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CAM
It’s downright painful being in such close proximity to Sloane, even after all these years. I knew coming back to town would be risky, but I hadn’t counted on this, on her. The two of us being back in Thunder Creek at the same time. And certainly not on us living together.
Sitting at the kitchen table together, pretending to be all nonchalant, is almost impossible when all I want to do is stare into those wide hazel eyes sprinkled with gold flecks. Memorize every angle of this grown-up version of her, the curves and the dips. Touch her smooth skin, run my thumb across her cheek, trace along her bottom lip. Lean in so close I feel the heat radiating from her body just before I press my mouth to hers.
I swallow hard and instead train my eyes on the melted triangle of cheese on the plate to keep me from staring at those full, pink lips and chasing the wild fantasy.
Coach talks about the team and his summer training plan, but I barely catch a word he’s saying—all my attention funnels to his daughter.
Time’s only made her more beautiful, more perfect—but she’s still as off-limits as ever.
Maybe more so, seeing as how I need her dad’s help something fierce.
Besides, I need one-hundred percent of my attention focused on football. No distractions. Not even one as gorgeous as Sloane.
Especially not one as gorgeous as Sloane.
Keep your eye on the ball, Crawford.
“What do you think about that, Cam?” Coach pauses, pizza slice frozen in mid-air as he waits for my response.
Shit. What was he saying?
“You remember the Wild Mustang, right? Three receivers on one side, tight end stuck to the O-line?”
I nod, vaguely recalling the formation.
“Don’t worry, I’ll grab you a playbook after dinner so you can refresh your memory. I’m sure there’s a lot swimming around up there right now.” He taps a finger to his own temple.
There definitely is, and unfortunately, most of it’s not about football.
“Thanks, Coach. Going through the playbook should jog my memory. Last thing I want to do is go out there and mess up your team, get them all confused on plays.”
“Understood. You know, let me get that for you right now. Be right back.” He shoves away from the table, heading out of the kitchen toward his room on the pressing mission.
Leaving me alone with Sloane.
I’m not sure if it’s relief, apprehension, or indigestion flooding my gut—maybe a combo of all three.
“My dad’s really amped that you’re here.” Sloane purses her lips and I can’t quite figure her expression. I’mdying to shoot back, “What about you?,”but the question feels too bold, too big for the small room.
Instead, I take a long swig of water, trying to calm my nerves. The cool beverage does nothing besides add to the jostling pizza-and-anxiety mix swirling around my stomach. Sloane shifts in her chair, absentmindedly winding a stray lock of hair around her finger, waiting for me to say something, anything.
“Wish I was here under better circumstances.” I cast my eyes down, my chest tight. A familiar feeling now, and I don’t like it one bit.
She leans toward me, into my space, and my heart pumps harder. She smells like summer—coconutty and sweet—and blood rushes south as the scent of her fills my nostrils.
For fuck’s sake, Crawford. Get it together or you’re gonna be blue balling all summer long.
Her small hand wraps around my forearm and squeezes reassuringly. Not helping the dick situation at all, but my chest loosens a touch.
“I’m sure my dad will help get things all straightened out.” Her voice is soft and comforting and I grasp at the words like they’re a life raft and I’m on the damn Titanic post-iceberg collision.
“Here we go.” Coach bustles back into the room and Sloane slides her hand away from my arm so fast there’s a slight breeze. A thick paper booklet hits the table beside my plate and a flood of memories rush back as my eyes trace over the familiar dark blue lettering:Thunder Creek Football.
“You’ve got some homework, son.” Coach thumps the playbook. “Good thing you’ve got all weekend. Tomorrow morning’s conditioning and then we takeSunday off. Come Monday, I’ll expect you to be up to speed.”
“Yessir.” I thumb at the paper, nerves firing.
