Sidelines (Wounded Hearts #1) (10 page)

“You know you’re welcome here as long as you need.”

“Do…do you think that’s such a good idea?” When did my voice get so thin?

He gives me a boyish smile and licks his bottom lip. Yikes!

“Well, I’m making it my personal mission to try to be nicer to you.”

“Are you now?” I don’t believe it for a second.

“I think you and I have a lot more in common than we realize, Allie.” A thought occurs to him and his smile turns even more playful. “Besides if I’m lucky, I might get more goodies out of you.”

Shoot me now.

He laughs at his own joke, and most likely the stony look I give him, as he finally lets go of me. It could be my imagination, but it seems like his hands slid down my arms to get in a little extra touching. He turns quickly and walks back toward the front of the house. Just before he turns the corner, he stops and looks back at me.

“Oh, and you’re going to want to wear jeans tonight.”

Chapter Ten

At ten till 6, I step out of my room in a clean pair of skinny jeans, a gray boyfriend t-shirt and my leopard print flats and make my way to the kitchen. Logan takes one look at my outfit and shakes his head, a half-eaten protein bar in his hand.

“What? You said jeans.”

He finishes the bar in one bite and opens the cabinet door to the trash can to throw the wrapper away.

“That I did. Come on.” He picks up a small collapsible cooler and holds his hand out to let me through the back door first.

Not having a clue as to what our plans are, I wait for him to pull the door closed and follow him to his truck. He pulls the passenger door open for me and then steps back to put the cooler in the bed of the truck before shutting my door for me.

The early evening sun is slowly inching its way toward the horizon, still heating the late June evening air. I’m thankful I grabbed my sunglasses because Logan jumps in the truck and starts it in the direction of the fence behind the house where we have a beautiful, albeit blinding, view of the horizon.

“Where are we going?” I ask just as he starts to slow the truck. He gives me a smirk under his shiny aviators as he puts the truck in park.

“It’s a surprise.” He hops out of the truck without another word and jogs toward a wide gate. He makes quick work of opening the gate and pulling through, but instead of getting out to close it behind us, he waves at a young kid who comes sprinting from the stable.

“I’m sorry, boss. I’ve got it for you,” the kid calls through Logan’s open window. Logan waves him off the hook and slowly pulls through the field. As the rugged terrain jostles the heavy truck, a rattling from behind my seat makes me nervous. I look to the floorboard behind me and find the butt of a gun coming out from under the back seat.

“Um, Logan. I know we don’t get along that well and all, but I didn’t think you wanted to off me or anything.”

His confused brow turns to me, watching me stare at the floorboard behind us. After a quick glance out the windshield, the truck slows just a bit and he leans back so he can see what I’m staring at. A hearty laugh spills out of his thick chest and if I wasn’t so afraid of being taken out into the middle of nowhere with a shotgun I might have joined him.

“That’s only there in case we run into any friends of my team’s mascot while we’re out here.”

It takes me a moment to get what he’s saying, and though his laughter seems to have relaxed him, I’m still very much concerned Logan will be returning to the house without me tonight.

“Relax, Allie.” He slows the truck again and I finally turn back to the landscape in front of us.

A large pond the size of half a football field sits in the middle of the pasture. A cluster of trees lines one side of it, giving off the perfect little hideaway. He maneuvers the truck so that the bed of it faces the pond before rolling down the windows and killing the engine.

“We’re here.”

True terror keeps me from moving an inch. My heart rate skyrockets as I watch him make his way to my side of the truck and open my door for me.

“Come on, Allie. You have stuff you wanted to ask me, remember?” He holds out a hand and I can’t bring myself to take it.

“How do I know you won’t whip that thing out the first time I ask you something you don’t want to answer?”

He tilts his head and narrows his eyes at me. “Now why haven’t I thought of that yet? Oh yeah, because it’s not polite to point guns at people. Come on, Allie. Don’t you trust me?”

Ironic that’s what he asks me now. But the truth is, I’ve slept in his guest room for almost a week now. If he wanted to kill me and dump my body on his back forty, he could have done it already.

