be on her laptop,andphone,andbe watching TV which is not connected to her headphones at the same time.
Whatever. At least her preoccupation with her world gives me time to organize dinner and daydream scenarios where I can keep my job and get the guy.
I’m going on a date tomorrow night!!!
My imagination is a beautiful place to live, and all options seem possible. What if we sneak around for the rest of the season, get married in the off-season, and I come back as a married cheerleader? What if we are caught and Dylan fronts the board insisting that our love doesn’t pose a risk to the team? I even look up streaming services forAn Officer and A Gentlemenso I can watch that end scene and imagine Dylan storming in and sweeping me off my feet to a pom pom guard of honor.
