She bit down on her bottom lip and looked around. “It’s a little overwhelming isn’t it?”
That was an understatement.
“There are so many men with cameras around, I have no idea why they needed us.”
Miriam shrugged and gave me a small shoulder bump. “Who cares. It’s been fun, and don’t think I didn’t notice you cozying up to Dylan Reed last night in the meal room.”
It was right on the tip of my tongue to tell her I wasn’t cozying up to anyone and that he was just my roommate, but I managed to keep it in and offered her a smile instead.
Gesturing to Cash with my chin, I whispered, “Looks like that went well for you.”
“Oh yeah. Sorry, I fell asleep before you made it up to the room—he pretty much killed me.”
I leaned forward a little to take another look at Cash. I could admit he wasn’t awful or anything like that. Five nine to Miriam’s five five with an okay body—though in comparison to Dylan and all the other players on the field, he was basically skinny—and fingers long enough that you felt obligated to do a double take, he had longish wavy hair that curled around his ears, brown eyes that moved around restlessly, and thin lips pressed into a straight line. Different strokes for different folks, I supposed. There was nothing wrong with his look, but the way he acted like he was working on a story for the Times would start to get on my nerves if I had to spend one more day around him.
Right as I was about to say something else, I felt hands on my waist, and a second later I was flying through the air as I shrieked like a banshee.
“Look what I found,” someone sing-songed behind me as I tried my best to grab the hands that were clamped around my middle. Thank God the strap of my camera was wrapped around my wrist, saving it from flying across the field.
Recognizing the voice, I looked over my shoulder and down.
“Trevor?”
“That’s me,” he replied with a grinning face.
“Trevor, what the hell do you th—”
My words turned into another scream when he maneuvered—or more like abruptly flipped—me around until I was holding on to his neck, cradled like a baby in his arms.
“What’s up, buttercup?” he asked, his shit-eating grin still in place. I was pretty sure he’d been born with that smile, or another possibility was that he had worked on it in front of a mirror for years until he perfected it. “I’ve been watching you the last ten minutes. I couldn’t believe my eyes.”
“Let me down, you idiot,” I swore, out of breath.
“I’ll do just that once I get you away from enemy lines.”
I growled at my childhood friend, but it didn’t seem to have the desired effect on him; it never did. Gripping his shoulders for dear life as he sprinted away, I looked over his shoulder and my eyes zeroed in on one person.
Dylan.
All his teammates were filtering into the tunnel to get back to the locker rooms, but he was standing still, one hand holding his helmet by the fingertips, the other on his waist. I wanted to give him a wave or a smile, but he was looking at me in Trevor’s arms with a face carved from stone, his jaw set, expression completely closed up.
Something tightened in my chest, squeezing at my heart.
I slapped Trevor’s shoulder twice.
“Trevor, stop. Trevor, you have to stop!”
He must’ve heard the urgency in my tone because we finally came to a halt. Gently, he put me down back on my feet, and my eyes stayed on Dylan the whole time. I watched him take a step toward us, and then another, and another. My heart pounding just from seeing the determination on his face, I couldn’t take my eyes off of him. Something was about to happen—or was happening already—and my heart was flipping out on me. Trevor said something to get my attention and touched my shoulder.
My brows snapped together and I murmured a distracted, “What?”
Was Dylan jealous?
When he started a light jog toward us, I felt all the hairs on my arms stand up. I gave Trevor a quick glance.
“Can you give me a minute?”
He glanced back at what I was looking at, and I was already walking to meet Dylan halfway. The need to go to him had come out of nowhere. Maybe it was the way his hard eyes locked onto mine, daring me to look away, or maybe it was something about the controlled way his body was moving. God, he looked so good in his uniform, almost as good as he looked when he worked out in our kitchen half naked…almost. He looked larger than life, bigger and better than anyone else warming up on the field.