The End Zone (Atlanta Lightning 2)

I tried to convince myself to look away, but I couldn’t. It was uncomfortable and annoying as fuck because I was so totally jealous in a way I’d never been in my life. It was scary and frustrating and made my brain and heart battle with each other.

The guy dropped his arm. He smiled and said something to Jeremy, who brushed his curls off his forehead. Anyone looking at me would obviously notice I was staring at him, kneeling there and just watching like a crazy person. Still, I didn’t stop.

It was quick, but I saw Jeremy’s gaze snag on me before he ripped it away again. He said something, and his buddy nodded, then walked out of the room. Finally, I forced myself to fix my eyes on what I was doing instead of him.

I wasn’t surprised when a moment later shoes stepped up beside me. “What ya doing?”

I stood. “Baking a cake.”

“Ha, ha. FYI, my favorite is chocolate. And do you even know how to bake a cake? I can’t see you cooking.”

“First of all, baking and cooking aren’t the same thing. Second, I can do both like a motherfucker. Grew up with a poor single mom, remember? She made sure Mia and I both knew how to do shit.”

He grinned, and it was different than the one he’d given the handsy guy. This one was deeper, and it made his eyes crinkle up more because it was bigger. Take that, fucker.

“Who was Touchy McFeely back there?” Shit. Why had I asked that?

Jeremy cocked a brow. “Touchy McFeely?”

“I mean, just something I noticed about him. Not a big deal.”

His tone was a little different, a little more guarded when he said, “Dr. Larsen Abrams. West might bring him on staff. We’re considering trying to buy that lot across the street and expanding.”

“His first name is Larsen? What a dumb name.”

Jeremy crossed his arms and tapped one foot playfully. “It’s not a dumb name. If you’re not careful, Troublemaker, someone’s going to think you’re jealous.”

Oh, I fucking liked that—hearing him call me Troublemaker out loud. I didn’t respond, though, probably because I had no clue how to. He was right. I was jealous, but I wasn’t going to tell him that. Instead, I ran my finger over the roller, then swiped white paint down his cheek.

“Hey. What the hell was that?”

“That was me putting paint on your face.”

I was dressed in basketball shorts and a T-shirt, nothing fancy or anything. Jeremy had on slacks and a dress shirt rolled up to his elbows the way he often did, which was why it surprised me when he knelt, swiped his finger through the paint, and came for me.

I dropped the roller to the floor, which, thankfully, was okay, as we’d taped down some plastic. Jeremy lunged, his arm out, but I grabbed his wrist, tugging him toward me and turning him at the same time. We ended up with his ass against my groin, one of my arms around him, the other holding his hand out so he couldn’t paint me.

“I’m gonna kick your ass,” he told me.

“Mm-hm, yeah you are.”

“I’m letting you win.” He was fighting me, trying to pull free and take his arm out of my grasp at the same time. Or…maybe he wasn’t. I wasn’t holding him that tight. If Jeremy wanted to break free, I had no doubt he could.

“Tell me I’m awesome,” I said, then inhaled a breath. The faint hint of cologne and coffee, with something a little sweeter added in that I couldn’t name, invaded my senses. The urge hit me to lean down, put my face in his neck, and keep breathing until I could place it.

Goddamn, I was so fucked where this guy was concerned.

“Tell me I’m awesome,” I said again.

He was still fighting. “You suck.”

“Wrong answer.” I still had paint on my hand and was getting it on his skin. I tried to bend his arm, bringing his hand toward his face, so I could make him draw on himself. “Tell me I’m awesome.” We were struggling, and then my foot hit something—the roller. My leg stretched out, like in a movie when someone steps on something, slips, and falls. I went down, taking Jeremy with me, my ass hitting the ground and him on top of me.

For the first time, I noticed people were watching us, Anson and West included.

I froze. This looked…this looked really fucking flirty and not something I’d ever done with a dude before.

Jeremy scrambled off my lap and sat beside me.

“Are we interrupting something?” West cocked his head, eyes studying Jeremy.

“Your husband’s friend sucks,” Jeremy said.

I still hadn’t found my voice. Anson hadn’t either. He was looking at me with this weird, pinched expression, like I was an alien or some shit.

The fucked-up four-way stare-off lasted until Jeremy’s finger swiped across my forehead and he shoved to his feet. “I win!”