Page 45 of Play For Me

I groan. “Red.”

I’d seen them laughing together earlier. I guess it shouldn’t be surprising that she’d have such an easy time wrapping another Barnes man around her little finger.

“She didn’t even flinch when I put her with the preschoolers,” he goes on. “She told me her family does a lot of charity work.”

“Mmhm.”

“Apparently she always volunteers for the jobs that include working with kids.” This time I just grunt and Red laughs. “Someone like her would be good for you.”

“Grandpa—”

“She’d get you out of your shell.”

I kick at the dirt. “Why do people always say shit like that? Maybe I don’t want to get out of my shell. Maybe Ilikemy shell. It’s very comfortable in here. I’ve been fixing it up my whole life.”

He laughs at that. “Okay, let me rephrase. She seems like the kind of girl who would join you in your shell and make it a happier, less intense place.”

I rub my hands over my face. “This metaphor went completely off the rails.”

“Solomon.”

I meet his eye, just like I always do when he uses that tone. “You deserve someone who makes you happy, bud.”

“Maybe,” I say gruffly. “But so does she. And I’m definitely not it.”

I hate the expression on his face—like my truth wounded him. But there’s no denying it— I couldn’t do anything to improve the life of a woman like Cecelia Ransome.

I can tell Red is gearing up for one of his big speeches, but someone on the other side of the paddock calls him over. So he settles on slapping my shoulder before walking away. “Don’t sell yourself short, kid.”

There are a bunch of things I probably should be doing right now, but it’s hard to move my feet from this spot. Even harder to move my gaze from the laughing girl currently high-fiving the little boy who had previously been too scared to help feed the horses. She looks so good standing there under the blue sky, her eyes bright and happy, the sun glinting off the lighter strands of her hair.

I think there’s a very good chance I’m in some real trouble here.

I’ve had a crush, or whatever you want to call it, on Cecelia Ransome since her freshman year, long before she even knew I existed. And, apparently, all it takes to push that over into full blown obsession is an afternoon playing one-on-one soccer and a morning of her helping on my grandfather’s ranch.

A moment later she looks up, our eyes meeting. The smile doesn’t leave her face and all I can think is,yeah, definitely in some big trouble.

THIRTEEN

SOLOMON

There’s a break after the morning camps so the volunteers and ranch hands head in for lunch. Mae, my grandpa’s housekeeper who does all the cooking for the ranch, put together a spread with some help at the grill from a couple of the guys. Cecelia, Jay, and I fill our plates with burgers, coleslaw, potato salad, and fruit.

“There’s some shade over there,” I say, pointing to the old sycamore tree by the side of the porch.

“I actually need to talk to Red about something,” Jay says, winking at me over Cecelia’s head. “You guys go ahead.”

I glare at him but Cecelia doesn’t seem to notice his idiot smirk or that wink.

“Blanket okay?” I ask as we pass the porch where Mae set out a basket of brightly colored, thick, woven blankets. “Or I could go grab some camp chairs from the barn.”

“I’m not above sitting on a blanket on the ground,” she says easily. So I grab us a blanket while she gets a few sodas and we meet under the tree.

“This is nice,” she says, closing her eyes and lifting her face toward the sky. Even in the shade it’s hot as hell out here, but she doesn’t seem to mind it.

“What would you normally be doing on a Saturday afternoon?” I ask, trying hard not to look at the long line of her throat with her head tipped back like that.

She opens one eye and gives me a sheepish smile. “Probably running drills. Or hitting the weight room if I couldn’t convince someone to play me.”