Ready or Not (Ready #4)(26)

“I like that, too,” I admitted.

“Dad?” he asked.

“Yeah, buddy?”

“How do you know when a girl likes you?”

Oh, here we go. Time to put my parenting hat on.

“Well, I guess it depends on the girl. Some girls will follow you around and try to talk to you. Others are shy and quiet, so they might not be as aggressive. Some might even act a little crazy.”

One of those must have reached home because he smiled.

God, I hope it’s the shy, quiet type.

“Thanks, Dad.”

“Anytime, kid.”

~Liv~

My phone pinged again, signaling another text message.

I didn’t bother checking it. I already knew who it was from—the same person who had been blowing up my phone all night.

It was Travis, the football player.

Why had I agreed to go out with him? Why had I handed over my phone like some airheaded groupie?

I didn’t want to date him. Hell, I didn’t even want to share a meal with that meathead of a man. I didn’t even like football!

His proposition had honestly taken my by surprise. Getting hit on at a bar was one thing. Getting hit on at a football field with a bunch of ankle-biters jumping up and down was another. I had been shocked by his blatant boldness and cocky attitude.

As I had been formulating the nicest way possible to let the giant of a man down gently, I’d felt Jackson’s hand brush the small of my back. I hadn’t known whether he felt sorry for me and was trying to come to my rescue or if it was some macho, territorial thing. Either way, the gesture had pissed me off.

I was not a woman who needed to be rescued by a man. I was independent and completely in charge of my own destiny. So, I’d taken matters into my own hands.

My cell phone buzzed again, rattling around on my coffee table. I sighed as my head fell back against the sofa. I’d beautifully handled the situation without Jackson’s help.

Obviously.

One week and several different avoidance tactics later, I was still dealing with my horrible decision. I watched my cell phone light up, notifying me I had three unread text messages.

Didn’t this guy have anyone else to bother?

I grabbed my phone, typed my password in, and pulled up the messages.

Hangin’ at a bar downtown. Wish you were here.

I set the phone back down and shook my head.

No, thanks.

I could only imagine what constituted as a good time for a twenty-three-year-old professional football player—shots lined up down the bar, girls dancing everywhere, and music loud enough to make my ears bleed.

That image alone made me feel as old as the beams holding up my historic house.

The further I stepped away from my college days, the less I found myself needing that type of entertainment. A girls’ night out was different, and I still enjoyed getting tipsy with my friends, but I found myself loving fuzzy socks and paperbacks far more than high heels and body shots these days.

Picking up the phone once again, I sent a quick text, hoping it would sever all communication with Travis, the football player.

Sorry, Travis. Stuck at home with my daughter. She’s only thirteen months old, and she has a cold. Snot is everywhere. Maybe next time?

I snickered as I pressed Send.

That should do it.

Dropping the phone on the coffee table, I decided a bit of fresh air was in order, and I headed out the back door to my patio, immediately feeling the humid warm breeze hit my face. I took a deep breath, wrapping my arms around my chest, my eyes darted from one corner of the yard to the next, chasing fireflies.

“Nice night, isn’t it?”

I looked over to see Jackson standing in a similar position on his patio. His gaze was locked on me.

“It is,” I answered.

“Mind if I join you?”

I began to shake my head, but I realized he probably couldn’t see much of me.

“No, I don’t mind.”

I watched the moonlit silhouette of him move closer to me. He opened the gate that separated our two yards and stepped through. A few moments later, he was at my side.

“Hi,” he said, his smile shining through the darkness.

“Hi. Busy week I guess?” I asked, searching for something to say.

He nodded, rocking back on his heels. “How is the football star?”

No *footing around tonight.

Jackson’s eyes sparked with anger, making his motivation on that field days earlier very apparent.

“Why does he bother you so much?” I asked, stepping closer as my own anger began to rise.

“For the same reasons Don Juan, or whatever his name is, bothers me. Neither of them are good enough for you. And they aren’t me.”

His confession caught me completely off guard, and my anger seeped away.

“And you are good enough?” I asked softly.

His intense gaze met mine, sincerity pouring out of his memorizing stare.

“I’d damn well try to be.”

Like a flash, he was on me—his lips, his hands, and his entire presence. My breath hitched in surprise as my body melted into his, molding around him as if I’d been made to do so.

My mouth opened, and his tongue found mine, caressing and moving together like we were long-lost lovers. His fingers twisted into my hair, pulling me closer. I felt every hard inch of his body pressed against mine.