It’s the million-dollar question. One I can’t easily answer.
“It’s too early to tell. It’ll depend on how we play the rest of the season.”
“That makes sense.” She nods, fingers moving up the back of my calf. “How many games are there?”
“Twelve in the regular season and if we perform well enough, one bowl game, followed by the championship.”
We won’t know for sure which teams are playing in the semi-finals until the bowl games are announced in December. College football isn’t a straight bracket system and the championship teams are selected by committee.
“I’m no expert, but if I were a betting person, I’d guess this muscle cramp is the result of insufficient hydration.” She glances up, giving me a pointed look. “You played three and a half grueling hours of football yesterday and now you’re here, working your ass off in the studio when you should be at home recovering.”
She’s not wrong, but it’s a flawed argument.
“If I didn’t come to class, I wouldn’t get to see you.” Her fingers go still and I rest my hand on hers. Awareness sizzles along my skin and the urge to kiss her strikes hard and fast, though I can’t act on it. “It’s worth the risk.You’reworth the risk.”
Her breath hitches and it takes all my self-control not to pull her close and capture her mouth with my own.
“I—” She clears her throat and pulls her hand from mine. The loss of contact is jarring, but I force myself to relax. The last thing I want to do is spook her when I’m finally making progress. “I think you should call it a day.”
“You’re probably right.” We climb to our feet and I thank her for the massage. The pain has completely abated and if I didn’t know better, I’d say she’s got the magic touch. “I’ll see you next week.”
“You can’t be serious.” She gestures to my leg. “You’re doing too much, Brady. You’re going to burn out. Or get hurt.”
It’s a possibility, one I made peace with when I signed my name on the class waiver.
“I could get hit by a bus tomorrow. There are no guarantees in life.”
It’s a lesson I learned the hard way when my grandfather passed.
Piper’s eyes drift shut and she tips her head back, as if thinking. Then her head snaps up, and she meets my gaze head-on. “If I agree to get coffee, will you end this madness?”
Hope sparks in my chest. “Does this mean I’ve finally won you over?”
“No, I just don’t want to see you get hurt.”
It’s a start.
And I can work with that.
“In that case, how about lunch?”
She cocks a hip and plants her hand on it. “Don’t push your luck.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it, darlin’.” I step into her personal space, something I’m usually careful to avoid. “I’m just negotiating for better terms.”
Her gorgeous blue eyes go wide and she huffs out a breath. “Fine. One lunch.”
I’m still flyinghigh from my victory with Piper when I hop on Facetime with my mom and Gran for Sunday dinner. It’s a longstanding family tradition we’ve maintained, despite the distance that now separates us.
We aren’t eating the same dish and we can’t share a table, but it’s more about the conversation than the food.
They pepper me with questions about my week as we eat, and when there’s a lull in the conversation, I change the subject.
“Have you looked at the business plan?” I ask, spearing a piece of grilled chicken.
My mom refuses to discuss finances outright, but the farm is struggling, and has been for a while. I used my free time over the summer to build an agritourism proposal that would supplement the farm’s current income, but so far, I haven’t had much luck pitching the idea.
“It’s on my desk.” Mom flashes a tired smile. “I just haven’t had time to look at it yet.”
