Intercepted (Page 19)

“I really wish you were an investment banker.”

Oh no. The loose lips part of the night has arrived.

“Besides my mom, you’re probably the only person in the world who does.”

“Because everyone else would miss their superstar quarterback in his super-hot pants throwing the ball every Sunday?” Sober me hates drunk me so hard right now.

“Because I’m terrible with numbers. I had three different tutors trying to get me to pass my math courses in college. And I’m not sure most of the fans focus on my pants, but I’m glad you do.” His body is shaking with laughter as he nudges me with his shoulder.

Now, any other time in my life this would be fine. But at this moment? Not so much. You know that feeling when you’re standing on a bus or train and it starts moving before you are prepared? The sensation of the ground being pulled from under your feet while you’re left scrambling to find anything to grab on to before your ass meets the floor in the most embarrassing way? Well, that’s me right now. After all of my work to get all dolled up and fancy, I’m going to end my night with my ass on the pavement.

Nope.

I’m not ripping this dress and only wearing it once.

I spin and dance like an ungraceful ballerina back to my feet. I’m a little dizzy and still wobbling a bit when Gavin’s hands reach for my waist to help stabilize me.

“Sorry about that. You okay?” He’s looking down at me, watching me with warm eyes and a wide, genuine smile.

“Uh-huh,” is my well-thought-out response.

“You sure?” he asks, still smiling.

“Positive.” How could I not be? I’m standing across from Gavin while he’s resting his hands on my waist and revealing his dimple, right?

“Good.” He glances to the street. “Where’s this kiss?”

Wow! I wasn’t prepared for that! And I have no idea why he’s asking, but who am I to deny him?

As much as possible in my heels, I roll onto my toes, trying my hardest to get closer to him—or more specifically, his lips. When I can’t get all the way there, I bring my hands to the back of his head, feeling the softness of his hair beneath my fingers, and pull his head to mine.

The kiss starts out gentle . . . reluctant even. I’m not usually the forward one, but he asked for a kiss, so a kiss I’ll give him. When I part my mouth and I suck at his bottom lip, the hesitation he was showing disappears. He nips at my lips and then takes full advantage of my mouth opening with the gasp I let out. Our tentative tongues join in this wild, wonderful dance. Slowly, the kiss becomes more urgent, more demanding. Our tongues are tasting. The hands that were satisfied only with touching are now grabbing and pulling at the other. It consumes me. I forget we’re standing on the sidewalk outside of a building with my ex inside until the gentle clearing of a throat snaps me back to reality.

“Umm . . . sorry, Mr. Pope, here are your keys,” the valet attendant says. He doesn’t look either of us in the eye as he opens the truck door and thanks Gavin for—I’m assuming—a very generous tip.

Once we’re both in the truck, Gavin focuses on the road, as the silence settles around us.

“Damn. I was not expecting that,” Gavin says, finally breaking the silence.

“You weren’t expecting what?” I ask, confused.

“That kiss,” he says matter-of-factly.

He didn’t expect the kiss he asked for? What?

“You said you wanted me to kiss you!”

“No I didn’t. I mean, I wanted you to kiss me, of course. But I didn’t ask you to.” The cab of his truck is too dark, and his face is only lit by the lights of his dashboard, so I can’t tell if he’s joking or not.

“You did! You said, ‘Where’s this kiss?’ and I kissed you.” I might be drunk, but I’m not crazy.

“I said, ‘Where’s this kid?’ I was looking for the valet!” He starts laughing.

Oh.

My.

God.

Kill me now.

“Please tell me you’re joking.” I close my eyes, thankful for the darkness hiding the furious blush that’s taken over my entire body.

“I can’t tell you that.” He reaches his hand across the center console and squeezes my knee. “But if it makes you feel better, I thought you taking charge was really fucking hot.”

“It helps a little.” I pout beside him, but kind of revel in him calling my kiss hot.

“Really, you kissing me was hot. You want embarrassing? When I was a college freshman, my mom surprised me for a visit and ended up walking in on me with a girl,” he says.

“You’re lying to me.”

“I wish. I thought it was my roommate fucking with me and answered the door butt naked only to find my mom on the other side holding a tin of homemade cookies.” The sun has long since set, but even so, I can see his cheeks heat as he tells me. “And instead of turning and leaving, she came inside and questioned me and the girl on our relationship status and whether or not we were practicing safe sex.”

“No she did not! I love your mom!” I hear it after I say it. “I mean, obviously I don’t know your mom so I can’t love her, but I love—no. Like. Stop saying love, Marlee. I like the story about your mom. There. Was that too weird?” Holy hell.

Oh dear god. Why, tequila? We’ve always been such great friends, I treated you well. Why would you turn on me like this?

“You’re my favorite drunk person.” We’re at a red light, and even though there’s laughter in his voice, all I hear is I’m his favorite person ever. Most people just lose their filter when they’re drunk, I guess I lose my hearing too.

“You’re my favorite person too.” The full weight of the alcohol is starting to settle. Between the soft R&B coming through the speakers and the gentle bouncing of the truck, my eyelids are becoming heavier and heavier. “Why do you have to be a football player? I hate football players.”

“You don’t hate football players. You hate Alexander, but everybody hates him.”

“He’s the worst. He cheated on me. Like a lot a lot a lot. And stupid me had noooooo idea. Well, maybe I knew, but pretended not to.” My eyes won’t open, and my mouth won’t close. In the back of my mind, I know I’m going to regret this in the morning, but it still doesn’t prevent me from saying what I’m going to say next. “But he didn’t know I slept with you, or that I thought about my night with you almost every time I slept with him since. So joke’s on him.”

“You got that right, babe,” Gavin whispers. “Joke’s definitely on him.”

And thankfully, before I can say anything else, I fall asleep in the passenger’s seat of Gavin Pope’s truck.

Fingers crossed I didn’t snore . . . or drool.

Fourteen

I’m not sure what wakes me up.

It could be the way my head pounds with so much force, it feels like somebody is punching me. It might be my tongue sticking to the roof of my mouth because it’s so dry. Or the sun beaming so brightly through the giant window next to my bed, my entire body is sweating.

Never mind. I know.

It’s number three.

My tiny shoebox apartment doesn’t have a window this big and that realization is definitely the one to get me up.

I spring out of the bed like a jack-in-the-box and instantly regret it. My eyes slam shut, and I slowly lay back down, hoping the banging in my head will slow down too. And after a few minutes, it does. Not all the way, but enough so I can crack open one of my eyes again.