Law #3: Don't Fall for the Athlete: Sweet Second Chance Romance (Laws of Love) by Agnes Canestri (ebook and pdf reader .txt) 📕

I meet her gaze. “Interesting observation. Do you have a deeper point?”

“Well…” Ellie licks her lips and points at my foot, deepening the clutch. “You look like you’re in full alert. But physical tension is the first building block for anger.”

“I keep the car in first so we can move as soon as it turns green,” I mutter. “I’m not tense.”

My relaxed tone hides a tad of defensiveness as Ellie’s comment makes me mindful of my contracted posture. My stiff muscles have to do with her tanned shoulders, which attract my eyes like a bright flower, an insect. I know I’m not supposed to gawk at her but keeping my gaze away from her is pure torture.

“If you put the gear in neutral, you could lift your foot and just lean back and enjoy a pause. I always sit on the bus when there’s a free seat. Anyone can profit from a break.” Ellie bends closer to me and lifts her brows. “Want to try it?”

Without waiting for my answer, she puts her hand on mine and shifts the gearstick into neutral. “Okay, you can lift your foot now.”

I obey her request, or at least I think that I do. I can’t be sure because my body has shut down all my other sensory receptors. I can’t feel my feet, my legs, my belly, or anything else. All my attention is focused on that marginal surface where my skin is melting with Ellie’s.

I throw her a slanted glance.

Based on her even breathing, she’s either forgotten that she’s holding my hand, or she considers her gesture as part of my therapy, a moment of zen for us.

A shrill honk cuts through the air.

“Shoot, the light,” I murmur.

Ellie withdraws her hand, and I quickly push the stick into the right gear.

She gives me a triumphant smile as we roll away. “So? Wasn’t that a better way to sit through a traffic light?”

Yeah, minus the heart-pounding.

“Sure, it was…pleasant.”

“Not exactly the word I had in mind, but I’m happy you enjoyed it,” she answers with a smile.

I itch to know what word she would have used.

Had it anything to do with…sensual, exciting, thrilling?

To prevent my mind from asking anything stupid, I say, “I could just buy an automatic car or a manual one with a stop-start system. That would take care of this issue.”

Ellie rolls her eyes. “Devon would kill you. He looked around for over a month before he found you this model.”

I snort. “Your brother did it as much for himself, and you know it.”

Devon is obsessed with cars, so when I told him three years ago that I wanted a new ride, he offered to take over my search. Finally, he located a heretical four-door Corvette for me—a model that was allegedly one of six stretched Corvettes built years ago by California Custom Coach. He convinced me that the spicy price tag was nothing because I’d get to drive a historical gem every day.

Ellie grins. “Yeah, Dev couldn’t resist the challenge of finding you your own KITT car.”

“That’s not what I asked of him,” I reply with feigned innocence. “I wanted a vehicle with old-time charm and sporty character, but with the practicality of a four-door sedan.”

Ellie narrows her eyes at me, and I laugh.

“Okay, I may or may not have mentioned that if the car slightly resembled the Knight Industries Two Thousand, it’d be a plus.”

“It figures. You used to watch the reruns of Knight Rider in our kitchen.” Her nose pulls into a mischievous grimace.

“I won’t comment on that.” I chuckle, but without wanting, the same buzzing pervades my stomach as when Ellie admitted to having researched Joe. She cares enough to recall the old TV shows I used to watch.

Is this a sign that I’m still more important to her than she lets on?

With this thought, and the elation it elicits, brewing in my chest, I pull into the suburban street where Mom lives.

“Two years ago, I came with Mom to visit your mother,” Ellie chirps. “She gave me the grand tour of her place. It’s got so much charm. You remodeled it for her, right?”

“Yeah,” I nod, “but I can’t take credit for the look. Mom gave her own instructions to the architect and urged him to disregard all my requests. The only thing in which she humored me was the size of the surrounding gardens.”

Indeed, our front and back yards are way larger than those of the surrounding homes. Thanks to Mom’s green thumb, they’re packed with plants that aren’t even supposed to survive in our region’s climate.

“What did you have in mind for her?” Ellie asks.

“I wanted a lavish villa with way more luxurious appeal than her current place.”

“Really?” Ellie’s brows arch. “But weren’t you the one advocating the advantages of cookie-cutter neighborhoods and simple houses?”

“For me, yes. I’m not much of a spender, despite the money I earn. But for Mom, I wished for the kind of home we could never afford when I was a child. And not only because my dad drank away most of our household money.”

Ellie’s eyes fly to me.

I expect to receive a pitiful glance, but her green irises shine with unusual warmth. “I’m glad you feel comfortable enough to add this last part out loud,” she says.

I give her a small smile. “Me too.”

And to my surprise, I mean it.

We drive in silence until Mom’s dark green shades come into sight. My glance moves to the empty driveway.

“What’s wrong?” Ellie asks. “You’re frowning.”

“Nothing. Only Mom told me she wasn’t going to the doctor until the afternoon, so I expected her to be home.”

“Perhaps she’s got her appointment rescheduled?” Ellie offers.

“Yeah, maybe…” I steer my Corvette to the spot where Mom’s blue Volvo should be. “Let’s get out, and I’ll call her.”

We walk up to the spacious terrace laden with ivies and figs in colorful ceramic pots. Once in the shade, Ellie strolls to the wooden bench and lifts a hand-embroidered cushion with a quote from the Bible. “Isn’t this too precious to