Wild for You (Hot Jocks #6)(19)

I take a moment to think it over, trying to cram two years of emotional turmoil into a simple answer. That’s just not possible. I can only do my best to explain how I’m feeling at this very moment. I take a sharp breath, holding it for a moment before releasing it. Then I meet his eyes.

“First, I’m not with him any longer. I just need to tell him that it’s over, and I plan to do that. Tonight.”

Grant searches my face, looking for a dent in the new armor I’ve recently donned. He won’t find any, however, because I’ve made up my mind.

I’m not happy with Jason, and he’s clearly not happy with me. I was afraid to leave him for so long, terrified of his reaction and daunted by the possibility of living my life alone again. But the reality is, I’ve been alone in this relationship for a year now. The physical abuse was only one part of a larger, more problematic codependence. And, truth be told, I’m ready to cut myself out of it.

“I’m glad to hear that,” Grant finally says, his voice low and steady.

Relieved, I smile up at him. “My turn. What’s your favorite color?”

“Blue. What’s yours?”

“Purple. Your favorite kind of cuisine?”

“Greek. Yours?”

“Italian,” I say, sheepishly nodding to the remnants of lasagna on my plate.

“Makes sense,” he says with a nod. “Next question.”

“What number is this?”

“Well, it was four, but with that question it’s five, and it’s my turn.”

“Damn!” I cry, leaning into a full, belly laugh. I hold my belly, realizing I’ve consumed too much pasta to be laughing this hard.

“What made you get into massage therapy?” he asks, his brows raised in an open expression of curiosity.

“I studied kinesthesiology in college and fell into it pretty naturally. I used to give my parents massages, and I’ve always fed off that pleasure I can give people with my hands. It feels good to help people relax,” I say with a shrug. “There’s nothing too deep about it.”

“Noted,” Grant says with a nod.

My turn.

“When’s the last time you went on a date?” I ask, pointing at him with an accusatory index finger.

His eyes go comically wide for a moment before squinting with difficulty.

“Wow,” I finally say. “It’s taking you a long time to answer that one. Has it been that long?”

“Is that your final question?” Grant asks, and I roll my eyes, giving him a vague get on with it gesture. “Yes, it’s been a really long time.”

“Your turn.” I motion for him to go ahead, pushing my plate away.

“When did your mom pass?” Grant asks, his voice suddenly solemn.

How did he . . . I stare at him blankly for a moment before responding.

“Almost fifteen years ago,” I say, my voice a little tighter than usual. “She died in a car accident when I was young, late at night. I still have trouble sleeping when it storms.”

Grant nods, his big hands clasped before him. “I’m sorry to pry.”

“That’s okay,” I say, the tension in my throat dissipating. “It’s only fair after I grilled you about your parents earlier. What were their names?”

“Bob and Linda,” Grant says. “How about yours?”

“Loretta was my mother, and my dad is Pat. He’s a big football fan. Not so much hockey.”

“Ahh.” Grant chuckles, shaking his head from side to side.

Suddenly, this really does feel like a date. I now know a lot more about Grant . . . probably more than his teammates do.

What did I think I was accomplishing by suggesting this game?

Shame creeps behind my heart and wraps itself around me with a tight grip. I shouldn’t be having this much fun with another man when my life is in shambles . . . when I still haven’t officially ended things with Jason.

“Well, we haven’t quite made it to ten, but if I don’t wash these plates now, I never will,” I say with exaggerated pep. I stand, shaking out the leg that’s nearly fallen asleep. Pins and needles, ouch! I wince, limping, as I pick up our empty plates.

“Let me take care of that,” Grant says, taking the plates from my hands. “You made the food, so I can do the clean-up.”

Once again, I’m left empty-handed, thinking about words like chivalry and sexy. I blink, taming my grin into a small smirk. “That seems like a decent arrangement.”

When he’s almost out of the room, I spin, a question on my lips. “Hey, Grant?”

He turns around. “Yeah?”

“Can I ask you a question? Outside of the game.” I clasp my fingers together before me, anxiously twisting them around each other.

Grant relaxes his stance, his face open and listening. “Sure,” he says with a short nod.

“Any news on the suspension?”

Grant’s shoulders heave and he lets out a deep sigh. “Yeah. It’ll be announced in the morning.” His lips part with an unasked question, and after only a moment, he gives in. “Have you talked to him yet?”

I shake my head. “I’m going to reach out tonight.”

“Okay,” Grant says, but his gaze shifts from mine to the plates in his hands. “Let me know if you need anything.” And with that, he leaves the room.