Stealing Home

“I’M SORRY I put you on the spot like that,” Luke said from the second-row seat of his SUV while I sat in the driver’s seat, feeling like I was driving a tank down the interstate.

“You didn’t put me on the spot. There was just a lot coming at me at that particular moment in time.”

“Like me suggesting I introduce you to my sisters.”

I sagged in relief when he pointed at the upcoming exit sign. In addition to feeling like a bus in comparison to my small sedan, Luke’s SUV wasn’t a smooth ride. My body would probably still be vibrating tomorrow morning. “Like me realizing I made a bad call letting you play tonight.”

“You didn’t make a bad call.”

As he said it, I heard him adjust the bag of ice I’d forced him to keep on his leg. I’d also insisted he keep it elevated for the next twenty-four hours, which was why I was in my current condition—barreling a tank off the interstate while Luke Archer sat behind me with a reinjured groin muscle.

“Is that why you didn’t want to say anything to Coach about it?” I asked.

Our eyes connected in the rear view mirror.

“I didn’t want to say anything to him because there was nothing to report.”

“And that’s the reason you have a bag of ice on your crotch and are laid out in the backseat, right?”

He leaned forward, bracing his hands between the passenger and driver’s seats. He smelled fresh from the shower, his still-wet hair curling around the rim of his ball cap.

Getting distracted by the way Luke smelled was not a great idea if I placed a priority on getting him to a destination safe and in one piece.

“No, you are the reason I have a bag of frozen water on my crotch.” His fingers curled into my headrest caressed my cheek. “I’d much rather have something else between them right now.”

“Like a vise?”

Archer chuckled, pointing me down the right road when we came to the end of the off-ramp. “Hey, Allie?”

“Mm-hmm?”

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For letting me play. For taking a chance on me. For being you.” His hand dropped to my shoulder and gave it a squeeze.

“Is that all?”

“No, not all, but it sums up a good chunk of my thanks.” He pointed down the next road, and I coaxed the tank into a turn.

“In that case, you’re welcome.” I tried not to get distracted by him in the rearview mirror. Or the way I could feel him leaning toward me. Or the way his hand was still lingering on my shoulder. “Can I ask you a weird question?”

“I’d be disappointed if you asked me one that wasn’t weird.”

I lifted my brow at him in the rearview mirror. “The condom thing.” I swallowed. “Pulling out last time . . . what’s the deal? I’ve never met a guy so concerned with birth control.”

Luke didn’t look the slightest bit uncomfortable with the topic when I checked the mirror.

“Do you not trust me—what I said about being covered? Do you just really like latex? Are you scared of having a kid?” My eyes stayed on the road after that. I felt all kinds of awkward bringing this up, but it had been on my mind ever since that first night. I appreciated him being so responsible, but there was a difference between conscientious and paranoid.

“No, none of that. I trust you—I wouldn’t be with you like that if I didn’t. I don’t have some latex fetish, and I’m not scared of having a kid.” Luke was quiet for a minute, so I checked the mirror—he was staring out the side window with a pensive expression. “I’m scared of getting a woman pregnant who isn’t sure she wants me in her life.”

My eyebrows came together. “But that isn’t me. That wouldn’t be me if that happened.”

Luke pointed at a tall building up ahead, so I moved into the right lane. “But until I knew that, I had to be careful. You may think you know a person, but you need to know you know a person.”

When I looked at him in the mirror, this time he glanced away. Whatever was playing out in his eyes, he didn’t want me to see.

“Why?” I asked.

His jaw set as I pulled up in front of his apartment building.

“Another time,” he said at last, shifting in the backseat. “I’d invite you up but . . .”

“You have three younger sisters at your place?” Putting the tank in park, I twisted around in my seat. His expression was clearing from the topic we’d just touched on, but it was obvious there was a story there. Maybe one day he’d feel comfortable enough to tell me. Maybe he never would. After the way Ben treated me, I knew what it felt like to have scars you wanted to keep hidden.

“Actually . . . I figured you’d say no,” he said, gesturing toward the front doors to his building.

“Oh.”

“Am I wrong?” Bracing his elbows against the headrests of the front seats, he leaned forward.

“No, you’re right,” I said, trying to ignore that his face wasn’t even a foot away from mine. “I’m sure your sisters want you all to themselves right now.”

Nicole Williams's books