That little touch shouldn’t put me on edge, but it does.
I’m good at playing things off and leaning into our friendship, but the touch is always what gets me. Hardy’s love language is physical touch, but that might be how I need to be shown love.
I don’t like being around people unless they’re my people. And when I find my person, I want to curl up next to them, bury myself inside them, never let them go. Hardy’s my person. If only I could convince my brain it’s not a romantic thing.
Lifting my gaze to his, I lean into our playfulness. “Yes, I know I’d be lucky to marry someone as awesome as you.”
He stares at me for a beat, then his fingers almost imperceptibly tighten on my thigh before he moves his hand.
“Nah. I think I’d be the lucky one.”
Then he pops his earbuds in and pulls out his e-reader, leaving me to muddle over his words.
We’re just friends.
He said it because he wanted to be clear he was teasing me earlier.
But somewhere in the back of my mind, thoughts rumble. What if he didn’t mean it that way? What if he meant it exactly how he said it?
With reckless abandon, I kill those thoughts because all they’ll do is bring me heartache.
CHAPTER SEVEN
HARDY
Regular Season Week 12
I lovea game like today’s. We won by a huge gap, but not because the other team didn’t have their shit together. They did. But we were on another level. More coordinated than we’ve been all season, the whole team moving together as a flawless unit.
Games like that are rare, but they remind us what we’re capable of, and show us the things we’re best at. As much as game tape is used to improve our skills and strategies, it can also show what’s working well.
Brian pulled off three sneaky as fuck sacks today—which is how he always is. He appears out of nowhere and stops a play in its tracks.
Mark and I were on fire. It was like I knew exactly what he was thinking, exactly where he needed me to be at any moment.
We’ll probably bomb the next game. It’s like once the stars align like this, it all falls apart next game, whether it’s because of overconfidence or overthinking. Either way, I’m reveling in the high of such a fantastic win tonight, especially knowing my family was here to watch. In general, we’ve dominated our homegames this season. Our only losses—like last week—have been on the road. But this was our best game of the season, home or away, and I’m always extra proud when my family gets to see it in person.
Throwing a ball around on a field for a few hours every week isn’t a life-changing career. I’m not healing or saving people—but hopefully I’m bringing some joy and entertainment to their lives, and I want to bring that same joy to my family.
I’m still bouncing as we hit the showers. They upgraded our locker room last year, so we now have individual shower stalls. We’re all used to seeing each other’s asses and we know not to make direct eye contact with another guy’s junk, but it’s nice not to have to actively be mindful of where our eyes are anymore.
Of course, the second I think that, I walk past Brian’s stall in time to see him drop his towel.
I have to force myself not to bite my lip when I see his perfect football bubble butt.
Since when do I like guys’ butts? I’d consider looking around and checking if any of my other teammates’ butts do it for me, but that’s not an awkward workplace situation I want to walk into.
That’s the kind of messiness I want to watch on TV, not live in my own life.
Stepping into the shower, I slip my towel off and grab my body wash, closing my eyes and relaxing under the hot water. The only problem is that suddenly an image of Brian’s butt appears in my mind, and little Hardy is more than a little interested.
No. Bad. Down, boy. Having a hard-on in the middle of the locker room is also frowned upon.
We all know some post-win, adrenaline-fueled, can’t-wait-to-get-laid semis happen, but a full woody is a no-go.
Think of something else. Anything else.
Not Brian, or his butt. Or why I find them attractive when I never did before.
