Page 35 of Worth the Try
I roll my eyes. “Get outta here with that shit.” He’s probably in his early twenties, along with a good half of the team. “Don’t let Lennox hear you say that stuff.”
Carter laughs. “Facts. He’d kick my ass just to remind me he could. But speaking of the Scot, how is he? Heard from him?”
“Good. Happy to be home for a bit but also wishes he were here training with us.”
Carter opens the door of his Jeep and winks. “Tell him I’ll kick his ass when he gets back.”
I chuckle. “Will do.”
The second I’m alone, my thoughts turn to Elodie. I have no idea what I’m doing, but for once in my life, I’m going to try to relax about it.
Which, in all honesty, is laughable. There’s no way I’ll relax. I don’tdorelaxed.
Although I was happy to relax last night with Elodie. That woman’s lips are sent from heaven. And the little noises she made? The gasps and whimpers? Fuck me. I spent an extra fiveminutes in the shower this morning just so I could be certain I wouldn’t immediately get hard the instant I saw her.
It almost didn’t work.
She’d breezed into the kitchen like she always does, fresh-faced and beautiful, a wild mess of wavy curls piled on top of her head, one shoulder bare from the oversized tee she wore. A shoulder I’d had beneath my lips for a glorious moment last night. Then I caught her vanilla and sugar scent. It was the same scent I’d breathed last night, the same scent she always wears. Probably something simple like a lotion, butdamn, it gets me every time.
Thankfully, I’d been making breakfast for Rosalie, so I simply focused on sprinkling cheddar cheese into the scrambled eggs and pretended everything was fine.
Everything isnotfine.
“Get a grip, Miles,” I murmur, merging onto the interstate and beginning the thirty-minute drive home. Atlanta traffic is, hands down, the worst. The only bonus is that, even though every person on the road drives like a crazed lunatic, most of them pay attention, so the experience isjustthis side of chaos. A shot of adrenaline to start and end your day.
That’s what I tell myself anyway. In reality, I’d love to pull the city planners to the side and shake them.
When I exit the interstate, I head to the grocery store to pick up some things for dinner. I’ve never asked Elodie what she likes; for all I know, I’ve been stocking the house with things she’s allergic to, or at the very least, despises. I pull my phone out before I think too much about it.
“Hello?” Elodie’s voice sounds fucking delicious over the phone.
“What do you like to eat?”
She huffs a surprised laugh. “Um, food?”
I hear a splash in the background. She must be by the pool.
“If this is about dinner, Rosalie is demanding pizza. I haven’t committed one way or another, but figured you’d want to know.”
“Good to know,” I say, steering a cart out of the line at the front and making a mental note to get the ingredients for pizza. “But I mean in general. I’m heading into the grocery store, and I don’t know what you like.”
“Oh, I don’t care. Besides, I have food.” Another splash. “That was a six,” she calls out.
“A six?” Rosie’s voice is distant, but clear as a bell in its indignation. “That was atleastan eight.”
“No, that was barely a medium-sized splash,” Elodie shoots back. “Sorry,” she says to me. “I’m judging her cannonballs.”
I laugh. “I know that game well. Back to food. What do you like?”
“It doesn’t matter, anything is good,” she says.
Well, this won’t do. What was it she said last night—that everyone always says she’s so nice? This is a classicnice girlmove. “Quit being nice, Elodie.”
“I’m not being nice; I’m just saying that…”
I grin as she falters. “I heard you last night, Elle.”
She’s silent on the other end.
