Out of Bounds

And. I. Can’t. Have. Him.

I dip my hand into the popcorn bucket, hunting for the final remains of the snack. I grab some kernels, eat them, then reach for more. This time Drew’s big fingers brush mine, and I gasp. I cover my mouth with my other hand at the same time Drew turns to me and mouths shhh.

I manage a small nod as he threads his fingers through mine. And we hold hands inside a popcorn bucket. It’s weird, and strange, but completely wonderful too. Because this man not only knows how to kiss, how to touch me in intimate ways, but he also knows how to hold hands. He squeezes my fingers, then gently strokes his thumb across my palm, brushing light circles over my skin that shouldn’t feel as good as they do. But they do, oh God they do. Somehow, he’s made holding my hand into a kind of erotic foreplay. And the simple act of a tender touch has set my heart to flames.

By the time the credits roll, I’m not sure I can stand. My legs are noodles. My panties are damp. My skin sizzles. Somehow I manage to let go of his hand and rise. I blink, like I’m reconnecting to the world, reentering its atmosphere of normalcy when I’d much rather be in the extraordinary realm of erotic hand-holding with this sexy, sweet man.

As we make our way up the aisle, he clears his throat. “Awesome movie,” he says.

“Absolutely the best football movie.”

“Maybe only The Blind Side comes close.”

“Or Varsity Blues as a distant second. But not just for the whipped-cream scene.”

He holds up his big hands. “I swear I don’t even remember a whipped-cream scene.”

“Right,” I say, teasing.

“But they all taste better with popcorn,” he says, and his eyes linger on mine.

It’s not just physical. There’s the start of something more between us. The flicker of feelings.

We have a secret, only this time it goes deeper than it did before.

And it’s way more dangerous.





Chapter Eight

Drew

The next morning Jason joins me at the team gym for a workout.

He tips his chin at Elkins, who’s at the leg press. “Hey Elk. How’s your mom doing?” Jason asks. “Is she feeling better?”

Elkins salutes him and smiles widely. “Much better. Doc’s got her on some new thyroid meds.”

Jason gives a thumbs-up. “Awesome. Glad to hear.”

Elkins wipes his forehead on the hem of his shirt. “Thanks for asking, man.”

Jason nods a you’re welcome, then strokes his chin. “You growing that out?”

Elkins stands up from the machine. “I look good in fur, don’t you think?”

I clap Jason on the back. “If you ever decide to shave, you know this man will find a razor company who’d happily endorse you,” I say with a wink, knowing that Elkin’s hairy look is precious to him.

Elkins grabs at his beard. “Never,” he says with a shudder. “Especially if we’re winning.”

Jason points at him. “You keep not shaving. I’ll keep shaving.”

“Deal,” Elkins says with a fist bump, then moves over to the rowing machine on the other side of the room.

It’s early and there are only a few other guys here. Most have earbuds in as they lift, so Jason and I nod at a few, then set up camp at the bench press.

“I had the meeting with Qwench. They’re crazy about you, so I’ve been looking into the company a little more. To see if it’s a good fit,” he says as I adjust the weights.

“What’s the verdict, Mr. Monopoly?”

He pats the silver bar. “Not sure yet. I need to dig a little deeper.”

I peer at him as I lie back on the bench and wrap my palms around the bar. His expression is serious. His eyes intense. “That sounds . . . ominous.”

“Just doing my research. That’s all,” he says and flashes a reassuring grin. “Don’t worry. You know I won’t let you take a deal that isn’t fucking amazing.”

I lift the bar as he spots me. “I know that.”

“They like your squeaky-clean image,” he continues as he spots me. He winks. “Good thing you didn’t go to Piccolo’s with us a few weeks ago. Man, the chicks were everywhere.”

I scowl. “Pretty sure women are not explicitly forbidden in my contract.”

He lowers his voice. “No, but it’s good to be cautious when you’re trying to rehab a public image.”

Something about the comment bristles me. “Hey, it’s not my image. I’ve always been good.”

“The team’s image, man, the team’s,” he says as I push up the weights again. “And now you and the team are one and the same. Anyway, I like the sound of the deal. I want it to work out, that’s why I’m going to spend some more time on it. Because if we can make it work, it can give you some financial security, and protect you if things don’t work out in LA.”

I arch an eyebrow as I set the weights in the holder. “Are you trying to say you don’t think I’ll last here?”