“Fine. But the gun stays in the back seat.”

“Deal. Unless we find ourselves facing any rattlesnakes. I can’t afford to lose any cattle because you’re squeamish around firearms.”

Inhaling a lungful, I take his hand. Having completely forgotten the effect his touch has on me, I stumble on the running boards and trip into his waiting arms.

Talk about needing to trust him. He quickly moves to catch me so that my legs end up over one of his arms and the other is  around my back. He shifts and carries me toward the back of the truck, somehow managing to let the tailgate down without dropping me. He carefully sets me down on the tailgate, not saying one word as he turns back to close my door and pull the cooler out.

“What are we doing all the way out here? We could have talked out on the patio if you wanted to be outside.”

He smiles timidly, one hand snaking around the back of his neck in embarrassment. “You said you’ve never tailgated before.” He shrugs and turns to pull something else out from under the toolbox that lays across the front of his truck bed.

I can’t tell exactly what the small metal box is supposed to be until he props it up on the ground a few yards away from the truck.

“A grill? We’re seriously going to tailgate?” A rare joy boils up inside me as he turns around wordlessly, trying so hard to hide his pleased smile as he reaches for the cooler. He pulls out a package of bratwursts and waves them in front of me. My jaw drops in complete shock and awe.

“Are those even on the list of approved healthy options for the Logan Lassiter diet?” I ask, unable to wrap my head around what he’s doing for me.

“They are today.” He puts them down and holds out a bottle of water for me. “Sorry you’re not going to get the full experience. I couldn’t bring myself to buy any beer.” His nose wrinkles and the giddiness inside me comes out in a giggle.

“I don’t mind. That stuff is disgusting.” I take the water and forget all about the gun. That is until he snaps his fingers and makes his way back to the front of the truck. He pulls open the back door and I freeze. A second later, he pulls a plastic sack and a bag of charcoal I somehow missed on the way out here and closes the door. He lays the plastic sack on the tailgate and continues to lay out the charcoal in the small grill. I watch, completely blown away by his thoughtfulness, as he gets the fire going.

“I can’t believe we’re actually doing this.” He looks up with a satisfied smile, letting me know I said that thought out load.

“I can’t believe you’ve never actually done this before. I even have a game we can watch after this if you’re up for it.”

Some tiny bit of animosity toward this man chips away from my wall of security and crumbles onto the ground below us. He took an off-handed comment and turned it into what feels like an apology. For what though, I’m just not sure.

“Logan.” My voice hitches and I try to swallow back the emotion that has suddenly hit me.

He looks up, pulling his shades up in alert concern. His eyes skitter across the ground between and around us. When he deems the perimeter clear, his eyes find mine. “What’s wrong?”

I swallow the lump in my throat. “Thank you for doing this. All of this. Well, except the scaring me with the gun. And carrying me back here. You really didn’t have to do that.”

He presses his lips together but fails to hide his smile. “I just didn’t want you to ruin those pretty shoes of yours.”

I glance down at my flats and shrug. “I got them at Target. I can always get another pair when I return to civilization.”

That playful smile of his flattens. “So what are these twenty questions you would like answers to?” He stands and sips on his water. Taking a few steps toward the bed of the truck, he stops a few feet away from me and crosses his arms again. “Just so you know, I still expect you to answer your own questions.”

Figures. “Okay, well.” A gentle breeze swirls around us and my nostrils fill with his delicious scent again, throwing me even further off guard.

“What’s your favorite color?”

His face goes blank again. “You want to know my favorite color?”

“Mmhmm.” I nod, trying to find someway to pull myself together.

“Blue.” He looks so far into my eyes I feel like he’s trying to send some subliminal message with his answer. I slowly blink and poke my brain to snap out of it.

“What’s your favorite band?”

“What’s your favorite color, Allie?”

Oh, yeah. I blush. “Um. You’re going to think it’s dumb.”

“Brown?”

Where did that come from? “What? No. Why would you say that?”

One shoulder pops up and back down before he steps back and hovers one hand over the lid of the grill. “You really love football. My second guess would be grass green.”

