“At the risk of sounding utterly pathetic, I really don’t.” I laughed, resting my arm across the back of the sofa. “It’s nice to do something other than watch TV shows I’ve watched a thousand times, go for a run, or read the always happy news.”
“Oh, come on. You do have friends. There are plenty of things for you to do that don’t involve hanging out with a six-year-old.”
“In my defense, he’s a very cool six-year-old.”
“Oliver, what are you really doing here tonight?”
I held up my hands with a small laugh and turned to face her. “I really am here to help Leo. I know the game and, if he really wanted to, I truly believe he has what it takes to go professional.”
Her lips parted.
“He’s a good kid. He’s smart and determined to improve, and that’s why he got upset earlier when he didn’t save my last shot. He wants to be the best he can be and that’s a good thing for him.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
I sighed. “I came to help Leo and stayed for your company. Is that better?”
A smile tugged at her lips. “My company? Are you sure you just aren’t here to spy on what I’m writing about you after our interview?”
“There might be an ulterior motive.” I picked up my tea and raised it to my lips. “Does your laptop have a password by any chance?”
“It does. And facial recognition. Sorry.”
“Damn it. I don’t suppose you have a brunette wig I could borrow to break into it?”
“Sorry, it’s all my own hair.” She hid her smile behind her coffee cup. “You’ll have to wait until the article is done and published.”
“Aw, I can’t even read it early?”
She tilted her head to the side. “How many games are in the tournament this weekend?”
“Six. Why?”
“If Leo keeps a clean sheet in four of those games, I’ll send you the article early.” She quirked an eyebrow in challenge. “If not, you have to wait.”
“That’s more of a challenge for him than me.”
“Nope. You have to make sure he does. If he doesn’t, I’ll hold you personally responsible.”
“Starting to regret saying I’d stayed for the company. It’s more competitive than I thought.” I sipped my tea. “Although now I see where your son gets it.”
London snorted and leaned forward, clapping her hand over her face. “Oh, my God. That went down the wrong way.”
“You mean up, right? Right up your nose, to be precise.”
“Shut up!” She laughed, hitting my thigh. “Oh, my God. It burns so badly.”
“Nothing I can do about that.” I was desperately fighting my own laughter.
“It’s your fault!” She fanned her face with her hand, sniffing a few times as she did so. “I think that’s better. Holy crap.”
“How is that my fault? I had no idea you’d find it funny. I was just stating a fact.”
“It’s not my fault my family is wildly competitive,” London said defensively. “We all blame our grandmother. She’s the worst. When we were growing up our parents were very, “Your best is the best, it doesn’t matter if you win or lose!” and if she caught them saying that to us, she’d yell at them and tell them nobody gives out trophies for second place, and if we don’t get trophies, why did she buy the trophy cabinet?”
I blinked at her. “She bought a trophy cabinet?”
“Two of. Awfully presumptuous for a woman who has three granddaughters and no grandsons.”
“Not to mention that she thought you’d hand the trophies over.”
“I hear that. I did cheer in middle school, and we won a regional tournament. We told her we came second, and I hid the trophy whenever she came over.”
“Why am I not surprised by that at all?”
“Probably because you have the misguided notion that you’re figuring me out.” London reached up and retied her ponytail. “And I’m letting you because I don’t like to disappoint you.”
“Who said I was figuring you out?”
“You have that look about you.”
“Like I’m trying to solve a crossword or something?”
“Did you just compare me to a puzzle?”
“Hey. You’re the one who started it. Would you prefer to be a riddle instead?”
She gave me a withering look, but there was the tiniest hint of a smile playing a the corners of her mouth. “Have you been this insufferable your entire life, or is it just a weird British sense of humor I don’t understand?”
“My family will tell you the former, but I’m going to completely err on the side of a weird British sense of humor. Is it not endearing to you?”
“All right, Mr. Darcy.” She patted my knee and got up. “I don’t want to be rude, but I have a thirty-minute argument about a shower with a six-year-old boy to attend and I don’t want to be late for that.”
I picked up our empty mugs with a chuckle. “Want me to go first and convince him it’s a good idea? Worked with the tomatoes.”
She dipped her head and darted inside, but not before I saw the light rise of a blush on her cheeks. “No, thank you. I don’t need a naked man walking about my house this evening.”
“Are you sure? Naked men can be very useful.”
“Are you—are you flirting with me?” She looked back at me, her cheeks still a rosy shade of pink.
I half-grinned. “I’m sorry, should I stop?”
“I, um—” She cleared her throat and looked away for a second. “I really have to get Leo in the shower.”
I put the mugs in the sink, desperately trying to stop my grin from widening. “You go ahead. I can see myself out. Thank you for dinner, it was delicious. I’m afraid I’m going to have to come back on Thursday to help Leo a little more. Do some reflex work, you know?”
Her throat bobbed. “S—sure. Of course. Um, he’s with his dad again on Friday so we were going to make pizza. Is that okay?”
“Is pizza okay? London, if you cut me open and examined my blood cells, you’d see a mix of footballs and pizza.”
She smiled, a little of her awkwardness fading away as she wrapped her arms around her waist, guiding me to the front door. “Okay. Um. Well, thank you. I… really enjoyed not having to be the one to play Mario tonight.”
Her eyes met mine.
Her cheeks were still a little flushed, and I knew enough about body language to know that the way she was hugging herself was nothing more than a small defense mechanism.
If she were anyone else, I might have kissed her right now.
Heck, I wanted to. If I’d walked into her house being attracted to her, I was sure as hell leaving it even more so. I wanted to kiss her—just once, just enough to let her know that I really didn’t mind… playing Mario.
I couldn’t, though.
I knew her boundaries on dating, and while I had a real soft spot for Leo, this wasn’t my move to make.
Not yet, anyway.
“I really enjoyed… playing Mario,” I said slowly, letting a lopsided smile take over my face. “Thank you. I’ll let you get to that shower argument now.”