“That’s part of the reason why I picked it,” I said with a smile. “Who would look at me and see someone confident enough to boss around ginormous football players?”
“I guess I should expect the unexpected with you, shouldn’t I, Giana?”
Shawn offered me a lazy smile, and I bit the inside of my lip, heart picking up its pace inside my chest. I was so used to staring at him on a stage. It was unnerving to have him staring back, and so closely.
Talk about his music.
Clay’s words snapped me back to the present. “I’m surprised you don’t have a gig tonight,” I commented.
Shawn relaxed into the bench. “I like to take a Saturday off from time to time. And believe it or not, I’m a pretty big football fan. I wouldn’t miss the first game.”
“It is kind of hard to believe,” I admitted. “That someone so artistic would also be a football junkie.”
“What, I can’t sing John Mayer songs and also paint the school colors on my chest and scream like a banshee in the stands?”
I chuckled. “Body paint? Now that I’d like to see.”
It was a joke, light and effortless when I said it, but Shawn cocked a brow at the insinuation that I wanted to see his body, and I instantly paled.
“Um. I mean, the school spirit, of course. Not the body paint. Or the body. Not that I wouldn’t like to see your body. I mean, not that I would—”
Shawn just smiled, letting me ramble on, no trace of any intention to stop me from embarrassing myself further. So I clamped my mouth shut, burying my face in my hands.
“Sorry,” I murmured through them. “It’s been a long night.”
When I peeked back at him, his smile was gone, concern etched into his features. “Do you want to talk about it?”
I frowned, wondering what he meant, and I was just about to tell him I only meant that I was a little tired after staying out so late last night when I realized he was referring to Clay.
Talk a little shit about me.
I folded my arms over my chest, sinking back. “Not really.”
I aimed for sad, poor neglected girlfriend as I trained my gaze on my kitten heels, not offering anything further.
“Is he always like that?”
The question was soft, timid, like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to ask it.
I shrugged. “He’s a football player. It doesn’t mean anything. He’s just playing the part.”
I was surprised how easy that excuse tumbled out of me, and surprised even more when Shawn slid a little closer, one hand coming down to touch my knee gently. He waited until my eyes flashed to his, and I wondered if he could hear the way my heart accelerated at the feel of his hand on me.
“It means something if it hurts you.”
I melted at the words, at how sincere his expression was. It was a line straight out of a romance novel, further proving to me that Shawn Stetson was a bonified book hero. My lips parted to answer him, but then his eyes fell to my mouth, and any attempt at speaking failed me.
He stared and stared as I held my breath, and slowly, his eyes crawled back up to mine. That hand on my knee tightened, just a fraction, and he leaned in, just a centimeter, his lips on track for mine…
“There you are, Kitten.”
Shawn jumped back, tearing his hand from my knee and scooting a couple feet away on the bench just in time for Clay to round the corner. He wore a threatening grin, one he aimed at Shawn before it turned softer toward me.
“Clay,” I breathed, genuinely surprised as I hopped to my feet. I didn’t even need to, but I smoothed a hand over my skirt. It was apparently becoming my favorite nervous tic. “Shawn and I were just getting some air.”
“I see that,” he assessed coolly, and again, his menacing gaze slipped to Shawn. I watched, impressed, as his nose flared a bit, his jaw tight as he gave Shawn a once-over.
Look at him, playing the jealous boyfriend.
“Come on,” he said, reaching for my hand. It all but disappeared in his as he tugged me toward the house. “Riley and Zeke want to play pong.”
I frowned. “But Zeke doesn’t drink.”
Clay gave me a look. “Riley will drink double for him.” He barely looked at Shawn as he said. “See you around, Steve.”
“Shawn,” he corrected, his frown just as severe, chest puffed.
Clay didn’t entertain him with a response, just threw his arm around me and leaned in to whisper in my ear. “Look back at him while we walk away.”
I swallowed, doing as he said, and when my eyes met Shawn’s, he was watching me with a mix between gut-wrenching pain and passionate jealousy. He opened his mouth, but I tore my gaze away, back to face forward as Clay weaved us down the stone path toward the house.