The Learning Hours Page 45

Outside, the sun is setting against the horizon, the silhouette of several boats on the water lending a picturesque backdrop to the already scenic view. An orange, lavender, and blue horizon touches the tree line above. It’s beautiful.

Tranquil. Peaceful.

Just the thing Rhett needed.

I pluck two cups from the cupboard. “So when the guys come back tomorrow, do you think you’ll actually get any team bonding in?”

He opens a few drawers before locating a pizza cutter. Shrugs. “I don’t know. I thought we already had.”

I lean my hip against the cabinet behind me, hands braced on the granite countertop. “Are you really that bent out of shape at the thought of shacking up with me for the next sixteen hours? Or are you just mad they won’t grow up and act like adults?”

“I’m pissed that they’re morons.”

My brow goes up. I want him to admit he wants to be stuck here with me. “So you’re not mad you’re here with me?”

“No, I’m not mad about that.”

“Good. Because I’m not exactly hating it.”

Rhett looks down at the floor, a crimson blush creeping above the collar of his plaid button-down, coloring his cheeks. His shaggy hair is wavy today, and I catch whiffs of fresh air when he moves past me to grab a hot pad.

Lays everything by the stove so it’s ready when we need it.

We load the pizzas into the oven one at a time, closing the door. Set a timer for twenty minutes.

“So what should we do while they’re cooking?” He can’t meet my eye.

What should we do? Boy do I have a few ideas…

“I’ll fill these glasses with water, then you wanna sit on the deck while we wait?”

“Sounds good.”

Outside, I shift a few chairs around, dragging two so they’re side by side, facing the water. Facing the sunset. The glowing horizon, sun fading into night, a few stars peeking through the dusk.

The sliding door opens and closes. “I’ll keep the lights off so we don’t attract the bugs.”

He joins me in the green Adirondack chairs, hands me my glass, spreads his legs, and stares into the distance. We’re quiet a few blissful moments. “This is nice.”

My head falls back against the wooden chair. “I could definitely get used to this.” The lake water hitting the break wall along the shore. The fresh, pine-filled air. The rustling of the trees. The crackling remains from embers of the abandoned stone fire pit.

Sitting out here, next to Rhett.

A deep sigh escapes my lungs. Eyes close, lashes rest on my cheekbones.

“Do you suppose they’re jealous of you?” The question—which hadn’t occurred to me until this second—leaves my lips before I can give it a second thought.

“Who?”

I peel my eyes open, turning my head to meet his brown gaze. “Your teammates.”

“Jealous? Of me?”

I laugh quietly. “Why is that such a foreign concept?”

“What do they have to be jealous of?”

I sit up, twisting to face him in the chair. “Because you’re the best wrestler on the team. You came from out of nowhere as a transfer and you’re putting their personal stats to shame—or am I wrong about that?”

Rhett’s shaggy hair lobs back and forth when he shakes his head.

“You’re a nice guy—that probably drives them nuts, too. Plus, you’re dating me.”

He snorts. “Out of all the people you could be dating, you expect people to believe you choose me?”

“I mean, don’t you want to? To try?”

“That’s not what I mean.”

“What do you mean?”

“You want to date me?” His left brow is lifted. “I have no experience with…”

Is he trying to tell me he’s a virgin? I school my expression so my eyes don’t bug out of my skull. “You mean you’ve never…”

I make a motion near my crotch with my hand, hoping he understands I mean sex.

“Shit, no. I’m not a virgin. I meant I’m not boning a new chick every weekend like some people.” Rhett’s face turns red. “I meant I have no experience with someone like you.”

My heart falls into the hollow in my stomach. “What does that mean?”

“I’m not…”

Like one of his hot teammates. Like Thad, who has more in the looks department than actual God-given talent. Like the overconfident fraternity boys always hitting on me. Like every stereotypical athlete you read about, creating unrealistic expectations for women—and, apparently, men.

We get quiet again, the sound of a motorboat in the background, zooming across the water, reverberating in the dark.

“Maybe that’s what I like about you.” I take a long sip of water, jiggling the ice. “I find it very hard to believe no woman has ever wanted to be your girlfriend. Maybe you just haven’t given anyone the chance.”

My mind strays to Monica and I scowl.

He laughs, the sound echoing in the woods. “Trust me, it’s not like I haven’t wanted to, especially those years when my hormones were raging.”

I lean forward, interested. “Are they raging now?”

“Oh yeah.” He laughs again, relaxed. “So hard.”

Man, he’s cute when he smiles.

Sexy.

The timer on his phone goes off, the notification annoying, coupled with a vibrating tone. We stand. Head into the house, the smell of pizza greeting us.

My stomach growls.

“Want to watch a movie while we eat?”

“Sure.”

“You set up while I do the pizza?”

He nods. “Yeah, I think I can figure that shit out. What are you in the mood for?”

Something that requires us to turn off the lights and sit close. “Um, whatever. You pick.”

I putz around in the kitchen, removing both pizzas from the oven, laying them on the granite to cool. Cut them both, loading two plates with slices of both, surreptitiously watching him fuss with the remote control in the living room.

Turns the TV on. Turns it off.

Bends over to fiddle with the cable box.

I stifle a smile, waiting until he locates the movies on demand and begins scrolling through our options, pausing on a few to read their descriptions and ratings. Stops on a chick flick I’ve seen no less than twenty times, but would watch again. A French docu-series about the king.

He looks at me over his shoulder, pausing on an old comedy. “How about this one?”

“You want to watch Superbad?”

“Only if you want to watch Superbad.”

I know my grin is huge, teeth flashing. “I love that stupid movie.”

“Cool. So do I.”

It’s so freaking dumb and hilarious. I haven’t seen it in years.

I bring the pizza into the living room with a few napkins, eyeballing the couch, strategically trying to locate the best spot. I set the two plates on the coffee table. Pull it a little closer so we can put our feet on it, too.

“I feel guilty eating in someone else’s living room—my mother would kill me.” I laugh. “I’m going to hope and pray I don’t get sauce on any of these pillows.”

Rhett commiserates. “We weren’t allowed to eat anywhere but the table, unless we had friends over—but then again, I have two brothers, so.”

I plop down on the couch, cross-legged. “Your poor mom.”

“My mom is fucking awesome.” He laughs, tearing off a hunk of pizza with his teeth. It rips in half, the gooey cheese stringing off of it—and for whatever reason, I find the whole thing crazy erotic. Especially when his tongue darts out to catch an errant blob of sauce. Licks his lip clean.

“I have to stop feeding you this garbage. It’s not good for you.”

He tilts his head in thought. “Why is it you only feed me pizza? Are you trying to make me slow to start during my matches? I have to make weight, you know.”

His chocolate eyes sparkle.

Guh!

My gaze roams his torso; I bet there’s not an ounce of fat on the guy, and I sincerely hope I get to see him without a shirt later. “I doubt you have a problem staying in shape.”