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She looked fucking adorable in the mornings when she hadn’t brushed her hair yet.
She frowned when she was on her laptop, leaning close to the screen if something didn’t make sense. When I asked her if she needed reading glasses, she flipped me off.
And she favored solid-colored pajama sets. Black and white and light blue and lilac.
When she wore the lilac, I couldn’t look straight at her because it made something in my chest hurt.
At least a few days a week, she wore a Washington Wolves shirt, an eyebrow arched when I frowned, like she was daring me to comment. I’d already snagged her three shirts from the Denver pro shop but hadn’t gotten up the balls to give them to her.
When she laughed, I wanted to snog her senseless, and I had imagined all sorts of scenarios involving the kitchen island.
So, no, I couldn’t answer him honestly.
His eyes sharpened at my long pause.
“We get along well enough,” I growled. I jabbed a finger into the air. “Don’t.”
“What?”
“Don’t read anything into that, you great big tall prick.”
Trey laughed, holding up his hands in concession.
But somehow I kept talking. “It’s just ...”
“What?”
Fucking hell, I could hardly say the words. “I may have fucked something up when she moved in.”
Trey studied my face for a moment. “Are you asking for my advice?”
The entire weight room went silent. I swore under my breath.
Rookies stared at the ground but angled in our direction. Newer players bounced their gazes from their weights to us and then back again. A few of the veterans started edging closer.
I rolled my eyes. “Fuck’s sake,” I muttered under my breath.
“What’d you do?” Trey asked.
Simply as a defensive gesture, I scrubbed my hands over my face. Didn’t work, though, because I could still feel them staring.
“I told her ...” I paused, dropping my hands and blowing out a harsh breath. “I told her that when we first met, I ... I sort of—” I stopped, glancing around the rest of the room, where every single player was shamelessly listening. But the lingering unease I’d been feeling around Zoe pushed me into speaking again. “I told her that when we first met, I liked her. Had a thing for her.”
There were a few whistles. “Idiot,” someone whispered under their breath.
Trey covered his mouth with his hand, his eyes dancing in amusement.
I glared mightily in his direction. “See, you’re laughing at me, you asshole, and I’ll never ask for your advice again.”
Christiansen, one of our receivers, came closer, settling a hand on Trey’s shoulder. “Why’d you tell her?”
“She thought I’d always hated her,” I answered. “And doing what we’re doing ... it’s hard enough without something like that hanging over the situation.”
He nodded.
Another receiver, a young rookie whose name I could never remember, shook his head. “You gave her all the power, man. You never give them all the power. Now you’re fucked because she knows how you feel.”
“Felt,” I barked. “How I felt. I was very clear that this was well in the past and that as soon as I realized she was engaged, it was over.”
