Most Irresistible Guy

“It is a jungle out there.” I launch the ball up and down, then tip my forehead toward the goalposts at the end of the field. “Come on! Go deep.”

“You’re the quarterback now?”

I shimmy my hips back and forth. “Maybe I am. Thirty-six. Zone. Lion. Sail. Ten.” I rattle off one of the plays he gave me at the wedding.

His eyes widen. “You remember the playbook?”

“I told you I love strategy. Now get your butt down the field and catch this ball.”

Saluting me, he takes off, running a post route, as I launch the ball toward him. I don’t have a cannon for an arm. That’s why I picked a skinny post route. But I do manage the fifteen yards just fine, and he catches it beautifully.

Of course.

“Now if only I could’ve done that last Sunday,” he mutters.

“You can,” I say with enough confidence for both of us. “Now throw it to me.”

He palms the ball, considering the options, it seems. He raises his face, meets my gaze, and calls out a play. It’s an easy one, and I remember it from our talk. A simple, short route. I run a few yards as he lobs an easy spiral in my direction.

Even though I know he’s not putting all of his strength into it, he can’t help but throw hard. I haul it in, but I can still feel the punch that he packs as I grab it, the ball smacking me in the chest.

A cough bursts from my throat.

“Are you okay?” Cooper trots towards me.

I hold out my hand like a stop sign. “I’m fine. I can handle catching a football.”

“And you caught it well. Too bad I can’t get it to the receiver when I need to.”

My eyes narrow and I march the final feet to him, stabbing him in the chest with my finger. “No.”

“No, what?”

“No feeling that for yourself,” I say firmly and crisply, shoving the football at him.

“I’m not feeling bad for myself.”

“You are and I’ll have none of it.”

He heaves a sigh. “Fine, but you would, too. Have you heard the crap they’re saying about me on sports radio?”

I shake my head. “I don’t listen to sports radio. And you shouldn’t, either.”

“Have you read what they say about me on the Internet?”

Another shake. “Stop googling yourself.”

He raises his hands in surrender.

“I mean it. Get your head out of the Internet and focus on the game. That’s all you have to do. Just remember that.” I tap his temple. “This is yours. This belongs to you. Don’t let them in here.”

A slow smile spreads across his face and he nods, taking it in. “You’re right. This is mine.”

“Your mind. Your head. Your best weapon on the field.”

“Mine. All mine,” he repeats like he needs to remind himself, then he shouts another play.

I follow his directions easily, taking the spot of his receiver, and we play like that for the next thirty minutes. Running easily, tossing balls, barking directions and audibles, and having a blast running into the end zone, arms raised, scoring touchdowns, pretending to kick extra points.

Until finally we flop down on the cool grass in the middle of the field and stare at the stars. I turn to him, and I’m delighted to see not only relief on his face, but happiness and confidence.

He looks my way and our eyes connect, his brown eyes holding mine longer than I expect.

“Hey you,” he whispers.

“Hey you, too.” Tingles sweep over my skin.

“Thank you.”

“It was nothing,” I say, though I know that’s not true.

I wait for him to look away, but he doesn’t break the hold.

And my brain reassembles the scene. My mind says this is the moment in the script when they kiss. When the hero touches her shoulder, runs a finger along a strand of hair, moves in close.

But the better part of me, the stronger part, the piece of me I’ve kept in check since the wedding, rises to the surface. Reminding me. I’m here for the friendship. That’s what’s steady. That’s what lasts. That’s what I’ll protect in the same way Cooper’s offensive line protects him. I will guard our friendship fiercely because it means the world to me.

This is not the moment when friends turn into lovers. Instead, this is the time when he needs to know I’ll be there for him always.

He taps my shoulder. The look in his eyes is soft and earnest. “It was everything.”

My heart somersaults. My throat goes dry.

“I’m glad you had me come here tonight,” he adds.

“Me, too,” I say, and it’s wholly true, somersaults and cartwheels aside.