My brow furrows, but my pulse races up my throat, and I’m paralyzed from it. Within a breath, my dad is already showing the Cumberlands through the door, just as Will climbs down the steps. He’s smiling—the smile he makes for me lately—so I choke down the scene my dad just led away, and talk myself into forgetting about some interview that might happen.
He takes the last few steps quickly and approaches me with such ease that, for a second, I think he may just keep walking up to me until his arm finds its way around me and his lips find their way to my neck. He stops two feet shy of my daydream, though.
“Miss Woodsen,” he says, rubbing his hands together like a greedy banker in a Dickens novel.
Here we go.
“I believe we have a bet to settle, yeah?”
He cocks a brow and tilts his head, a lock of wet hair falling forward onto his forehead. I stare at it for a second, and my lip ticks up on one side betraying the fact that I notice this small bit of sexiness. It’s not the only thing I’ve started to notice. Yesterday, it was the way his shoulders push the seams of the long-sleeved T-shirts he wears and the bronzed color of his chest, and the way I can see the roll of his collarbone through the V-neck of his shirts. The day before, it was the slight difference between both of his eyes, one a little green, one a little blue.
Monday, though, might have hit my heart more than anything else I’ve observed about the oldest Hollister brother. He was walking in alongside my father, and I was trailing behind. Neither of them knew I was there. My father didn’t ask him a question, and there was no reason for him to suck up with flattery. His words, they were genuine—admiration. He told my dad I was the hardest working person he’d ever met, and he wished like hell he had an ounce of my talent. I stopped just outside the door and let it close between us, and I waited for almost ten minutes after.
I waited, thinking about his words—and how much I felt the same about him.
“Oh we have a bet, all right. Come on; let’s get this thing over with,” I say, rolling my eyes and slinging my purse over my shoulder as I spin on my heels for the door.
Will chuckles behind me, and I’m glad he can’t see the smug look on my face. He’s about to wish he’d never made that bet. At the very least, he’s about to wish like hell he’d lost.
“I’m driving,” I say.
After we drive for an hour making small talk about practices and the other people in the training camp, Will starts to get antsy. His right leg begins to bob up and down. Every time I glance over, my eyes catching his movement, I notice he’s also chewing on his thumbnail. At first, I think it’s just his hormones getting ready to take in all of the bare tits he can stand, but when I make a turn onto the next highway, headed for Indianapolis, his nerves start to ratchet out of control.
“Are you all right?” I ask. Sparing glances at him, each time my eyes take in a picture of a man falling apart.
“Yeah, I just…I didn’t know we were going this close to the city for this. I mean, there are joints near the county line, maybe half as far,” he says, his brow creased and his eyes constantly scanning his environment.
I laugh lightly, trying to lighten the mood.
“Will, I lost fair and square. I’m not taking you to some county strip joint. Nothing but the best for you, my friend,” I smile and wink. He mimics me, but his laugh is fake—it’s masking a whole bunch of other shit going on inside his head right now.
I focus on the road for the next few miles, but the closer we get into the city, the more fidgety Will gets, and eventually, I pull off onto a side road, into a gas station. I stop kind of hard, and Will’s hands fly to the dash.
“Jeeee-zusssss!” he shouts.
“Will, what’s going on?” I ask.
His eyes meet mine. We enter a faceoff that lasts almost a full minute before Will breaks, a heavy sigh leaving through his nose. His hands cover his face, the butts of his palms pressing into his eyes.
“I just have a lot of history in Indy,” he says.
I pull the corner of my mouth in tight, squinting at him.
“Why would you have history in Indy?” I ask, the answer hitting my mind almost the second I finish my question. “Ahhhh…”
Will’s hands fall away from his face and his eyes open on me, his eyes wide.
“Will, it’s not like it’s a secret,” I say.
He nods slowly.
“Oh…kay…” His lower lip puckers and his eyes close a little more on me.
He doesn’t want to talk about any of it, and I get that. But his mistakes were pretty public, and they’re the reason my dad and those sponsor investors want to roll him out for interviews. Will’s a great story—and he’ll get their brand plenty of airtime, as long as he can behave.