“Exactly. Not once in the time that I’ve worked at South Bay have I dreaded coming to work.”
“I get to play a sport for a living.” I chuckle. “It doesn’t get any better than that.”
“I don’t know, you saw the puppies, right?” she asks.
“You clearly win. I get to spend my day with smelly, sweaty men, while you get adorable puppies and horses that just like to eat.”
“Hmmm, when you put it that way, you might be getting the better deal, minus the smelly part.”
“Hey now.” I reach over and tap her thigh. “I’ve already called dibs, those other Neanderthals need to find their own Emma,” I say, pulling into the lot of the shelter. A small smile tilts her lips but she’s quick to hide it.
“Thanks for the ride, and for your help last night.” She grabs her bags from the floorboard between her feet and opens her door.
“I’ll walk you in.”
“No. You don’t have to do that. Have a great practice.” She slides out of the car and shuts the door with her hip.
I scramble to exit the car as well; she’s not too far ahead of me with that limp of hers. I rush ahead of her and pull open the door. She shakes her head but doesn’t comment as she walks inside, with me following along behind.
“Morning, sunshine. How was last night? Or… and this morning,” Aubrey says, appearing from around the corner. “Oh, hi, Landon.” Her grin is blinding. “Looks like I got my answer.”
“Aubrey,” I greet. “It’s nice to see you again.” I then turn my attention to Emma. “You got everything?”
She holds up her lunch bag and her purse. “Thanks for the ride.”
Why do I have the sudden urge to pull her into a hug and press my lips to hers? Instead, I lean in close and whisper, but still keep my voice loud enough that Aubrey can hear what I’m saying, “Thanks for the second date.”
“W-What?” she sputters. “No. No dates.”
“Come on, freckles. We had dinner and watched not one but two movies last night before I took you to bed, and this morning, we had breakfast together. That was our second date.”
“You did not take me to bed,” she manages to say through gritted teeth.
“No? I didn’t help you into your room and make sure you were settled before I headed home?” I ask with a smirk.
“Go.” She pushes on my chest. “You’re going to be late for practice.”
I look over at Aubrey. “I’ll be here after practice to do whatever needs to be done today. Keep her off that ankle. She needs to elevate it and ice it.”
“Yes, sir.” Aubrey salutes me, tossing out a wink.
Glad to know she’s team Landon. “I’ll be here after practice. Take it easy today.” With one step, I’m standing close to her again, invading her space. For some reason, this moment feels monumental with Aubrey here watching us. Hell, even if she weren’t here, it would feel that way. It’s Emma. There’s just something about her. Leaning in, my lips connect with her temple. “Have a good day.” The words are softly whispered just for her. This isn’t a part of the show. This is me not wanting to leave her here.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
From the look on her face, she’s wondering the same thing. I wink, turn on my heel, and walk out the door. If I stay any longer, I’m going to be late for practice and Coach Neil will have my ass and running sprints with a hefty monetary fine is not something I plan on taking on today.
“You’re on fire out there today,” Case says, joining me on the sidelines for a drink of water.
I grin and take another swig from the Gatorade bottle. “You’re putting the ball in my hands and blocking the D-line.”
“It’s more than that. You get laid or something? Damn it, Barker. Did you hit up Harvey’s without me?” He gives me a look that tells me if that were the case, he’d be pissed.
“Nope.” The rest of the team filters over and we start talking about practice and our first preseason game in a few weeks.
“Hey, man, how’s Luna?” I ask Trent Caudill. He’s our starting right tackle, a beast of a man at six foot eight inches and weighing in at three-hundred-and-fifty-nine pounds.
“She’s perfect. Pregnancy looks good on her,” he speaks of his wife.
“When’s the little crumb snatcher coming?” Jack Fields, our starting left tackle, asks. He’s close to Trent in size. At six foot six and two-hundred-and-ninety-eight pounds.
They’re both blocking machines, and I know that when they’re out on the field with me, I’m protected. To say that they’re good at their jobs is an understatement.
“The week of Thanksgiving. I’m hoping we’re home when it happens. Or we have a bye the following week. If she could hold off a few days, that would be ideal.”