“Nope, I was good at basketball, but I loved swimming.” He squeezes my leg before putting his hands back on the wheel. “My mom signed me up for swim team when I was a kid. She said she wanted me to be a good swimmer because she didn’t learn until she was an adult, but I’m pretty sure she just wanted to wake me up early and wear me out during the summers. I was actually really good at it. Got offered a scholarship and everything before deciding to go with football.”

“Seriously?”

The world is so unfair. I had to write what felt like a billion essays to apply for scholarships and he just had them handed to him. And not only did he get all the football talent, but he got it in swimming too? Plus he’s hot? What kinda bullshit is that?

“Yeah.” He shrugs as he takes the exit to his place. “I wanted to find a place with a pool here, but it’s almost impossible in Colorado.”

“Yes, the harsh winters,” I say. “That’s the reason I’m not a great swimmer.”

“Shit.” He looks out the window as if only just realizing where we are. “I didn’t even ask you. Do you want to come over or did you want me to take you home?”

“I’d love to come over if that’s okay with you.” I was secretly hoping we’d keep the date going, but I wasn’t sure because his next game is away. “Don’t you have to travel tomorrow?”

“Yeah, but we don’t have to get to the facility until noon, so I’ll be fine.”

“If you’re sure then.” I pick at my nails, suddenly nervous even though I’ve been over to his house many times before.

“I’m sure.” He links his hand in mine and his touch makes all of the nerves disappear.

We pull into his garage and he grabs me a Diet Coke before walking into his house. The fact that he’s been buying them this entire time still blows my mind.

“Wanna order some food?” he asks as he kicks his shoes off in the laundry room that doubles as a mudroom.

“Sure.” I’m never going to turn down food. Ever. “I’m not really in the mood for anything specific, so you can pick.”

“There’s a good Chinese place that I order from. Is that okay?”

“Yup.” I follow him into his house. “I pretty much love all food, so that sounds good.”

“A woman who eats, you must be after my heart,” he says as he walks into his kitchen and pulls out a menu from one of his many drawers. And even though he hasn’t decorated . . . like at all . . . it’s nice to know he’s still human enough to have a junk drawer filled with takeout menus.