Rush Me (New York Leopards 1)

I picked it up.

Abe nodded. “So I hear. But I was at this place up by Columbia the other day and the bagel shop was run by a Thai family. Where are the Jews?”

My lips twitched. “Everywhere else,” I muttered. “This is New York.” I discarded my extraneous Jack of Hearts. Then I placed my cards on the table. Abe groaned, and flung down his own cards as the other guys laughed.

Then I noticed Abe studying me, like he’d picked up on the cue I’d dropped. I gave him another once over. Dirty blond hair, sure, and way too muscular, but the hair had a bit of a curl and his nose could pass. “You’re Jewish! What are you doing for Rosh Hashanah?”

Yeah, okay. “Going home,” I told him. “My family’s only a couple of hours away.”

“That’s great.” He switched from a young, peppy tone to forlorn in half a second. “My parents live in California. I don’t have anywhere to go.”

As though a football player couldn’t afford to fly cross-country for the holidays. Ha. Still, he was giving me that look. Forget a Leopard; this one was a puppy.

And I’d been alone for the holidays in college, once or twice. It was awful. “You can come with me, if you want.” My poker-winning endorphins must have turned me easy-going. “We usually have a bunch of people.”

“Yeah! That would be great!”

I couldn’t quite smother my smile.

Mike collected the cards and Malcolm the pizza orders as I swept my new coins into my purse. I didn’t look up until a brief lull, and Malcolm said, “Rachael?”

All the boys regarded me expectantly, and I stared back, startled as a deer. Coming over here had been unavoidable; playing poker accidental; but an invitation to pizza meant we were hanging out on purpose. My walls slammed up and I opened my mouth to say no.

Then I hesitated. Why shouldn’t I stay here? I didn’t feel threatened by these guys, who were so utterly out of my world that hanging out with them felt like spending time with aliens. “Uh, yeah.” I shot Malcolm a smile. “I’ll have the cheese. Thanks.”

Malcolm phoned in the order to a place called The General, and then pulled two six packs of beer from the fridge. Keith charitably opened one and slid it over, and I took it, too dumbfounded to do anything else.

Okay. This was officially weird.

The guys coordinated enough to pull several of the couches forward, circling the wide screen TV. “Hey, Rach,” Abe called, sitting on the sofa directly in front of the television and patting the cushion next to him. “Saved you the good seat.”

I smiled tentatively and sat. Usually I’d excuse myself at this point, if, you know, things like this actually happened to me. I was not a sit-down-and-watch-sports-with-the-guys sort of girl.

But maybe I could experiment.

The TV was on, but mostly the guys just joked around without paying too much attention. Apparently there were twenty minutes until the game started. “Who’s playing?” I asked Abe. I didn’t ask what sport. I was pretty sure that would be sacrilegious.

Mike dropped down on my other side. “Michigan and Notre Dame.”

So, a state and a badly mangled Parisian cathedral. “Oh. Cool.”

Mike grinned at me. “You’re pretty clueless about us, aren’t you?”

I spread my hands apologetically. “I’m kind of more of a book person.”

“She works in publishing,” Malcolm called from the other couch. I nodded, surprised he’d remembered that detail.

“Really?” Mike said. “I have a cousin who does book covers. She’s really good. Does a lot of those simple, one or two color ones—what was the last? The Last First Daughter? Won an award.”

“Really? I saw that! Pale blue, with the cookie cutter outlines?”

He nodded, pleased. “Yeah, that’s the one.”

“I’ll have to look it up.” I glanced at the screen again. “So, are you guys playing tomorrow?”

“We have a Monday game this week. It shouldn’t be that bad.” For half a second, his face fell into a doubtful grimace, and then he wiped it away. “You going to watch?”

“Uh, yeah,” I said, since I didn’t want to hurt his feelings. He smiled at me, and I smiled at him, and I wondered if I was going to have to know anything else about football to carry on the conversation, or if we could go back to books.