Page 25 of Don't Fall for the Goalie

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“Nothing,” I say roughly.

It’s a lie.

Because now all I can think about is her in my hoodie… and how badly I want to ruin every ounce of composure she has left.

The air crackles between us.

She braces herself against the counter, ass pressed against the edge for balance.

And all I can think about is lifting her onto the counter and?—

The doorbell rings.

I jerk like I’ve been caught committing a crime.

Peyton blinks. Then her lips twitch. “The food’s here.”

Thank God.

Because I’m seconds away from doing something I absolutely shouldn’t do.

7

DALTYN

I open the front door, grab the food, and tip the guy.

When I turn around, I regret giving Peyton my hoodie. It swallows her whole, the sleeves hanging past her hands. Her blonde hair spills over the dark navy fabric.

Jesus Christ.

Something hot twists low in my gut.

“You’re staring again,” Peyton says casually.

I force my eyes away and shut the door with my foot. “You’re wearing my sweatshirt.”

“That was your idea.”

Fair point.

Still doesn’t mean I know how to handle it.

The scent of garlic bread and pasta fills the kitchen as I carry the bags toward the island.

Peyton immediately perks up. “Oh my God. I’m starving.”

I huff out a quiet laugh. “You act shocked. Like you shouldn’t be hungry.”

“I was emotionally devastated by the bare refrigerator situation.”

“It wasn’t bare.”

“It looked like the kitchen of a divorced man going through a crisis.”

I set the bags down harder than necessary. “I hate how accurate that is.”

Her grin widens.

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