Eligible Receiver (Men of Fall #3)- S.R. Grey Page 0,19
story, but suffice it to say that life with the QB we once dubbed Dumbo was not a fun time for the team.
Becca, nodding contemplatively and clearly having learned the details from Jodi, asks, “What do you think the Comets are planning to do about this upcoming season? I heard they’re shopping around for a new starting quarterback. Is that true?”
“Yes.” I nod. “Our backup is okay, but he’s not starting material. There’s chatter that the Comets are looking real hard at a guy named Graham Tettersaw.”
“Huh, is that so? Is he any good?”
“He is,” I confirm. “But we’ll see what happens. It’s too early for any major moves.”
We talk some more about random stuff, until we reach the New York state line.
Excited, I point over to a huge sign on the side of the road welcoming incoming travelers. “Ah, we have officially reached New York. It won’t be long now till we’re at our destination.”
“It won’t,” Becca agrees, sounding pumped. “I can’t believe how quickly the time’s going by.”
Glancing over at her, I say softly, “Must be the good company, huh?”
She laughs. “Yes, and that goes both ways.”
She’s such a doll.
We continue traveling north on I-90. I can’t believe I’m having such a good time just driving. I swear I could do anything with Becca and have a blast.
When we find ourselves closing in on Buffalo, she says, “Should we grab some lunch before we’re at Niagara Falls?”
“Absolutely,” I reply, my stomach concurring with a loud rumble. “I thought you’d never ask.”
Snickering, she says, “Yes. It sounds like someone’s hungry.”
I protest, “Hey, it’s past noon. We’ve been on the road for quite a while. This big body requires a lot of nourishment.”
I catch her glancing over at me, her gaze traveling up my legs, over my torso, and to my face.
Pretending I haven’t noticed a thing, I return my eyes to the road.
I won’t bust her.
But her perusal does make me feel happy.
I’m glad I’m not the only one always throwing out hungry glances.
And I’m about to do more, when, out of the corner of my eye, I catch her licking her lips. I almost freaking let out a groan.
Shit, I need to get my mind back on the subject at hand—food.
Thank God there’s a big green-and-white road sign up ahead.
Pointing to it, I say, “Hey, there’s an exit coming up. We can get something to eat there.”
“Sounds good,” Becca says. “Let’s do it.”
“Let’s,” I agree.
We bump fists, perfectly too, like we’ve been doing this song and dance for years.
Fuck, we really have become good friends.
We’re synchronized in clothing and in actions.
Why does that make me feel so damn good?
I don’t know, and I don’t have time to process it.
I take the next exit, as planned, and we immediately come upon a string of restaurants.
Though the choices are many, we opt for something quick and easy—burgers and fries from a fast food joint.
It’s not gourmet cuisine, but it does the trick.
A short while later, we finally reach our destination—Niagara Falls.
After parking and buying a guide book from a gift shop, Becca and I find ourselves standing on an observation deck on the Canadian side, checking out the amazing views.
“I think I like this vantage point best,” Becca says, holding up her phone and snapping a photo.
“It is amazing,” I concur as I do the same.
She then steps back from the railing.
Paging through the guide book, she says, “It says here that these are called Horseshoe Falls.”
“I can see why,” I reply. “They’re shaped like one.”
Leaning over the railing, I take more pics with my phone.
Becca slides in next to me, and since she’s standing really fucking close, the electricity that is always there but is usually kept at bay roars to life.
She must feel it too, as she quickly steps away, putting some space between us.
“Damn, I was just about to suggest a selfie,” I joke.
Looking flustered, she says, “Um, we can still take one.”
She stands beside me once more, though not as close, and I snap a selfie of us.
Moving away swiftly, she says, “See, if you were on Instagram, you could post that picture.”
I check out the photo and realize that though we’re not all jammed up on each other, we look like a couple, one with deep feelings for each other.
Showing Becca the pic, I poignantly state, “I’m fine with keeping this one all for myself.”
“Mmm, yeah…”
She walks away, pretending to be immersed in the brochure.
Hey, at least she’s not running.
When she turns back around, she