Her responses are terse, but she’s still here, so I barrel forward. “Lots of folks have said Tebow would be playing in the NFL if he’d only move to tight end. He’s big and athletic but has a shit arm and shit throwing mechanics.”
Not unlike someone else we know. I don’t say Ace’s name explicitly, but we both know who I’m talking about. “But Tebow wouldn’t move. He was too damn stubborn. It was QB or bust. And for him? It’s bust. He’ll never play in the NFL again. Julian Edelman with the Patriots was a college QB. Eric Crouch won the Heisman in 2001 as a quarterback for Nebraska. He played safety and wide receiver in the NFL, but because he wanted to play quarterback, he ended up in the Canadian Football League. Never came back to the NFL.”
“You’re saying that Ace has a better chance of being a pro if he moves,” she sums up flatly.
“That’s what I’m saying.” I nod with relief, feeling as if I’ve made a breakthrough.
“It’s still no.”
My relief fades. “You won’t even consider it?”
Lucy’s brown eyes flicker with annoyance. “No, I won’t. Because it doesn’t matter how solid your case is, or how well researched your facts are. Let me ask you this—if you were defending a murder suspect and needed to put a character witness on the stand, would you call up the sister of the guy your client is accused of killing?”
I see where she’s going with this, but she doesn’t even give me a chance to answer.
“Of course you wouldn’t! Because you know the witness’s loyalty lies elsewhere.” Lucy takes a breath. “Ace can be an asshole. He drives me crazy sometimes. But he’s like a brother to me, and I’ll always have his back. If he wants to keep being quarterback, then I wouldn’t be a good friend if I didn’t support that decision, even if it’s not the right one.”
“Luce—”
“I told you, Matty. It’s. A. No.” She turns away.
Okay. It’s a no. I knew it would be a no. I always knew it, which is why I’d been putting it off, but after today I had to try. What else could I do?
“Where are you going?” I ask, hurrying to match my strides with hers.
She halts abruptly. “I won’t do it.”
“I heard you.” I place a tentative hand at the low of her back. Through her puffy coat, I swear I can feel the heat of her body. “And honestly, I respect it. It’s rare to come across that kind of loyalty these days.”
“Is this a trick?” she asks suspiciously.
“No.”
“You’re just going to accept my no?”
“I have to, don’t I?”
She ponders that for a moment, her brows scrunched together in confusion. “Then why do you have your hand on my coat?”
I look down at her in disbelief. Is she really that clueless? Under the heat of my stare, she blushes.
“I had to get the Ace thing out of the way. It would have bothered you like a pebble in your shoe if I hadn’t.” I don’t know that for sure, but their connection sure as hell bothers me.
Luce wrinkles her nose. “Not really. I think I could have gone a long time without hearing your litany of failed quarterbacks.”
“Doubtful. As a bonus, next time you play a trivia game in the bar, you’ll have a few obscure answers.”
I can barely see any of her body wrapped up in that silver, puffy monstrosity, but I still want her.
“Because that’s what I do with my time at the bar—play sports trivia games.”
“What do you do at a bar?”
She shrugs. “Drink, talk, dance.”
“Ask me what my second reason was for coming to your practice tonight.”
Her eyes meet mine, and this time there’s not a hint of confusion or embarrassment or shyness. Warmth heats my blood. “Why’d you come to practice tonight?”
“Because I can’t stop thinking about you. I keep tasting you on my tongue. I keep feeling you under my hands. I look at you next to me on the sofa when we’re watching TV and I can barely keep myself from attacking you.”
“Do you think I’m a pushover?” she asks unexpectedly.
“Hell no.” I huff a small laugh. The woman has a steel-trap memory and doesn’t mind throwing things back in my face. Does she really think she’s a pushover? She’s so far from it, I’m surprised the word is even in her vocabulary. “Or you’d be at Ace’s place talking him into the switch.”
“Right.” She sounds surprised at herself. “I did say no, didn’t I?”
“You did.”
“Don’t bring up the Ace thing again,” she tells me. “Or I can’t do this between us.”
“I swear it.” I make an X across my chest.
“Then come upstairs.”
I nearly fall to my knees in relief. Then I take my own risk because I want to wrap myself around her all night. “How about my place? Your bed can’t fit the two of us. I’d like you to spend the night.”
It’s a risk that pays off because she says yes.
We talk about nothing on the walk to my house. The weather. I think it’s unseasonably warm. She’s wrapped up in her sleeping bag she swears is a coat. Underneath our meaningless chatter, the tension is ratcheting up.
I’m hard from the casual brush of her arm against mine. I start breathing heavily when she combs her fingers through her hair. I clench my fingers inside my pockets so I don’t drag her into the nearest corner and do her right there.