Out of Bounds(5)

“And every year on Halloween he goes all out. He slathers makeup all over his eye to look freaky. Like, fake blood and everything coming out of it.”

“That actually sounds mildly horrifying.”

She smiles wickedly. “It is absolutely mildly horrifying. But it’s a great costume for scaring people.”

I raise my chin. “What about you? What’s your scariest costume?”

She shrugs, saucily. “I just go as myself.”

“How’s that scary?” I say, moving closer to her. This woman is a firecracker, and I’m digging talking to her, and looking at her, and let’s just call a spade a spade. The only thing better would be talking, looking, and touching. Fucking would probably be quite nice too. Just saying. “You’re not scary. You’re sweet.”

She narrows her eyes. “No one ever calls attorneys sweet.”

“Ah, so you’re a shark.”

She hums the theme song for one of film’s most famous villains. “Call me Jaws.”

I love that she’s sarcastic and funny. Even better is the fact that she’s not a groupie. Sometime it’s nice to parlay the gig into a little bit of attention, or maybe a fun night out, since there are plenty of women who want a night with the quarterback. This chick? She doesn’t seem to have a clue I play ball, and it’s fun. I’m not complaining or saying no one likes me for me. Hardly. I’m simply enjoying that we’re a guy and a girl on the beach. I haven’t told her what I do though, and it seems strange to leave that out, so I decide to offer a sliver of it. “Just teasing about the shark part. I’m in the sports business, so some might call me that too.”

She raises her glass. “Let’s all be good sharks then.”

I clink my beer bottle to her glass and we both take drinks. That’s all either one of us says about work. She asks no more about sports, and I don’t offer, and that’s fine by me.

She sets down her glass, raises her hand, and reaches for the back of my head. Gently, she pushes the ice pack aside, brushing her palm over my head again. She’s got a reassuring touch. A caring one too. “Maybe you should go as a sexy nurse on Halloween,” I say softly. “Both seem to fit.”

A sweet smile spreads on her pretty face. After a few seconds, she adds, “But that’s not a scary costume.”

I shake my head. “It’s not at all. But you’d rock it.”

Her well of sarcasm seems to slip away from her as she as she whispers thank you. After a few seconds, she adds, “I think your goose egg is history, Andrew.”

I set the pack on the table, but she keeps her hand on me, rubbing the back of my head absently. Fuck, this is nice. More than nice. It’s arousing. Her touch stirs up other parts. One other part to be precise, and I silently curse the fact that I’m wearing board shorts. They don’t hide tents at all. But then again, who cares? If she wants to check out the package, I’ll salute her. I like her hands on me. I like her touching me. Hell, I like what I know of her so far.

She drops her hand and folds both in her lap.

Then it hits me, what she just said—the goose egg is gone. The bump on my head has vanished. She might only have come along for a drink to make sure I wasn’t wounded. But I don’t want this time with her to end. I sit up straighter. “Does that mean you need to cash out, or can you have another?”

She smiles and tips her forehead in the direction of the street. “Since I live just a few blocks away I can absolutely have another drink. But what about you? Do you need to drive somewhere? I can’t let you get into a car if you’re tipsy,” she says in a tone that tells me she’s looking out for me. I’d be willing to bet Dani is a big sister. She’s got “worried older sibling” written all over her.

But I can handle a drink just fine, thanks to my size. I laugh as I point at my chest. “I’m two hundred and fifty pounds. I can have two beers and drive safely.” I take a beat, then inch closer. “But I do like your concern,” I say, as I lift my hand and a tuck a strand of hair behind her ear.

“Just don’t want anything to happen to you,” she says, her eyes never straying from mine, as I run my fingers down the strand.

“I’m not going anywhere right now, Dani.”

She licks her lips, and a bolt of lust crashes down my spine. Just from the flirting. Damn, if touching her hair feels this good, I can only imagine what it would be like to do a whole lot more. Kiss her. Push her up against the wall. Mold her body against mine.

“Let’s get those drinks,” I say before my mind and body stray too far in the dirty direction.

We chat through another round, shooting the breeze about surfing and sunsets, the merits of cereal versus eggs for breakfast, and the pros and cons of driving with or without a traffic app in Los Angeles. Wonderfully, nothing about football or my career has come up. The conversation is casual and comfortable. Considering the last year has been bumpy and tense, I’ll take this kind of night, especially with the way the preseason has been a big old mess of uncertainty.

When it’s time to go, I offer to walk her home.

She gazes at me, like she’s sizing up my offer. “Yes, but just home. To the porch.” She holds up her hands, almost in apology.

“I’m simply being a gentleman, Dani,” I say, with a smile, and then we walk along the boardwalk and cut into the neighborhood. “Will you come back tomorrow to get your board?”