Not You It's Me (Boston Love #1) - Julie Johnson Page 0,6
the weight of my hair pooled against the court.
My lashes open and he’s right there, his face less than an inch away from mine. My eyes blink a little too rapidly as I stare into his — pure icy green, without any flecks of hazel or brown to dilute the color, and currently half-lidded with something that looks a lot like desire… and maybe just a hint of surprise.
I swallow hard, trying to catch my breath, and stare at him for a moment, waiting for him to stand upright and put me back on my feet.
He doesn’t.
Another few seconds tick by, and I can’t contain myself anymore.
“You must do a lot of lunges,” I blurt.
His eyes fill with amusement and his mouth twitches. “Excuse me?”
“At the gym.” I feel my cheeks flush with color. “You must lunge a lot because, I mean, jeeze, you’ve been holding me here for, like, two minutes and you aren’t even winded. Are your thighs burning? They must be burning right now.”
He stares at me, an unreadable expression on his face.
Great job, Gemma. Scare off the hot stranger mere seconds after he’s finished kissing you.
I fight the urge to groan at my own stupidity. “Sorry, it’s probably not proper etiquette to be talking about your thighs, since, you know, I’ve just met you and all. But, we also made out… so I don’t know where we’re located on the bodily-function-sharing-scale.”
“There’s a scale?” His voice is thick with mirth.
I widen my eyes. “Of course there’s a scale. I mean, you wouldn’t jump into a first date talking about how often you pee or how many times a week you have s—”
His eyebrows lift.
“You know, I’m just going to stop myself right there.”
His lips twitch again.
“So, do you?”
“Do I what?” he asks.
“Do a lot of lunges.”
A full smile breaks out on his face. “You’ll have to come to the gym with me sometime, find out for yourself.”
“Oh, no. Working out isn’t exactly my thing. Seriously, the last time I did a lunge I think I sprained my vagi—” My lips slam closed. “My leg. A muscle in my leg.”
He laughs.
“Really, though, I tapped out at about ten seconds, and that was just supporting my own body weight.” I shake my head, grimacing. “Any kind of strenuous physical activity…Not my specialty.”
His eyes glitter with dark humor, and I have a feeling he’s envisioning an entirely different kind of strenuous physical activity. Shit.
“Sports! I mean sports.” I swallow nervously. “I hate sports.”
“And yet, you’re courtside at a playoff game.”
I open my mouth to retort, but before I can get out so much as a word, I’m interrupted by Ralph, who sounds decidedly pissed off.
“What the hell is this, Gemma?”
An instant later, I’m back on my own two feet. Blood rushes to my head, but Green Eyes steadies me with a light grip on my arm. When my brain stops spinning, I manage to focus on Ralph, who’s finally hung up his cellphone. There’s a glare pinching his face, and his head is swinging from me to Green Eyes and back again.
“Hi, Ralph.” I lift my arm and do a little finger-wave in his direction.
The crowd bursts into a thunderous chorus of laughter and cheers.
When he hears them, Ralph’s hands fist at his sides and his face begins to redden. “Don’t give me that cutesy little ‘Hi, Ralph.’” He takes a step closer to me, and I feel Green Eyes tense at my side. I notice his hand hasn’t let my arm. “Want to explain who the hell this guy is and why the hell you were kissing him like a little slut in front of the whole fucking world?”
My spine snaps straight and, though I can’t see him, I actually feel the anger pouring off Green Eyes. I hear the overhead announcer giving a play-by-play of what has, by this point, become a huge spectacle.
Well, folks, there’s always plenty of drama on the court during a playoff game, but tonight it seems there’s just as much happening on the sidelines!
I try to ignore him and focus on defusing the situation before it becomes national news and ends up — if it hasn’t already — on YouTube for the rest of eternity.
“You were on the phone, and the kiss-cam—” I start.
Ralph cuts me off. “Oh, I was on the phone for two seconds—”
“Try two hours,” I mutter.
“—and god forbid no one’s paying attention to Gemma for a single minute of the day!” Ralph sneers. “I swear, you need more validation