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“Right.” I’m going to mess this up royally.
Drew grins wide. “Yes, the first throw is going to suck.”
“Get out of my head,” I mutter.
He just laughs. “More like reading your expression. Now stop stalling.”
I go through the motions, feeling like an uncoordinated goober. And the ball wobbles through the air to land with a dull thud some ten feet away. Awesome.
“Welp.” I dust off my hands. “That was fun.”
I turn to go, when he grabs my arm, still laughing. The jerk. “Nice try, Anna. But I don’t think so.” He slaps the ball back in my hand. “Again.”
“So bossy.”
“You like it.” His eyes are gold now, glinting in the sun.
Yeah, I do. I grumble and try again. And again. Drew stops me every once in a while to give pointers. Suddenly, it’s fun. Not spectacular fun, but kind of addictive.
I say this to Drew, and he positively shines.
“Exactly,” he says. “Why do you think I do this? It’s the need to do better every time.”
“To do better?” I stare up at him, shocked. “But you’re already perfect.”
His expression turns soft, warm. “You think so, huh?”
I know that tone too. And when his lids lower, his gaze going to my mouth, my heart kicks in my chest. I grip the ball between my hands.
“Show me,” I blurt out.
He blinks, and a furrow wrinkles between his brows. “What do you mean?”
“Show me how far you can throw the ball.”
One corner of his mouth kicks up. “You want me to show off for you?”
“If I’m asking, it isn’t showing off. But, yeah, I want to see what you can do.”
Drew studies me for a moment, the soft breeze lifting the ends of his hair. “Okay, but you’re going to have to snap the ball to me.”
“Snap the ball?” I make a face. “Like bend over...”
His grin is evil. “And I put my hands between your legs. Don’t give me that look. Dex does this for me every game.”
“Is this the point where I launch into a diatribe about the blatant homoeroticism found in football?”
“I’d be disappointed if you didn’t. But since we’re talking about me putting my hands on you, I don’t think it applies here.”
He leans close to my cheek, and his deep voice rumbles in my ear. “I promise to let you know the next time the team hits the showers.”
“Oh my—” I wave a hand as if to cool myself off, which is only half in jest. “That’s a pretty picture you’re painting, Baylor.”
Drew gives me a nudge with the football. “Just snap the ball, Jones, before I change my mind.” But he’s grinning as he steps back.
“Fine.” I sigh and get into the position I’ve seen players assume.
Drew moves in closer than I think is strictly necessary. His size and strength is a wall over me.
