Wood creaked beneath my feet, disturbing the silent living room. I stood in an unfamiliar house, with little to defend myself, but I had to try. If I didn’t, the mouse would swallow me whole.
The rodent turned. Its beady black eyes menaced me through the dark. In one swift move, it charged. My spine collided with the counter, and I raised my hands to defend myself. I could fight it. I had to fight it, or I’d never make it home alive.
“Come and get me!” I screamed, swinging my fists at it.
Whack!
“Son of a bitch!”
My eyes flickered open. I blinked against the bus’s interior light. Adam sat on my right, clutching his jaw as the last of his teammates stepped on the gravel outside.
“Why did you hit me?!” he griped. “Here I am, trying to be a nice guy, and you thanked me with a right hook!” He stood, livid, and moved his jaw left to right. “Damn, you hit hard!”
“I was fighting a mouse,” I croaked, straightening in the seat.
“News flash: You weren’t.” He tossed his duffel over his shoulder and winced. “I told your dad I’d wake you up. No wonder he was so quick to accept.”
“Kicked him in the groin before,” I muttered. “I was thirteen. He was on the floor for ten minutes.” Adam’s scowl morphed into fear. “I have vivid dreams,” I defended. “It’s not like I can help it.”
“Clearly.”
He stepped toward the exit, a red spot visible against his jaw.
“You should ice that,” I said, collecting my things. “It’ll bruise if you don’t.”
“It’ll bruise either way.”
He exited the bus, and I followed. Gravel crunched and scattered beneath his harsh strides.
“It was an accident!” I said, catching him as he entered the field house.
“Sure it was.”
He was a ninja in the dark, navigating the machines with ease. When he entered the hallway, the spot where I punched him became easier to see. At this rate, it would be bruised by morning.
Regret swirled as I tried to hold his pace. “I promise it was an accident,” I said. “I didn’t mean to hit you.”
Adam pushed his way into the locker room and was immediately hidden by the thick aluminum door that separated us.
I sighed and leaned my back against the wall. Cold seeped through my football T-shirt, sending goose bumps up my arms. The air-conditioner vents turned the hall frigid, but they wouldn’t compare to Adam. One day of being ignored was enough to know I didn’t want him to freeze me out. My only option was to make this right.
I was still leaning against the wall when the door swung open. Adam paused in the doorway. “You’re kidding me,” he groaned.
“Think of me as Claire the Ice Fairy.”
“What about Claire the Perpetual Pain in My Ass?”
“Shut up.” I grabbed his hand and pulled him down the hall. “I’m trying to apologize. Let me.”
“I don’t need your apology.”
I pushed my way into the training room and reeled from the arctic temperatures inside. I swore at the ice machine for being both a blessing and a curse and directed Adam to a large metal table on the other side.
“Sit your butt over there and wait,” I said. “I’ll be with you in a minute.”
“(A) Don’t tell me what to do. (B) I need to get home. I have things to do and people to see. You aren’t one of them.”
I ignored him and opened a supply cabinet. Adam plopped onto the table. The metal creaked beneath his weight as he scooted to the edge.
“See,” he said. “Even the table is protesting.”
“Tell the table to mind its own business.”
With a quart-sized bag in hand, I found the ice machine. My fingers turned rosy as I scooped the ice inside.
“You don’t have to do this,” Adam said. “I’m fine. It isn’t the first time I’ve gotten hit in the face. Doubt it will be the last. I promise it’ll heal.”
I dropped the lid with a thud and zipped the bag. When I stopped in front of Adam, I motioned to his face. “Let me see it.”
“No.”
I ignored him and gingerly put my hand beneath his jaw. Stubble scraped my fingers as I tilted it for a better view.
“I’m fine,” he repeated.
“And now you’ll be better.” I pushed the bag flush against his skin, and he pulled back.
“That’s cold!”
“Freezing,” I said. I kept the bag firm against his face, despite his objections. “If it wasn’t cold, this would be a waste of time.”
“It’s a waste of time regardless.” He huffed and raised his hand to the bag, covering mine with calloused fingers and a warm touch. “If you would’ve kept your hands to yourself, none of this would’ve happened.”
“You should’ve made my dad wake me up,” I countered.
His green eyes flickered across my face, surveying me quietly. I returned the stare with equal intensity. We waited for the other to crack, neither looking away.
“Where did you learn to hit like that?” he asked.
“My dad.” I shifted my palm against the ice and shrugged. “He figured I should know how to defend myself. Since I’m always around guys, I thought he was probably right. Never know when one of you might do something stupid.”
“Fair enough,” Adam said. He let his thumb run across the top of my hand. His fingers left a trail of nerves in their wake. “You always been around football?”
“For the most part.” I pulled my hand from beneath his and let him hold the ice. “My dad started coaching when I was in kindergarten.”
“Have you moved around a lot?”
“Six times.”
“Is this your favorite school?”
“Is this twenty questions?”
“Answer the question, Collins,” he said, smiling. “It’s the least you can do for hitting me.”
“Fine,” I said, rolling my eyes. “It isn’t my favorite school.”
“Didn’t think so,” he replied. “Not that I blame you. Had to be pretty shitty, moving here your senior year.”
“It was.”
He nodded and let out a slow exhale. “And that was what you were looking at on the bus, wasn’t it? Your old friends? Old boyfriend?”
Emotions knotted in my throat. “That’s none of your business.”
