“Why would Michigan’s football coach care what you do?”
Jay’s forehead knotted when he frowned, and he followed it up with a sigh.
Oh, no. I banded my arms over my stomach and bent at the waist, suffering an invisible punch to my core.
He’d looked familiar, but I hadn’t placed him. I knew he played football in high school, but didn’t ask if he continued in college. Part of me, on some level, had already figured this out and refused to accept it. I’d trained myself over the years to tune out all things Michigan-related.
“No,” I whispered, talking to the universe rather than Jay.
“Hi.” His voice was brimming with fake enthusiasm. “I’m Jay Harris, number eighty-eight for Michigan. Can you help me find my ass? I hired a detective, but he hasn’t gotten back to me.”
I limped over to the edge of the sidewalk and sat, planting my butt on the curb. I stared vacantly across the way at the train tracks running parallel to the road which looked like they hadn’t seen a train in years. Too bad. I would have hopped one to escape if it’d rolled by right now. “I think I’m going to be sick.”
The road was quiet, other than the buzz of bugs in the grassy field beyond the tracks. Footsteps came closer, and he dropped down to sit on the curb beside me, stretching his long legs out while leaning back on his arms.
“What’s your deal?”
My eyes fell shut. “My dad used to coach defense for OSU. My mom gave birth to me right after a game, in the stands. Everyone in my family eats, sleeps, and breathes Ohio State.” My eyes blinked open and I gazed at him. “We bleed red.”
“Newsflash for you. Everyone bleeds red.”
“You know what I mean. Or maybe you don’t. It doesn’t matter.”
He exhaled loudly, and his warm breath floated across my face. He was too close. His eyes were too blue. “Kayla. You liked me five minutes ago. You liked me enough to track me down here.”
All true, but it didn’t change the fact his reaction to the Michigan fight song The Victors was wildly different from my own. Just the opening strains of it made my stomach roll.
“Dammit, Dave!” I said, cursing my friend’s new husband who wasn’t even here. “He knows how much I hate Michigan. I should have figured out something was up when he told me I was going to love this place.” I was wound up from the tension in the bar, and my anger was all over the place. On top of it, I was struggling with crushing disappointment. I had really liked Jay. “You sure you don’t maybe play for Michigan State?”
It was a joke, but filled with hope. MSU was the lesser of two evils, and right now, I’d happily take it.
“Afraid not,” he said dryly. “Come on. You’re going to give up on me just because of the school I go to? That’s lame.”
Again, there was truth there, but there was also no way things would ever work between us. We’d lost The Game last year, and . . . oh, God. He’d said his number was eighty-eight. He was the tight end who’d caught the last touchdown. Jay had delivered the final nail in the coffin in the remaining seconds of the heartbreaking game. My mother had wandered the house the rest of Thanksgiving weekend shell-shocked.
I stood and dusted the dirt off, preparing to leave, but he got up too. He was so freaking big, not just in size, but in presence. A lot of the male cheerleaders on my squad spent more time in the weight room than anywhere else, so I was used to big. But Jay was a heck of a lot more than muscles and broad shoulders. There was a force-like gravity to him. It was hard to resist his pull, especially when I felt it on every inch of my body.
My traitorous body.
“See you around.” My voice wavered when I didn’t want it to.
“Oh, hell no. You’re not getting off that easy.” His expression was stern. “Let’s get a cup of coffee or something.”
I shook my head. What was the point?
He must have distracted me with those blue eyes because he was abruptly right in front of me, so close if I took a deep enough breath, my breasts would brush against his chest. The thought was dangerous and wrong. So why did I consider doing it?
“You just got me kicked out of my favorite bar,” he added. His tone was final and non-negotiable. “You owe me.”
His gaze slid down from my eyes and lingered on my lips for a long moment. Alarm seized me. Holy God, was he going to kiss me again? Tingles of anticipation washed along my skin, but in my head it was all conditioned disgust.
He went to Michigan. No, worse! He was the starting tight end for their shitty football team. And I’d put my lips on his. My mouth knew what his tasted like, and how good he was with his skilled tongue. He’d had his hands on me. The same hands that had scored touchdowns against my beloved team.
There was a sensation of falling, except there were no arms to catch me. Only the hard, unforgiving ground rushing up to meet me. I was weak. He made me cloudy and disoriented.
“Okay?” His voice dropped low, and concern flashed in his eyes. I couldn’t tell if he was asking me to agree to coffee or checking on my status. I simply nodded, unable to find words. Jay looked satisfied. He pulled a set of keys out of his pocket, and lights flashed on a black car nearby as he unlocked it. “All right, let’s go.”
He opened the passenger door for me. I reluctantly climbed in and sat on the edge of the seat like I was surrounded by broken glass. I also glanced hurriedly around. What if someone saw me, an Ohio State cheerleader, getting into a car with a Michigan football star?
It was the most ridiculous thing ever. I’d been recognized on campus only a handful of times, and now we were in the Toledo strip. No one would recognize me here. The strip was a band of no man’s land on the border of our states that separated Ohio State and Michigan fans. It was a lawless, maddening place of chaos.
We didn’t talk during the short, tense drive to an all-night diner. It was like a Denny’s, only sadder, and it matched my mood perfectly. The waitress led us to a booth, dropped two sticky menus down, and disappeared with barely a word.
“I’ve got to ask,” he said. “What was the plan when that guy started talking smack about the cheerleaders? You were gonna go outside and rumble?”
“Yeah, we were totally going to rumble. And after, I’d do an angry choreographed dance to help me get my feelings out.”
He leaned back and propped an elbow up on the seat. He was so comfortable and confident. “Do you need to do one now? Because you kinda look pissed.”
“I am pissed. I liked you. You seemed like a nice guy.”
His gaze went to the ceiling for a moment, then returned to me. “And because I play for Michigan, that means I can’t be a nice guy?”
“No. Not for me.”
The waitress reappeared. Jay ordered a cup of coffee and frowned when I said I didn’t want anything. The waitress seemed just as annoyed. Good to know I was an equal-opportunity irritation.