Page 19 of The Linebacker

“Why do you say that?” And thank you for the change of subject.

He shrugged. “They’re comfortable there. And it’s a beautiful house in a great location.”

“Not for Allison. That commute sucks.”

“Yeah, that’s my only hesitation. I still want to keep looking, though. Do you want to keep helping me?”

“Um, sure.” What a bizarre conversation. Which wouldn’t be remotely bizarre if not for the one they’d just had before he changed the subject.

“Good. When are you available next?”

She mentally pulled up her schedule for the rest of the week. “Tomorrow I have a charity thing at the humane society—oh, you should come! I’ve wrangled a few of the guys to join me—no, scratch that. Jalen will be there.”

“I’ll go. Tell me when and where.”

“No, seriously, you do not?—”

“I’ll be there, Diana. Jalen and I can be civil to support the team and the humane society.”

God, she certainly hoped so.

He rattled off his digits, and she texted him the time and location, told him to wear his jersey and be prepared for lots of puppy licks and photo ops.

“Perfect. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He hopped out of the vehicle and headed straight to his own, sliding into the driver’s seat without looking back at her.

She stared at him. He started his truck and finally glanced up at her. He frowned and then dropped his gaze. A moment later, her phone vibrated.

* * *

Are you leaving? I can’t leave until you do.

* * *

Of course he couldn’t. Because he was a gentleman.

Good Lord.

With a sigh that was more annoyance—at herself—than anything else, she climbed over the center console and waved at him from the driver’s seat. And then she buckled up and left the parking lot.

Son of a bitch.

How was she supposed to keep resisting this guy?

Chapter

Seven

They had practice in the morning, followed by lunch in the cafeteria at the practice facility, followed by two hours in the weight room.

Once again, Amil needed a spotter. The only guys he was comfortable enough asking were Dante and Callahan, but Dante was already paired up with Pedro, and he wasn’t about to put arms day on Callahan, so what the hell was he supposed to do?

Callahan walked up to him, his hand resting on the shoulder of their starting tight end, Broderick Frazier. “Hey, Amil, Broderick needs a spotter. You interested?”

Broderick was fucking huge, but then again, most tight ends were. “Yeah, man, thanks.”

Broderick was also chatty. He talked about the weather, about their first game of the season, about rugby—he’d played on a club league in high school before the football coach convinced him to try out by pointing out that pro footballers made far more bank than rugby players.