“Is that a yes?”
I shook my head and pivoted.
“Just trying to get to know you,” he said.
“Save yourself the trouble.”
“Hey.” He tossed the bag on the counter and caught me beside the ice machine. “You seemed upset on the bus, so I figured it was a pretty good guess. I wasn’t trying to upset you.”
“If you don’t want to upset me, don’t bring it up. Ask me my favorite color. Ask me my favorite food.” I swallowed a lump in my throat and shook my head. “Ask me whatever you want, but don’t ask about my old school. It’s personal.”
“I was just trying to get to know you,” he repeated, his tone soft.
“Why?”
“Because I want to.”
An invisible weight settled on my chest. Adam continued to stare, his expression the same unreadable one he’d worn all day. He looked caught between words and silence. I decided the route instead.
“Quit looking at me like that,” I said.
“Like what?”
“That.” I pointed at his face. “You get this look, like you’re torn between what to do and what not to do, and it makes your brow squish together.”
“Well, if you were easier to read, I wouldn’t have to make that face. Blame yourself.” He poked me in the middle of the forehead, and I batted him away. “Don’t like my looks? Don’t bring them upon yourself.”
“I don’t bring them upon myself,” I said.
“Yeah, you do,” he said, eyes narrowing as he scanned my face. “You’re the only girl I know who can be around me and not care who I am or what I look like. I don’t like it. It’s a blow to my ego and confusing as hell.”
“Good.”
“Not good,” he argued. “I like knowing where I stand. You give me nothing but sarcasm and snarky remarks. What’s a guy supposed to do with that? How am I supposed to figure out if you despise me or like me or both?”
“You’re the same,” I said. “Sometimes you’re an asshole. Other times you’re decent. I don’t know how to read you, either.”
“Then quit trying to read me,” he said. “If you want to know something, ask. It’s not like I’m an ass all the time. There’s a small margin when I’m fairly likeable and genuine.”
“And when is that margin? When you’re sleeping?”
“Plus government class,” he said. “Occasionally lunch, but it depends on the food being served.”
A smile found its way to my face. Adam smiled back.
“I’ll make a mental note,” I answered.
“You do that.”
He towered over me, a shield of heat against the cold. His body was close to mine. The buttons of his shirt pressed against my T-shirt’s thin fabric. His presence encompassed my senses, made my nerves stand on end, and shut off all reasonable thought to my brain. I was useless, lost to Adam’s tall frame and the smell of men’s deodorant that rose off him.
My cheeks burned as strands of his hair brushed my forehead, subdued only by the chill that tingled up my spine as Adam’s hand pressed against my lower back.
He had that stupid look again. My heart sped.
“Next time you want to know what I’m thinking, ask me,” he said, his voice low. “If I like you enough, I might tell you what it is.”
“What are you thinking now?” I answered.
“Something I shouldn’t.”
His breathing slowed as he leaned closer, closing the distance between us. The training room’s door flew open.
“There you are! I thought you—” My dad froze, his brow furrowed as he looked from me to Adam. Slowly, his lips spread into a thin line. “Meade,” he said, cocking his head to the side. “Thought you went home. Everything all right?”
“Yes, sir.” Adam shifted his weight and grabbed the ice from the counter. “I … uh … I was leaving. I needed this. Claire hit on me.”
My eyes widened. Adam’s face paled.
“I mean, she hit me,” he corrected. “She punched me in the jaw.”
My dad nodded. “Yep. That’s definitely how it looked.”
Adam placed the bag to his jaw and moved through the room. “Okay,” he said, reaching the door. “The two of you have a nice night.”
“Bye,” my dad answered.
Adam exited the room as if it were on fire, but my cheeks were the only thing that burned. Thank everything in the world my dad waited until the door closed before he spoke.
“Something you want to tell me, Claire?”
I shook my head. “Nope. I hit him and was getting him ice.”
“Hit on him, you mean?”
I used my hand to shield my dad from view. He was still laughing when we exited the field house. Humidity clung to my skin as I crossed the gravel toward his large white truck.
“It’s fine,” he said, unlocking the doors. “My rules for dating are simple. No drinking, no drugs, no wrecking the car, and no getting anyone pregnant.”
“It was only ice,” I repeated, my hand curling around the handle before I pulled the door open.
“Sure it was,” he answered, “but we’ll get your mom’s take on the matter.”
I was standing on the running board when his words soaked in. “You’re going to tell Mom,” I groaned.
“Absolutely,” he replied. “Right down to the time and place of the incident.” I hung my head, and he grinned. “Don’t worry. Adam’s a heck of a football player and a pretty stand-up guy. Much better than your last boyfriend.”
I flinched at the mention of Seth and caught sight of the Auburn bracelet around my wrist. Feelings, conflicted by everything the night brought, tore their way through me and buried themselves in my gut.
“It would be better if she didn’t know,” I replied, letting my fingers trace the bracelet’s rubber facing. “It was nothing. Really.”
“When she’s pestering you, she isn’t pestering me,” my dad answered. “Besides, it’ll provide hours of entertainment, and I’ll be spared the consequences of not telling her. It’s for the best.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“I don’t expect you to.” He put the key in the ignition, and the soft strum of classic country drifted through the speakers. “Now buckle up. We have a story to tell.”
“I don’t want to,” I whined.
“Great! I’ll do the honors.”