Page 31 of Hometown Halftime

“No,” I repeat. “Not really my thing.”

She studies me like she’s trying to decide if I’m serious or just deflecting. “So you came all the way to Roanoke to…what? Sip beer and admire the scenery?”

I look down at her, taking in her long lashes and her full pink lips.

“The scenery’s pretty good from here.”

Her mouth twitches, but she doesn’t divert her eyes. “Careful, Weston. A girl could think you were flirting.”

I glide my thumb along the soft fabric at her waist. “Think what you want, but I mean it.”

She adjusts her hand on my shoulder, bringing her body closer. “For the record,” she says, voice softer now, “I’m not here for a hookup either.”

“Good to know.”

She holds back a smile. “My friends live here. They wanted to check this place out since it’s new.”

I nod. “Well, I’m glad they did. Seeing you in the crowd was a nice surprise.”

There’s a bit more pink on her cheeks when she presses her lips into a thin line and shakes her head at me.

“Stop flirting, Weston.”

She leans closer as we keep moving. Her body aligns with mine in small, subtle shifts, and every movement sets a spark through my veins. Her perfume surrounds me as her hands loop around my neck.

When the song ends, I feel the disappointment set in. It feels foolish; it’s just a dance, but I wish I had more time. She steps back first, clearing her throat.

“I should get back to my friends. Thanks for the dance.”

“Yeah,” I mumble. “Of course.”

She gives me one last look with those blue eyes before she walks away.

“See you Monday, Coach.” She adds a flirtatious tone to the name.

“See you Monday,” I echo.

Chapter fourteen

Kinsey

I take three steps before I realize I’m smiling a little too hard. Like goofy big. Inappropriately big, considering the person who inspired it is my coworker.

Nope. Not going to let my mind wander after that dance. I will not think about his hands, the way his hips moved against mine, or about his big, stupid muscles under his shirt.

I slide back into my chair at the high-top with my friends. They’re all staring at me like they just watched me walk through fire.

“What?” I demand, grabbing my drink.

Jenna leans forward on her elbows, eyebrows raised. “Who was that?”

I take a very mature sip of my whiskey sour. “My assistant coach.”

Three pairs of eyes widen at the same time. The synchronization is actually impressive.

“That,” Lindsey says, pointing dramatically toward the dance floor, “was your assistant coach?”

“Yes,” I say, trying to sound unimpressed. “His name is Riley.”