Page 11 of Tough Score

Reeve’s eyes flash over to me, a little wider than before. He's surprised by the news; there’s no doubt about that.

I nod and smile at Seven.

"Yeah, that's me. Keely," I tell him, reaching out and shaking his hand.

"You're the niece that just moved here?" Reeve asks.

My uncle must have told more than just Penelope that I was moving to town.

"That's correct."

"So, you'll be around for a while then?"

"I hope so," I tell him.

Reeve just stares back at me, as if he's having a conversation in his head and forgot to say any of it out loud, so I shift my attention back to Seven.

"If you ever want to watch a game, let me know. I can give you one of my season ticket seats next to my girlfriend Brynn and my daughter Cammy. I've offered the seats to Oakley before, but he's never taken me up on it since our game nights are his busiest."

That makes sense. There's no way my uncle could get away during a game

I'd love to get to see a home game in the stadium. And getting to watch from a player's seats would be amazing. How often does an offer like that come up?

"My schedule is up in the air right now since I’m helping out at the bar for my room and board until I land a job. If my uncle doesn’t need me during one of the Hawkeyes home games, I’ll take you up on that."

“I hope you do,” he says and then turns back to Reeve. "Are you ready to kick some ass? Brent and Kaenan up against us next."

"Yeah, I'm ready. Let's go," Reeve says, but his eyes stay fixed on mine.

Seven turns and walks back towards the pool table, where a few Hawkeyes players are standing with pool sticks in one hand and beers in the other. None of them are paying us any attention, as Briggs Conley seems to be telling some elaborate story.

"It's Keely… right?" Reeve asks.

"Yeah, that's right."

"I guess if you moved here, that means I'll be seeing you around?" he asks.

“Yeah, I'll be around.”

"Good,” he nods. “Then you should take Seven up on his offer for the seats. Or I could always give you mine."

He searches my eyes for a moment and I'm not exactly sure how to respond back because I'm not sure if he's flirting or just being nice.

“Doesn't your girlfriend want your seats?” I ask, fishing for the answer to my question.

He smirks, and my question doesn't go unnoticed. He knows why I asked.

“If you want to know if I have a girlfriend, you could have just asked. No need to beat around the bush.”

His smile widens—he’s teasing.

Even half a lifetime of trying to remain invisible and blend in for self-preservation isn’t enough to kill my natural competitive nature. The part of me that thrives best when playing organized sports like soccer and led me to finish first at the top of my graduating class, has me ready to counter his comment with my own observation.

"Then why offer up your seats if I was already offered a place to sit? Is it because you want to see me sitting in your seats?” I ask, giving him the same smirk he gave me.

I shouldn’t be flirting back.

Nothing can come of this little banter back and forth because little does he know that being associated with me is dangerous for his career.