Page 5 of Forever Offsides

“You’ve got a deal.”

I drag my thumb along the inside of her knee before I release her. I swear I catch a hint of goose bumps before I let go. The bartender goes to get our order, and I drop an elbow on the wood and prop my head with my thumb and forefinger so I can see her. She matches my position, and it makes me smile.

This girl is definitely different. She likes pushing back.

And because of that, I don’t want to be typical or ordinary. I don’t want to ask her what she does for work—especially when I can’t answer her question in return. The contract hasn’t been inked yet. It was a handshake offer that I accepted, but until pen goes to paper, it doesn’t matter. Plus, there are still some things that have to be worked out with Denver.

“Greatest hockey player of all time?” I ask her.

“Are you asking if I’d pick Gretzky? Because I’m a Boston girl, born and raised, so that’s a serious question.”

I cough out a laugh. Shit. “Let me guess. Bobby Orr.”

She nods. “He did win eight consecutive Norris Trophies. Even if Gretzky is considered the GOAT.”

“Fine. Hockey may be too easy. Basketball.”

“I mean, I’m going to say Jordan.” She picks up her wineglass, swirls it around at lightspeed before she brings it to her lips and takes the daintiest of sips. “Oh. That’s good. I absolutely taste cherries in that.”

“You’re shitting me.”

“Take a taste if you don’t believe me.”

It could taste like battery acid, and I likely wouldn’t know the difference. I rarely drink wine. I only wanted to split the bottle because it sounded sexy.

I take a sip, and yeah, it tastes like wine.

“Fine. Cherries. Get back to my question.”

She gives him a nod before she returns to me. “LeBron is the NBA’s all-time leading scorer. Bill Russell is an eleven-time NBA champion. Larry Bird is iconic, especially in this city, and Kobe was freaking Kobe.”

“You’re way too good at this.”

She smirks at me, and I can tell she’s about to call me out. “You’re telling me you’re asking without your own already formed opinions?”

I chuckle lightly. “You never asked.”

She pans a hand toward me. “Fine. Now I’m asking. You brought up football. Your turn.”

Shit. Walked right into that one, didn’t I? “Jerry Rice, Lawrence Taylor, Joe Montana, but the GOAT is clearly Asher Reyes, and as a Boston girl, I doubt you’d disagree.”

Something extra reflects in her eyes. A secret sort of smile on her lips, yet there’s a cautious note to her as she says, “I don’t disagree at all. Six Super Bowl titles speak for themselves even without all of his records.”

“His sons are up and coming. It will be interesting to see what they can accomplish in their careers, especially now that they’re both on the same team.” And here I am, talking like an excited coach.

She huffs out a hearty laugh and takes a long pull of her drink. “I have no doubt. Mason and Crew Reyes are incredible athletes.”

“But you don’t like football. Is that what that tone is?”

She studies me for a very long moment. When she’s satisfied with whatever it is she was searching for, she hitches up a shoulder. Our food is delivered, and both look incredible. My stomach grumbles.

“I don’t dislike football,” she answers. “It’s just not my favorite sport. There are a lot of things I love about it, but I don’t follow it outside of the Rebels, and I don’t keep track of players.” With her knife, she slices her burger in half. I do the same with my chicken sandwich before I suck off the spicy sauce from the pad of my thumb.

“There’s something in your answer that makes me think that’s personal.”

She tilts her head, a little surprised. “That’s pretty perceptive.”

“I’m a perceptive guy. Tell me about it.”