The Baller: A Down and Dirty Football Novel(15)

“No. Sorry. Habit. I grew up arguing about football. I actually sort of like doing it, if I’m being honest.”

“Guess I do, too. What else do you like doing?”

“I don’t have much spare time these days, really. Between the traveling and all the research and stats I have to keep up with, there’s not much time for anything but work and sleep lately. I haven’t had a day off in two months.”

“What would you be doing if you were off for a day?”

“Hmm. I love museums and bike riding. But if I had a full day off, I’d probably spend it in bed, watching movies.”

“What kind of movies?”

“B horror flicks. The gorier, the better.”

“Really?”

“Really.” I tipped my glass of wine toward him before bringing it to my lips. “What about you? What would you do with a day of no practice or games?” I knew from growing up with a quarterback dad that a day like that was a rarity during football season. Even on “recovery” days after a game, quarterbacks had films to watch from the last game to prepare for the next one.

“I’d be in bed, too.”

“What would you be watching?”

“Your face while I sink inside of you.”

I was in the middle of a long sip of my wine and choked. At least the sputtering and coughing gave me an excuse for my face turning beet red.

“You okay?”

It took me a minute, and my voice was a little hoarse when I spoke, but I finally regained my composure. “Why do you say things like that?”

He shrugged. “Because it’s true. If I could do anything I wanted on a day off, I’d do . . . you.”

“You have a dirty mouth.”

“This dirty mouth wants to do dirty things to you.”

I had that feeling of teetering on the top of a roller coaster, about to go down a steep hill . . . only that anxious and excited feeling wasn’t in my stomach, it was in my panties. And they were growing damp.

Brody lifted the wine bottle from the bucket and refilled my glass. “Tell me something embarrassing about you.”

“Embarrassing?”

“Yeah. Maybe it will help me stop thinking about doing dirty things to you.”

“Hmm…let me think.”

He leaned in. “Hurry. You’re sorta hot when you think.”

Shaking my head, I shared the first embarrassing story I could think of, even though it was an old one. “When I was sixteen, I told my parents I was going to sleep at my friend’s house, but I really went camping with a big group of people. We bought beer and sat around a campfire all night drinking. At some point, after we’d all had too much to drink, we decided to roast marshmallows. I was about as experienced with camping as I was drinking, which is to say I was drunk and didn’t belong near a fire. We collected sticks and popped marshmallows on the end. My stick was only about six inches long.”

Brody interrupted, grinning. “My stick’s bigger.”

I rolled my eyes, but continued with my story. “Anyway. I was sitting way too close to the fire with my short stick trying to brown my marshmallow, and my hair caught on fire. I was lucky I didn’t get burned badly, but it singed the entire half of my head. I had to walk around with my head shaved for my entire sophomore year. And I was grounded for a month.”

We both had a good laugh at my expense. “You know the funniest part of that story?” Brody asked.

“What?”

“I still want to do dirty things to you.”

The waitress came to the table and cleared our plates. Brody asked for a few minutes to decide on dessert, which gave me a much-needed minute to regroup. I folded my hands in front of me on the table. “So this is it? This is my courtship? A dinner, which you basically made me come to in order to get an interview for my job, and now I’m supposed to have sex with you?”

“By the tone of your voice, I guess I shouldn’t answer yes to that question?”

The waitress returned before I could respond. “Would you like dessert?”

Brody pointed to the menu. “Bring us one of everything, please.”

She justifiably looked confused. “You want one of every dessert?”

He looked at me. “That’s right. She needs more courtship. Bring us one of everything.”

I couldn’t help but laugh.

“See,” he said when Siselee had gone. “I’m entertaining, too. I’m making you laugh. And you think I’m hot. This is a great courtship. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Excuse me? I never said I thought you were hot.”

“You don’t have to. I feel it. It’s in the air when we’re near each other. You’re as attracted to me as I am to you.”

“You’re nuts.”

“Admit it.”

“Honestly, it wouldn’t even matter if I did—“

“You do—“

“Whatever. I don’t do casual sex.”

“Why not?”

“Because sex has to be more than just . . . sex.”

“Why?” His eyebrows drew down. He really didn’t comprehend my answer.

“I need an emotional connection with the person to have sex with them.”