Most Irresistible Guy
He shakes his head, amused, when I ask about a particular play-action fake strategy.
“Did I get the question wrong?” I ask, curious why he’s laughing.
“No. You had it right. All of it. It’s impressive.”
“What can I say? I’m a junkie. I’ll probably be more of one when you’re the starting quarterback. I’ll be cheering the loudest.”
“At every single home game?”
I nod. “Consider it done.”
“Yeah?” He says it almost as if he doesn’t quite believe I’d be there.
“Of course.”
A slow smile spreads across his handsome face, lighting up his features. “I’d like that.”
I nudge him with my elbow. “You’d like that because you’d be the starting quarterback.”
“Yes. But I’d like it because I like it when you come to the games.”
My heart sits up, looks around, wonders if he really said that. If it meant something more. “You do?” I ask, my voice feathery.
“I always have. I like playing for you, Vi. You’re my favorite spectator. Even back in high school, I got a kick out of knowing you were in the bleachers.”
My heart stutters, tripping a switch in me, the one that longs for him. I distract myself with another bite of cake. “Too bad you’re too busy watching your figure, because this cake is delicious. You should consider giving in to temptation.”
He quirks an eyebrow. “You think I should?”
There’s something borderline flirty in his voice. Something I ought to ignore.
“You should.” Using the fork, I point to the cake. “This is heaven.”
“Damn. You’re making it sound too appealing.” He grabs the utensil, dives into the cake with it, and takes a bite. He groans as he chews.
The sound of it is carnal, masculine, and too damn sexy for my own good. I should not be turned on by the sound of him eating a bite of cake.
But yet, here it is. A pulse beats inside me.
He sets down the fork with gusto. “And now I’m going to dance off this cake.” He takes my hand and pulls me up.
“I’m dancing it off, too?”
His gaze travels up my body once again, like it did at the ceremony. “You’re perfect. But I still need you to shake it up, baby.”
Baby.
Holy smokes, he just gave me an affectionate nickname. And he called me perfect. I’m not at all, but I adore his compliments.
I don’t have time to soak them in since he guides me to the dance floor where we shake and shimmy through some fast numbers.
“Are you dancing off that one dangerous bite, Cooper?”
“Absolutely. Can’t you see me get trimmer as we speak?”
A slow song begins, and I half expect we’ll do that thing people do when they wander away from the dance floor.
But that’s not what happens.
3
He slides in closer to me, setting his hands on my waist. “You weren’t going to take off for the slow song, were you?”
My throat is dry. My pulse hammers. “No.”
“Good,” he says, his voice soft, and the gentle sound of it makes me freeze, my arms in mid-air.
I know I need to put my arms around his neck, but I haven’t been this close to him since prom. Cooper Armstrong was my date at prom. He was a freshman in college, I was a senior in high school, and he came back to town for that weekend. I’d been planning on going with my boyfriend but the guy broke up with me shortly before the big dance. Cooper swooped in and saved the day. He said he didn’t want my dress to go to waste. He wanted me to wear it and to have a good time. I wound up having the best time with him.
“You can put your arms around my neck,” he says tenderly.
I blink. “Sorry. I was kind of out of it for a second.”
“That’s okay. I have that effect on women.”
Right. Women. I need the reminder. Cooper is a hot, single, eligible bachelor. He dates. He plays the field. He doesn’t know I have a long-standing crush on him. He doesn’t know I have feelings that run much deeper than friendship. We’ve never been together, even though in moments like this, with his hands on my waist and my arms slinking around his neck, something starts to feel inevitable in the way we touch.
Like we were meant to come together on this dance floor.
Only I know that’s my foolish heart talking. Or my eyes, since they’re busy drinking in the up-close-and-personal sight of this most handsome man, his square jaw, his messy brown hair that the hairdresser in me wants to get my scissors on and cut, but the woman in me wants to get my hands in and run my fingers through.