Page 148 of Cross Check
“Yeah,” I croak, and my eyes lock on hers. “But let’s put a blanket around you to be safe.”
I reach for the one I used earlier. I shift forward and drape it over her shoulders. Amelia smiles and folds her hand over mine, keeping the blanket in place while a sigh of relief loosens from her chest.
“You’re a guest in my house. I’m supposed to be taking care of you,” she says.
“This is good practice for my bedside manner.” I touch her forehead then bring my fingers down to her jaw. “Are you warm enough?”
“Very warm.” Her voice is barely above a whisper. “Thank you for checking on me.”
“Happy to help.” I lean back and ignore the obnoxious thud of my heart. I also want to help by pulling her in my lap. By warming her up with my hands and my mouth, but I settle on giving her shoulder a squeeze. I’m a goddamn gentleman. “Should we put on a movie? What’s your favorite television show?”
“I’m obsessed with this reality dating show where women put the male contestants through obstacle courses and athletic challenges. Someone gets voted off each week. It’s amazing.”
“Women do run the world,” I agree. “Would you ever do something like that?”
“What?” Amelia laughs. “Showcase my personal life on national television so people can sit behind their screens and call me a slut if I sleep with someone or a prude if I don’t? No, thanks. I’ll stick to real life and pretending that I work in marketing when I meet a guy.”
“Wait a second. You lie about your job when you meet someone?”
“Come on, Grant.” She stretches her legs so they rest in my lap. “You remember the conversation you overheard the first night we met.”
“That was years ago. That kind of shit still happens?”
“Less frequently as of late, but that’s probably because I haven’t been on a dating app in months.” She clears her throat. “It used to.”
Amelia isn’t mine, but it’s comforting to know she’s not on dating apps and trying to find a guy worthy of her attention. It gives me the delusional hope that I can be that guy for her somewhere down the road, and I drum my fingers on her leg.
“They all suck,” I say, and she huffs out a laugh. “Don’t you ever settle for a guy who complains about how many women are in a sports league, Amelia Green.”
“I never will.” Her stomach rumbles, and I grin. “Sorry. I guess I’m hungry, and I don’t think the cookies are going to cut it after kicking your ass outside.”
“Always keeping me humble.” I pat her knee. “Do you have anything in the fridge?”
“There’s pizza in the freezer. Sounds like the perfect snow day snack.”
“I’m afraid to ask what kind of weird toppings are going to be on it.”
“Do you consider anchovies weird?”
“Revolting.” I roll my eyes, and she grins from ear to ear. It’s a shot in the heart. “Between mushrooms and anchovies, you disgust me.”
“Says the guy who eats hot dogs. That’s sick, Grant. And so is your pickle preference on your pizza.”
“That’s not sick. That’s the proper way to—hey.” I laugh when she tries to kick me. “Violence isn’t the answer.”
My reflexes are quick, and I grab her ankle. In the midst of her flailing, her legs hook around my middle. I lose my balance and topple on the couch, almost landing directly on top of her.
She tries to free herself out from under me, but between my cackling and the blanket that’s twisted into a knot, we’re both stuck.
“You’re so heavy,” she gasps. “And here I was thinking you’d be light because you aren’t as tall as the other guys on your team.”
“I’m a short king, Amelia. The weight is from the crown I wear.” I’m talking into the couch cushion, and I jump when she touches my ribs. “Watch it! I’m ticklish!”
“I’m blaming you for getting us into this mess.”
“You’re the one who took me down! When your coaching days are over, you’re going to have a future in MMA or WWE or whatever it’s called. You’re strong as hell.” I put my hand on her knee. “Are you okay?”
“More than okay.”
