The Player Hater (Accidentally in Love 1)

“Um, what are you doing?”

Not sure. “I’m not tired.”

Davis lays quiet.

“Are you?” I ask to be polite because he hasn’t said anything. It’s making me nervous, making me second guess touching him like thism but if I pull back now, I’ll only feel worse.

“No.”

Up and down his thumb strokes over mine.

He’s such a good guy and don’t good guys deserve to be rewarded? Hot, sexy men who proved to be the opposite of everything you thought they would be?

Rewarded, Juliet? Are you HEARING yourself?

“Can I ask you something?”

My stomach flutters nervously. “Sure.”

“What was your first impression of me?”

I stop moving my fingers along his arm, so I can concentrate on a reply. “My first impression of you? Well that is easy, I wanted you out of my face.”

He shifts his body, taking his hand out from under mine and rolling my direction so our bodies are parallel, in the exact same position; feels around for my discarded hand and slides his palm back over it.

“I don’t mean when you woke up and we were all standing over you—I meant afterwards.” His low voice rumbles humorously.

“I don’t think first impressions are easy to pinpoint because I had a million thoughts about you going through my head. You’re a contradiction.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean—you don’t look how you act?” Does that even make sense? “I’m not trying to sound like I stereotyped you, but I guess I based everything I knew about you on what I knew about Thad, which honestly isn’t a lot.”

“And you stereotyped him, too.”

“It’s hard not to, Davis. Put yourself in my position. A girl’s best friend starts dating someone famous, who has fans and women chasing after him. So many stories about athletes cheating on their wives or girlfriends, having babies with their trainers or someone they met at a club.” I move my shoulders up and down. “I was afraid for Mia—they dove right in, head first. It’s been five months and I wouldn’t be surprised if…”

I can’t even say the words “get engaged” out loud.

I feel Davis nod. “It’s not an easy life.”

“Are you glad you’re not a part of it anymore?”

“Most days. It’s difficult watching a game without feeling a pang, you know? That’s the part I miss. I was…” I hear him clearing a lump in his throat. “Good. I was really good.”

Davis wasn’t just really good—he was great. A star.

His football career was littered with accolades; I would know because I went down a rabbit hole of research the day Mia gave me his name in an attempt to woo me into coming on this trip.

Davis Halbrook was a running back at a Big Ten school in college, having been picked up early in the NFL Draft by the Chicago Steam before famously upsetting a heavily favored New England team at the Super Bowl to win the title.

Professionally he had a brief stint with a Miami team, the Oilers and another Super Bowl Championship-winning team before sustaining an injury that retired him at the age of thirty.

I squeeze the arm that has played for a national title, not realizing how exciting it could be sleeping next to a man with an insanely fit body.

Typically, I gravitate toward dad bods, but that’s mostly due to my own insecurities.

Davis clears his throat again. “Do you like the outdoors?”

Mm. “I suppose? I grew up in a family that went to a cabin a lot in the summer. So, I like it and I’ll do outdoorsy things, but I won’t come up with the idea on my own.”

He laughs, hand going to my hip. “What does that mean?”

“It means…if you wanted to go hiking, I’ll go hiking. But I won’t wake up in the morning and shoot out of bed and declare I want to go hiking, but I’ll go.” I pause. “I’m outdoorsy in a way, like, that I enjoy drinking on patios.”

That makes him laugh, too, the front of our bodies almost pressed together, body heat warming me from the toes, knees, and other places I didn’t know existed.

“I’m assuming you like it outside?”

“Sure,” he says. “Snowboarding, snorkeling. I used to be into cave diving—I’d love to get back into that, it’s been a long time.”

Cave diving? Say again?

No.

“Would you go bungee jumping?” he asks.

“Hard no.”

More laughing. “Why not?”

“Um because of death? Ropes snapping? Ropes getting tangled?”

“The statistics of that happening are like, a billion to one.”

“False,” I declare. “It’s probably more like twelve percent of all bungee jumpers have their cord snap. No thanks.”

“Uh—no, that’s hot air balloons. That’s far more deadly than bungee jumping.”

I’m tempted to flip the light on so I can see if he’s being serious or not. “Hot air balloons are not deadly.”

“False!” he mimics me. “There is literally a balloon crash every single day. When I have my phone, I’ll prove it. I bet you that right now, at this moment, someone in a hot air balloon is about to crash.”