Page 48 of Hometown Halftime
Nothing about the way he carries himself feels boyish. And nothing about the way he’s looking at me right now feels uncertain, and it’s all throwing me off kilter.
I need to redirect before I combust.
“So,” I say, clearing my throat. “Practice tomorrow. I’m feeling better, but I might still take it lightly.”
He nods and picks up his soup, accepting the change in subject without pushing. “I’ll run the drills. You sit and observe. You should probably rest a couple more days, but I think we both know you won’t do that.”
He knows me a little too well.
“Thanks.”
“I’ve got you,” he says confidently.
Goddammit.
I pick at the bread just to keep my hands busy. “You don’t have to…be this nice to me.”
His brow lifts. “Pretty sure that’s not how this works.”
“How what works?”
He watches me for a long moment, eyes steady. “Caring about someone.”
My breath stutters. “You’re trouble.”
His smile sharpens just a little. He looks down at his food and his voice lowers.
“You call me trouble? I saw it in you on day one. Didn’t stop me then. Won’t stop me now.”
Damn this man. He sees right through every attempt I make at pushing him away. There's something about the way he can be so gentle one second and so firm the next that sends my brain into a tailspin. My neurons are throwing a damn party, celebrating the fact that there's finally a man who can stand up to me while still taking care of me.
I need to change the subject.
“Good to know.” I tear off another piece of bread. “Tell me about your classes.”
We fall into a quieter rhythm after that. We flow through lighter conversation, finishing dinner, him insisting I remain on the couch while he cleans up.
Once everything is done, and he moves toward the door to leave, he hesitates. “You’ll text me if the pain flares again?”
I nod, though I probably won’t. “Yeah.”
He gives me that look—the one that says “Don’t lie to me.”
I hold up my hand like I’m saying an oath. “I promise.”
“Good night, Malone.”
“Good night, Riley,” I say, softer than I mean to.
When the door closes behind him, I lean back against it, exhale, and wonder how I’m supposed to not fall for this man.
Chapter twenty-one
Riley
Fall Fest in Cedar Falls is a tradition that brings out the entire town. There are vendors, fundraising booths, food stands, and everything in town shuts down for a full day to enjoy the spectacle.
It’s ten a.m. when I get to Main Street, and the street is already packed. Hay bales line the sidewalks. Orange and burgundy streamers flap from every lamppost. Someone’s set up a pumpkin toss in the middle of the street, which feels like a lawsuit waiting to happen, but that’s Cedar Falls for you, completely optimistic and deeply unconcerned with liability.
