My phone buzzes again and I glance down.
Austin: Come on. I just got off babysitting duty and I’m ready for some adult time.
Apparently, so are my ovaries, but I have to be strong.
Kennedy: No deal. This project is important.
I try to focus on my design. I really do. But it’s impossible to concentrate when the phone keeps buzzing. I can feel Enzo’s gaze on me, although I keep my eyes trained on the laptop screen, determined to ignore the messages coming in.
I last all of three seconds.
Austin: New deal. I’ll bring dinner AND dessert if you wrap things up in the next thirty minutes. ☺
My stomach rumbles as if on cue. No, no, no. I will not be ruled by my stomach. Or my hormones. Maybe I can rustle up some snacks in the kitchen. I start to get up, but sigh and flop back into my chair. Tomorrow is grocery day, which is pretty much the only day there’s actual food in the kitchen of a student athlete.
Enzo stretches and rubs the back of his neck. “Man, I didn’t realize how late it was getting. You want to call it a night? I’m starving.”
Best. Partner. Ever.
I grin, a real honest-to-God smile with teeth and all. “You totally heard my stomach, didn’t you?”
Enzo shrugs, but the corners of his lips twitch. I should probably be embarrassed, but I’m not. Maybe his chill vibe is rubbing off on me. “It’s cool. My girlfriend is always hungry too. I swear there are days the woman eats more than I do, even though she’s half my size.”
Most people would probably latch onto the fact that he basically just called his girl a human garbage disposal, but not me. “You have a girlfriend?” It’s hard to keep the surprise from my voice.
Enzo arches a brow. Crap. I probably offended him. “Emma and I have been dating since freshman year.” He pulls out his phone and shows me a picture of a lovely girl with dark hair, dark eyes, and a sweet smile.
“She’s pretty,” I say, tilting my head. “Must be pretty understanding too, given all the groupies.”
Enzo laughs. “Just because I play football doesn’t mean I’m into the party scene. You think I got an A in Beck’s class by spending my free time drinking my face off and hooking up?”
Fair point. “No, I suppose not.”
I’m starting to wonder if I’ve got the whole football-player narrative wrong. Sure, there are plenty of guys on the team who spend more time chasing skirts than studying, but not all of them.
“Naw, Emma keeps me grounded. I love the game, but I’m a realist. I won’t be playing pro ball after college. I need my degree.” He pauses and rubs the back of his neck. “I’ll be the first one in my family to graduate from college and football’s given me the discipline to manage my time and my studies. Plus, it looks good on a resume.” He laughs. “Lots of companies who want to support the blue and white, you know?”
“Preach.” Enzo wouldn’t be the first graduate counting on the Waverly network to help him land a job after graduation. But I can’t afford to hope some random alum will take an interest. I need this competition. I don’t have a lot of connections, and networking isn’t my strong suit. I’ve always been too busy with work and school.
I close my laptop and roll my shoulders, trying to ease the tension that’s settled between my shoulder blades. We made good progress today and if we finalize the design this week, we can start working on the prototype next weekend.
Enzo stands and slings his bag over his shoulder. I follow his lead and tuck my buzzing phone in my pocket as I walk him to the door. When he’s gone, I pull out my phone and glance at the screen, the earlier spark of desire catching fire.
Austin: You’re killing me, gorgeous. Don’t make me beg.
He thinks I’m playing hard to get. If he only knew…
Kennedy: You had me at dessert. What’s on the menu?
Austin: YOU.
That one word goes straight to my core. I clench my thighs together, desire slamming through me like water from a burst dam. Three little letters. Lots of promise.
If I hurry, I can squeeze in a quick shower before Austin arrives.
I race like the wind, but it’s still not fast enough. There’s a knock on the door as I’m towel drying my hair. I toss on a pair of boxers and a cami and pad out to the living room barefoot. When I open the door, Austin’s leaning against the doorjamb with a white bag dangling from his right hand. He’s wearing a fitted black T-shirt and his jeans hang low on his hips, revealing a swath of bare skin and hardened muscle that makes my ovaries do a happy dance.
Mmm.
I swear the man looks good enough to eat, but apparently my stomach didn’t get the message, because it growls again.
“I take it we’re eating first.” Austin’s words are wrought with amusement, but there’s hunger too. And not the kind that can be satisfied with a mere sandwich. “A woman after my own heart.”
It’s meant to be a joke, but the way he says it? All low and husky? The words skate across my skin, leaving a trail of goose bumps in their wake. I don’t like it one bit. Our hearts have nothing to do with this arrangement.
I snatch the bag from his hand and flounce into the kitchen, determined to focus on our most basic needs:
