“Because it’s true. Plus your pupils are dilated. Drink,” he ordered again.
Her pupils weren’t dilated from her claustrophobia. Nor from her anxiety. No, it had nothing to do with her panic attacks or the crowd closing in on her.
But everything to do with the man closing in on her.
And why did he always have to notice things about her? How was he always picking up on her distress or the need for her to have some breathing room? How did he pick up on it when no one else did?
She pulled in a cleansing breath and offered him a smile. “Thanks,” she muttered before taking a sip of the cola. It was still cold and bubbly and slid down her throat like silk. She’d always been a soda junkie, much to the dismay of Annabelle, who’d been trying to get her on more healthy alternatives. Like water.
Water was boring. Stella loved drinking a nice, big, sugary Coke. Maybe slip into a sugar coma because, man, what a way to go.
A better way to go would be with the guy who keeps brushing his thigh along yours. Maybe in bed, or a dark corner somewhere where people do dirty things.
Where had that come from?
From the same place all her other dirty thoughts originated. That box labeled Brandon West: Keep the F Closed.
Stella handed the drink back to Brandon. “Thanks,” she said.
He took the Styrofoam cup, allowing his fingers to brush hers. Just the tips, and just enough to ignite a memory of their one and only date when he’d extended his palm to help her down out of his truck. Like the gentleman he was. A gentleman with a drool-worthy ass and biceps that could crush walnuts.
“Welcome,” he muttered, staring down at her, daring her to move closer.
Just a little. Just enough to feel the heat of his lips.
Then again, it could have been the fact that they were surrounded by people and he had no choice but to lean close.
Yeah, that was it.
Okay, time to change the subject. “You know, if you get Matt signed up for some lessons this week, I’ll wave the registration fee.”
His mouth turned up in an almost-smile. “Persistent little thing, aren’t you?”
“Little?” she repeated as the game moved into the fourth quarter with the Bobcats still holding the lead. “I’ll have you know that I’m five-seven.”
“I’m aware of how tall you are.” He placed those whiskey-colored eyes on her. “But to someone who’s six foot one, five-seven is little.”
Okay, then. Whatever.
She narrowed her eyes at him. “Are you making fun of me? Wait, don’t answer that,” she said when he opened his mouth to answer. “Okay, how about this. You bring Matt in and not only will I waive the registration fee, but I also won’t make him wear ballet shoes.”
Brandon looked at her like she’d just started spewing pea soup everywhere. “He wouldn’t wear ballet shoes anyway. What kind of kid do you think I’m raising?”
“The kind that wants to succeed,” she told him.
Yeah. So there.
“Okay, no ballet shoes,” she went on. “And he can wear whatever clothes he wants, even though my old ballet teacher would be rolling in her grave.”
“You’re really into this ballet training thing for the players, aren’t you?” he asked.
Stella glanced at the game as the visiting team kicked a field goal and the Bobcats’ fans sent out a groan in unison. “Or maybe I just want to help your son? Ever think of that?”
Brandon considered her for a moment, running his gaze over her features, touching on her eyes, then dropping down to her mouth. “Or maybe you’re using it as a way to get into my pants.”
The sharp pain that pierced her stomach almost sent her soda back up her throat. Was that how he thought of her? As some desperate pants-chasing woman who had to use people’s kids to get laid?
Just like her mom.
“I’m sorry,” Brandon said when Stella hadn’t done a good enough job of hiding the hurt and disappointment he’d caused.
“You must have dated some pretty shady women if that’s your first thought,” she commented in a casual manner in order to hide how he’d wounded her.
“Let’s just say some of the women I’ve dated haven’t always been on the up and up,” Brandon commented. With the same casual air as her? Or was that an act?
So he had wounds too. What a fine pair they made. Just a couple of lone wolves who were once bitten, twice shy.
“They obviously need to have their heads examined,” Stella said.
The crowd around them roared when the Bobcats intercepted the ball and gained twenty yards. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Blake running down the sidelines, motioning for number thirty-three to haul ass.
Beside her, Brandon nudged her shoulder with his, rubbing all that steely goodness against her sweatshirt. Even through the thick cotton, she could feel the definition of muscles.
“Are you going to go to bat for me, Stella?”
Why did he have to say her name like that? All gravelly and husky like he was turned on just as much as she was.
“Something tells me you have no problem fighting your own battles,” she told him.
One side of his mouth kicked up. “No, but I’d love to see you tumble around with a couple of women. Maybe covered in some mud too.”
She jerked her gaze to his. “What is it you think women do when we’re together?”
“Pillow fights?” he guessed. “Slumber parties?” When she only gaped openmouthed, he chuckled. “Don’t kill my fantasies, Stella. At least let me have the pillow fight thing.”
“Sure.” She gave his shoulder a gentle pat. Mistake, much? “I’ll give you that if it makes you feel better. But here’s a reality check. Women don’t walk around like they’re starring in a soft-core porn film.”
“You’re crushing me here,” he told her with a grin.
“Someone has to set you straight. That way you’re not disappointed when the next woman you go out with doesn’t ask you to spank her.”
There you go, Stella. Keep talking about sex with a man you’ve vowed to stay away from.
No man was supposed to have that kind of pull over her anymore. Because she was stronger than the vulnerable lovesick fool she used to be. The one who’d trip over herself if an attractive man gave her the slightest bit of attention. Yeah, that used to be her.
But not anymore. She’d steeled herself against that kind of temptation. Because she was strong and independent and didn’t need anyone but herself to fulfill a dream.
In other words, the opposite of her mother.
In other words, stay the hell away from Brandon West.
But just as the Bobcats won game four, with the crowd surging to their feet around her, Stella knew that would be impossible.
The crack of the shotgun echoed in the otherwise noiseless forest, at the same time glass from the empty Jim Beam bottle went flying all over creation. Brandon pumped Cameron’s Winchester SXP, lined up the next shot, and shattered another bottle. The crack echoed in the forest, sending a flock of birds scattering from a nearby aspen.