I can’t tell if he’s joking or not, but his assumption does the job in pulling me out of my Logan-filled daydreams. “No. It’s pink. But not bubble gum or Pepto-Bismol. More like a few shades lighter than fuchsia.”

He turns and gives me a small smile. “That’s awfully girlie of you.”

“It is. I love October for a plethora of reasons, but mostly because all the teams break out their support for breast cancer. Hmm.” I meant to keep that moan to myself. Nothing like a bunch of boys rocking pink, showing their support for women who struggle with such a heart-wrenching disease.

Shaking his head, he makes quick work of placing the brats on the grill and replacing the lid. “George Strait. When I listen to music, anyway.”

I’m still daydreaming about boys with pink shoes and gloves playing the game I love to understand what he’s talking about. “Huh? Oh, music. Why am I not surprised you’re a country music fan?”

He hops up on the tailgate next to me. “I’m from Texas, I think it might be a requirement to live here.”

“I wouldn’t make it a day.” I shake my head, unable to handle much of the twangy music.

“You’ve made it four. What’s yours? Ciara?”

I nearly spit out my sip of water. “I’m baffled that you even know who sang that song.”

“I did go to high school. And college if I remember correctly.”

He’s full of surprises tonight. “No, she’s not my favorite band. I, um…well, I actually like 90s music.”

“Like, Backstreet Boys and ‘NSYNC?” He looks at me like I’ve seen him look at Lucy. Incredulous and thoroughly entertained.

“And Sheryl Crow and Bryan Adams.”

“And Britney Spears and Brandy.”

Full. Of. Surprises. “Sounds like someone had a very cultured childhood.”

“No, Drew did. I couldn’t stand half the music then.”

“Hence your affinity for George Strait.”

He gives me a sarcastic smile before taking another drink of water. “Next question. And please no more favorites.”

I swing my legs up and turn to face him, legs crossed so that my feet sit under my knees. “What makes you, you?”

His face screws up in confusion, glancing out the side of his eye at me. “What do you mean?”

“Well, everyone wears different hats, sometimes more than one hat at a time. Brother, son, football player. But when it’s all said and done, we have one hat we wear all the time, even when no one else is around. So which hat do you wear all the time?”

He runs his tongue between his teeth and his upper lip, tightening that jaw again. I want to say something to pull him away from whatever ledge he feels like he’s standing on, but I didn’t mean to upset him in the first place so I have no clue what would or wouldn’t set him off. He exhales slowly, his knuckles tightening on his water bottle. Downing the last of its contents, his chin pulls to his chest and his fingers start to pick at the label.

“I’m a Christian.”

A few major things make sense all at once.  First of all, being a Christian in an environment that is inundated with things like beer, scantily clad cheerleaders and all the temptations that fame and popularity can bring you is nothing short of calling yourself a hypocrite. One misconstrued gesture of thanks to God for a good play can make you a zealot and if you step one toe out of line then you’re a charlatan.

Secondly, admitting your priorities are God before football is like making a public statement that you’re not invested in the team. You could give ten thousand percent on the field, but because you answer to God and not the men who think they own you, any misstep could cost you things like endorsements, promotion of your name and number, even your job.

“I know what saying that means, but I firmly believe that not saying the truth is worse than telling you something else. I won’t deny God that spot in my life, not for the sake of making people like me. I’d much rather God like me than Joe Schmoe from Kentucky.”

I can’t help but smirk at his comment. Never mind that Kentucky is very much a part of the Bible Belt.

“I get that.”

“Do you?” He turns and the full force of his unique eyes tackles my insides. “Are you a Christian, Allie?”

Inhaling deeply, I consider my answer. “I used to be. I don’t think I’m not.”

“Either you are or you’re not.” His intense gaze makes me squirm.

“It’s a long story.” He shifts to fully face me, clearly expecting me to let him have it. “When I…was in high school, Maggie made me go to this youth conference with the church we went to. I went because some of my friends went, but some of the things they talked about…it scared me. I said the sinner’s prayer that weekend and got baptized a few weeks later.”