Page 35 of The Linebacker

Anything to get him out of this room and those far too erotic images it offered up.

Yeah, this was definitely one of his worst ideas ever.

Chapter

Twelve

It took Diana several moments to realize that smell of bacon and the sizzling sounds coming from the other side of the door were not, in fact, part of a dream.

She bolted into a seated position. Who the hell was in her condo?

Oh. Oh.

Groaning, she flopped onto her back and lay there until her heart rate calmed the hell down.

Amil. Yesterday, she’d somehow convinced herself it was perfectly okay to let him temporarily move into her tiny living space.

It had been an entirely selfish decision, and now, twelve hours later, she wasn’t sure how she felt about it.

She pressed a hand to her growling stomach. Okay, on one hand, she was definitely excited about the idea that someone was going to make her breakfast every day for the foreseeable future.

There were certainly worse things in life.

Yesterday evening, she’d had the fanciful thought that this was meant to be. That she and Amil were meant to revive their one-night stand, turn it into something a whole lot more.

But then he’d sat in her chair and she sat on the couch, and she asked him what he wanted to watch. “Whatever you’re watching is fine,” he’d said.

So she’d put on a romantic comedy. A steamy one.

He sat in that chair and chuckled at all the appropriate moments, but not once did his gaze flick her way. Not when the main characters flirted. Not when they kissed. Not when the male lead slipped his finger under the strap of the heroine’s dress and dragged it slowly down her arm.

Not when they were in bed, when the camera was strategically zooming in on a hand sliding up a leg, fingers brushing against a collarbone. Not during all the sexy sounds emanating from her television while they made love off screen.

Not once.

She’d finally bolted from the couch, announced she was tired and would see him in the morning, and she practically ran into the bathroom and closed the door. She leaned against the vanity and shoved her hand into her lounge pants and got herself off in approximately two point five seconds.

It had not been the characters from the movie that she envisioned in her head while her finger was urgently circling her clit.

Her phone vibrated on the bedside table. She grabbed it and unlocked the screen.

* * *

Breakfast is almost ready.

* * *

She groaned again and let the phone drop to her chest. How the hell had he gone from blatantly pursuing her to platonic roommate?

Oh, wait, that was entirely her fault. She’d told him about her family curse, and the guy had taken it seriously and was giving her a wide berth.

She ought to appreciate him.

Nope. She hated it.

Finally, she forced herself to roll out of bed and shuffle to the bathroom. A red and blue toiletry bag sat on the counter. His initials were embroidered onto one side, the team logo on the other.

She’d come up with the idea of the personalized toiletry bags for the team’s premier season. The guys had liked them so much, Jeff had one made for every new player who joined the roster.