Floored - Karla Sorensen Page 0,5

either bracket her crossed legs with mine or be turned away.

I chose the former, stretching one arm along the back of her seat. That long, curling hair brushed against my forearm, and I fought the urge to see how it felt tangled in my fingers.

We both took another pull from our drinks, and as I was setting my glass down, she said, "I think your football is the most boring sport in the entire world."

My entire body froze. "I beg your pardon."

Glancing over his shoulder, Carl whistled under his breath.

She shrugged. "They just ... run all over. There doesn't seem to be any strategy that I can see."

Was my jaw on the floor? My heart pulsing in a bloody heap just next to it? That was what it felt like.

I took a moment to recover the absolute heartbreak that anyone would say those words to me, but when I caught a flash of anticipation on her face, I knew she was looking forward to my reaction.

Lia was an unlit match, simply waiting for someone to provide the friction she needed to ignite.

I'd provide that happily.

"I can see why it might be difficult for you to understand the grace and fluidity of the game," I told her quietly, leaning in just enough that her breath caught. "Given there's no smash, grab, graceless violence like you lot think is interesting."

A spark flared hot behind her eyes. "It's hardly graceless."

"Do tell," I drawled.

Lia took the challenge like a relay baton, and oh, did she run with it.

"Have you ever seen a receiver stretched out in the air to make a catch, so aware of his entire body, so in control of it, that he manages to get one"—she licked her lips slowly—"just one edge of his toe inside the line so it counts."

My voice sounded like I'd chewed glass when I answered. "Those games are like watching a car wreck that someone starts and stops a thousand times and you can't quite stop looking to see where it all went wrong."

In truth, I had nothing against American football. The opposite, really. As was true of most professional athletes, I had a thorough enjoyment of all sports. Yes, football was my favorite, and it was in my blood, but I watched the Super Bowl almost every year. I tuned in when the league played games in London.

But there was no way I was admitting that now. Not when it was triggering the strangest type of foreplay I'd ever encountered. She'd slid forward in her seat, foot curling around the back of my calf, my fingers were toying with the edge of her hair. It was soft and cool from the rain.

"Ahh," she said triumphantly, "but you can't quit watching. There's a structure to it. A framework that requires critical thinking and forethought." Lia glanced at me underneath her long lashes. "When they line up against each other, they're reading everything about their opponent. Each flinch, each flicker of the eyes, each word that's shouted. Will it be a run or a pass? Is that defender going to blitz? Every answer is a different option, and they're ready for all of them."

It sounded like she was talking dirty, in the hushed secretive tone to her voice. I couldn't tell if I wanted to laugh at what we were doing, or tear her clothes off on top of the bar.

From the look in her eye, she wasn't entirely sure either.

I chuckled under my breath. "Look at the telly," I told her, tapping the side of her leg. She turned her face toward it, jaw set stubbornly. Before I slid my stool closer, I glanced over my shoulder. The pub was still practically empty, which suited me fine at the moment. No one was watching us. My arm curled fully around her back as I moved closer, setting my face just over her shoulder so I could murmur in her ear. "Watch," I instructed. "Not just the ball. Watch all the players move along the field. It's like a chess game, see? You can't move too far forward or you're offside, you have to have total awareness of the people playing against you, and the people playing with you. Total awareness of where the ball is and how your body is positioned." My lips brushed against her hair and her entire frame shivered. "Watch the defenders hang back when the other team has possession. Now look, their striker has the ball, and they'll move up, in case