“Cluck cluck,” I reply, barely able to contain my own laughter. “Look, he’s going to get the hint eventually. If I text him, that opens up for a conversation that doesn’t need to happen. We’ve said what needs to be said. He asked. I said no. End of story.”
“Chance is still at the field. When he gets home, I’m going to get the dirt on Mr. Quarterback. I’ll have a full report for you tomorrow.”
“You don’t have to do that. It’s not going to change my mind.” I refuse to admit learning more about him, straight from the source, or at least from someone who actually knows him is appealing.
“Hey, what happened to keeping an open mind?”
“Did I agree to that?” I ask, pretending to be confused.
“What’s that? You want to know all the things? Done. I’ll get Chance on the job.”
I don’t argue with her. I know she’s going to ask Chance regardless. “Goodnight, Aubrey,” I sing into the phone.
“Not so fast, missy.”
“Ugh,” I groan.
“Send me a picture of the flowers. Where did you put them? In the living room?”
“No. I left them at the shelter.”
“What? Why on earth would you do that? They’re beautiful.”
“We can enjoy them at the office.”
“Emma, they’re yours. You should be enjoying them at your place.”
“Yeah, yeah. I’ll see you tomorrow, when we can both enjoy the flowers.”
She sighs heavily, as if I’m her greatest disappointment. “Bye, Em.” She hangs up, and I can imagine her rushing Chance as soon as he walks through the door, ambushing him for details about Landon. I should be worried because she can talk that man into anything. Case and point, their pet goat, Pixy. Some of the stories she’s told me about how Pixy came about are hilarious. I’ve never known anyone to have a pet goat, especially one that stays in the house, but somehow, he fits them.
Cleaning up my mess, I wash the few dishes and lock up. I’m just ready for this very long day to be over. Climbing into bed, I stare up at the shadows on the ceiling. The house is quiet, except for the whirl of the small fan I keep on the nightstand. There’s nothing else to distract me from my thoughts. Thoughts that are consumed with a little white envelope sitting in the bottom of my small trash can. I can’t help but wonder what his motivation is. It has to be the chase. I can’t for the life of me figure out what else it could be. Glancing at the clock, over an hour has passed. I need to get some sleep. Slinging the covers off, I stomp to the trash can and under the glow of the moonlight, retrieve the small envelope. Opening the top dresser drawer, I toss it in and quickly close it back. There. Now, if by chance I change my mind at any time, I’ll have no regrets that I tossed his number. I climb back into bed, and can finally feel myself relax. As I drift off to sleep, I can’t help but think that Aubrey is going to have a field day with this new information.
Chapter 4
Landon
It’s been three days since I sent her flowers. Three days of checking my phone obsessively. She’s not going to call, I know that, but I had hoped.
I should wash my hands of the situation and just move on, but something tells me not to give up. Something deep in my gut, and I always trust my gut. Sure, it’s probably just the nagging feeling that she’s the first to turn me down, but it feels like something… more. Whatever it is, it’s driving me crazy.
“Barker.”
I turn to see Chance Bateman standing next to me. “Hey, Coach. Bourgeois is looking good.” I nod to the field where Thomas is kicking field goals.
“He is.” He nods. “He’s got talent.”
“Big praise from the soccer star.”
He laughs. “We all have room to grow. Trust me. I know that all too well. Anyway, I thought you should know you’ve been a hot topic at my house this week.”
Interesting. “Really?”
“Like you didn’t already know.” He shakes his head, an amused smile tilting his lips.
“She’s a tough nut to crack,” I say. I don’t bother telling him I’m talking about Emma. He already knows.
“Not so much.”
“Are we talking about the same person? Emma Deaton?” I counter.
“That’s her.” His grin grows wider. “You’ve somehow managed to get my wife on your side.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means the flowers were a good move, and now Aubrey wants to know everything about you.”
“Aubrey, right.” Is that disappointment I feel?
“Yep. I’ve been instructed to gather all the dirty details and report back.”
“And what would your wife think about you telling me that?”
He throws his head back and laughs. “My wife, Aubrey, she’s an attorney. She’s not currently practicing, but she still has the… shall we say, ‘special talent.’ You’re lucky it’s me asking and not her.”
“Maybe she can work on Emma,” I mutter under my breath.
“I need to bring some nugget of information home to my wife. So, tell me this, Barker. Why Emma? From what I know of you, this isn’t your MO.”
I can appreciate his forwardness. “It’s not. I’ve dated for mostly charity events, or team events things like that. Nothing… like this,” I confess.
“Again, why Emma?”
I shrug. “She turned me down.”
He tilts his head to the side and studies me. “That’s it? She turned you down, so you’re sending flowers and obsessing over your phone, moping around here like you’ve lost your best friend because she turned you down?”
“Who’s moping?” I ask, because the other two are facts.
“You are. You’ve been distracted all week, and your game shows it.”
“Wait just a minute. My game is fine. Kaden and I are connecting, making the plays,” I say, referring to me and our starting running back, Kaden Hahn.
“You’re making plays, but your head’s not in it. You’re on autopilot. Your arm is lax and your throw’s timid compared to what you're capable of.”
