I plant one hand on my hip and glare at her as she teases and twists my words. “How many ways do you need me to say it, Peyton?”
She braces her hands on the bench behind her and leans back, lifting her face to the sun. “I can tell you like him.”
“I do not like him.”
“What do you have against him anyway?”
Oh, other than the fact that he’s living rent free in my head, nothing. “He’s an asshole, and wait, why did you say his ego was as big as his cock. How do you know that?”
She gives me a slow grin that says she knows me too well. “Ah, look at that, you are thinking about his thing again.” She wags her dark brows. “You know, they just don’t call him Torpedo because he’s lightning fast, on the field. It’s because he has a big—”
“Stop,” I say. I take a fast breath. Do not think about Landon’s torpedo. I’m two seconds from demoting her to the bleachers, when she sits up straight, her mouth gaping. “What?” I ask, my blood draining to my toes even though I have no idea what’s going on. I only know that look on her face and it’s bad. So very, very bad. She looks past my shoulder and points her finger.
“Uh...”
Ohmigod. I mouth the words, “He’s behind me, isn’t he?”
As she gives a slow nod, I spin around. Landon is adjusting his helmet as his gaze moves over my face. He’s not smirking, or showing any sign that he overheard us. Thank God!
“Hey,” he says and my stupid ovaries quiver as my gaze lands on his brutally handsome face. He’s not typically handsome, with a square jaw, perfect skin, perfect features. No. He’s a bit harder, his face scarred from fights, and football. It only makes him hotter.
“Hey,” I squeak out.
He smiles at me, then looks past my shoulder to Peyton when she clears her throat. “Hey, Peyton.”
“Landon,” Peyton says. “Looking good out there.”
He turns his attention back to me. “Coach wants to know if you’ve got this thing all figured out.” He gestures with a nod to the camcorder and I try not to react to his sexy Texas accent. “You know how to work all these buttons?”
“Yes, I do,” I say, and while I get that he has no idea how to use the camcorder, there are plenty of buttons this guy knows how to press. Yes, I’m talking about the buttons between a girl’s legs and the ones on the end of each breast. I’ve heard the rumors, and have zero intentions of ever finding out if they’re true. I’d have a better chance of landing an assistant director position with Spielberg right out of college than this guy has of landing a position between my sheets. Not that he wants that, but chances of either of them happening: zero.
His gaze rakes over me, and my goddamn legs nearly give out as those dark eyes ignite my blood from simmer to inferno. What the hell is wrong with me? I do not like football players. I do not like Landon.
Yeah, you just keep telling yourself that, Ella.
“Wait, am I seeing double,” he asks, and looks from me to Ivy and back to me again.
“Ivy is my twin,” I say with an exaggerated sigh, and steal a fast glance at her across the field. As if feeling my eyes on her, her head lifts, and she stares at me. I can’t see her expression from where I’m standing. I can only imagine she’s in shock to see me talking with Landon. Not because I don’t associate with football players, but because a nerd like me would never be worthy of his attention. She has nothing to worry about. He’s all hers.
Have at him, sis.
“How come I’ve never seen you around before?” He shifts from one foot to the other, and I become acutely aware of his height, and of the way his muscles fill out his uniform. Does he even need all that padding? The fresh scent of soap, fabric softener, and something uniquely Landon fills my senses. It’s not a bad scent. Nope, not bad at all. Which really sucks.
“I hang in different circles,” I tell him and like the nerd I am, I snort, and tap the camcorder. “Cinematography.”
“Oh yeah?” Dark eyes leave mine to steal a quick glance at the camcorder, and for a second he almost seems truly interested. “You’re one of those