“That’s…wow. Good for you.” I sound less than impressed, but it’s not my fault I’m so caught off guard. “I didn’t know there was such a thing.”
He frowns, obviously confused by my odd reaction.
I’ve only been in the States a few years. Is foosball a big thing here? I wasn’t aware.
Just to be sure I’ve got it right, I follow up with a question.
“So you knock that little ball around trying to score?”
He grins, looking down at me like I’m the oddest creature he’s ever encountered. “I guess you could put it that way.”
Huh.
“It’s a big sport here?”
He tips back on his heels, and I swear I see a tiny tinge of color on his sharply tanned cheekbones. “Yeah, pretty big.”
It’s like he’s embarrassed to admit it.
“See?!” Briggs says. “Told you he’s famous!”
I make a mental note to look into America’s professional foosball league when I get back to our flat. Even after living here for a while, I swear there’s still so much about this country I’ve yet to learn, but if all the players in that league look like Logan, well…I’ve just found my new favorite sport.
“Uncle Logan, can we get a snack on the way to your apartment?!” Briggs asks, hopping from foot to foot impatiently.
“Sure thing,” Logan says, glancing down at him with a smile before his warm brown gaze quickly snaps back to me. “I guess I’ll see you around?”
Right. Our time has come to an end. We can’t stand here all day chatting away. How horribly unfair.
“Sure. Yes. Cheers,” I say, twisting the knob so I can open the bottom half of the Dutch door and let Briggs sneak past me. Logan steps toward me to help open the door as I step toward him to take my usual position at the threshold of the classroom, and the synchronized movement brings me right up to him, like Hello, rock-solid chest in my face. Our size difference is hilarious. It’s like we’re in some children’s book about opposites.
For a brief moment, my mind wanders. I wonder how good he is at foosball. He must have a hard time controlling his strength while twisting that teeny pole around. His arms look like he could break the table like a twig. Break me like a twig too.
Oh yes, Candace, let your brain conjure up those images. That’ll do you good.
Fortunately, Briggs steals my attention by demanding one last hug from me before he goes off with his uncle. I’m not surprised; he’s eternally starved for affection. He’d cuddle all day if I let him.
“See you later, alligator,” I say with a wink.
He beams, proud to show off our parting words for his uncle. “In a while, crocodile!”
Logan nods his head in farewell before tucking Briggs against his side and steering him toward the entrance of the school. I stand watching them leave for so long that I’m oblivious to the caregivers standing at my door, trying to pick up their respective children.
“Ms. Candace?” a shy au pair peeps.
I wave her away. Give me a second, please. It’s been ages since I’ve seen anyone as handsome as Logan in real life. It’s a true privilege, and I want to soak it in. What a man. Strong and kind and tempting. He’s stepped right out of my daydream.
Logan reaches the exit at the end of the hall then turns back for a brief moment. Our gazes lock again and he smiles, but I barely catch it before I duck swiftly back into the doorway, praying he didn’t notice how lovesick I looked watching him leave.
“Did he see?”
“The drool? I’m afraid so.” The au pair frowns.
Just my luck.
Chapter Two
Candace
I haven’t got Logan out of my mind in days. As soon as the last student left my classroom on Thursday, I fired off a long text to my flatmates.
CANDACE: KAT & YASMINE! DO NOT DALLY! Come straight back to the flat after work. Kat, don’t take the long route from the subway station just so you can pass by Cute Hot Dog Guy. This is important!
I’ve had THE BEST DAY. You won’t believe it. There I was in my preschool classroom, washing a bit of poo out of some trousers (you know how it goes…), when this absolute babe came to collect his nephew from my class.
Truthfully, I thought I’d blacked out for a moment when I first saw him. He was a proper hunk with glorious brown hair that had a bit of wave to it, he was quite tall, and he had these arms. Are muscly arms supposed to make you damp all over? I’m panting just thinking about them.
Anyway, he told me he’s a professional foosball player. At least, I think that’s what he said. The tots can get quite loud near pick-up time.
YASMINE: Foosball? What are you on about, Candace? Have you gone mad?
KAT: Oh sod off. So what if I like to have a good look at Hot Dog Guy’s arse on my trek home after a hard day’s work in the city? It’s called self-care.
CANDACE: Kat, I’m ignoring that. Yes, Yasmine—foosball! Y’know, the sport with the tiny ball you toss around the table? I suppose it’s a big thing over here in the States. We must investigate and learn everything we can.
By the way, he’s called Logan.
Logan + Candace. I think that sounds quite nice! I can hear the wedding bells now. Dum, dum, dah-dum.
YASMINE: Oh good grief. I suppose we can do some snooping when I get home. I’ll grab wine on my way.
KAT: I’ll grab hot dogs.
As soon as we all arrived back at home, I droned on about him for hours.
“Did I already tell you about his arms?”
“Loads of times,” Kat said, quickly holding her hands up to her ears in case I decided to start in on it again.
I yanked them away so she could hear me properly. “And the hair? That dark brown color…like velvet. And just the right amount of curl! More like a wave. Do you know what I mean? Should I pull up an example on Google again?”
Yasmine swiped my computer off my lap before I could pull up my previous search.
“Please spare us. I’m sure he was hot, but who cares? It sounds like he’s way out of your league.”
I pulled a face like she was absolutely insane. “Out of my league?!”
I stood up to show her all of what I have to offer, confident she was selling me short. Though…as stray popcorn bits fell from my lap onto the floor, I realized maybe she did have a point. The TV remote fell out of my lap too—right on my toe. I winced and did a good bit of yelping and hopping around until I felt I had my pain better under control.
“Yasmine, look at me,” I finally said, walking to the end of our tiny living room then posing like I was at the end of a catwalk. “There isn’t a man on earth who’s out of my league.”
“You’ve got a bit of wine on your pajamas there,” Kat noted, deadpan.
I looked down at my oversized t-shirt, which matched the ones they were wearing. We grabbed them in a gift shop on Coney Island as a total joke. It stretches all the way to my knees and features a caricature of a woman’s body in a bikini top and bottom. The way it’s cut, it makes it look like it’s my body.