Just a little taste of the dynamic between these two.
No date yet.
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“Shit, I’m gonna be late!”
I was still mid-musing when my gaze had landed on the clock, the neon numbers letting me know I was fucking up. With Van’s help though, I was able to pull myself together and get out the door quickly, still riding high from – and honestly distracted by – that flower delivery.
I made it though.
Barely on time, but I got there, earning a smirk from Ambrose as soon as I stepped out into the practice area where we were shooting.
Why was he the first person I’d sought anyway?
I didn’t have time to think through it much before Cole was all over me, getting me over to wardrobe. It wasn’t very much to do, when the focus was really on our athletic performance. I knew better than to attempt this – or any of the “challenges” without warming up first, so they gave me some space for that. And then, in what felt like no time at all, I was in front of the camera with Ambrose.
“Glad you decided to show up,” he quipped, and I rolled my eyes.
“Please – I know you didn’t think I was intimidated by… whatever it is about you I’m supposed to be intimated by,” I shrugged. “You can get knocked just like anybody else.”
“Can and will are two different things, sweetheart.”
I frowned. “Not your sweetheart. Where’s the whistle,” I demanded, looking around. “When do we get started?”
“You can take this L whenever you’re ready – sweetheart.”
My eyes narrowed over him calling me that shit again, but… I couldn’t decide if I didn’t like it because I just didn’t like it, or if it was because it made me warm between the legs coming off his lips.
Especially accompanied by a wink that was just… hotter than it should’ve been.
Hotter than it needed to be.
Or, again, maybe I was just hot in the ass, like everybody said.
In any case, I nodded. “Come on with it then, McNeil.” I said, moving to where we were being directed, to the starting block.
“Loser buys drinks?” he said, as we moved into position.
“I don’t drink alcohol.”
“Loser gives the winner a private dance,” I said, fully joking, fully expecting typical male pride to make him nix that suggestion.
I quickly discovered though, that arrogance was the larger motivator, a slick grin spreading over his handsome face as he nodded.
Before I could grasp the fullness of the risk I was taking, our mark was called. I shook my head, focusing on the track in front of me – on winning, so I wouldn’t be held to this little wager.
As soon as the clarion sounded, I took off.
I wasn’t looking for Ambrose, but it was hard not to see him when he was right beside me – seemingly easily keeping pace.
I’d underestimated him.
I didn’t necessarily think of speed when it came to football, more like strength, and brute force. That was clearly a mistake, since I had to shift into a hard sprint to even try to get ahead of him.
Try being the operative word.
It was a very slight bandage to my ego that he didn’t beat me by a long shot.
He crossed the finish line just a couple paces before me, and immediately dropped, panting, to the bright orange surface of the track. His victory hadn’t come easily, but…
He’d still won.