Offside by Kelly Jamieson Page B

forced himself to focus on what she
was saying.
    “I’m sorry, but you still seem
distracted,” she said a while later. “Do you want me to put this
all in an email to you?”
    “That’s a great idea,” he agreed.
“Perfect.”
    “It’s not that
complicated.”
    “I know.”
    “Okay, then I should get
going.”
    “No.” The word somehow just popped
out.
    She paused and gave him the side
eye.
    “Let’s get some dinner,” he suggested.
Fuck! What was he doing? All he knew was, he didn’t want her to
leave.
    “Oh, I don’t think…”
    “I’m hungry,” he said. “You probably
are too. Unless…you have other plans.” Christ, what if she had a
date?
    “Well, I…” Her hesitation told him
what he needed to know.
    “Great. I’ll see if we can get a table
in the restaurant.” He shoved back his chair without giving her a
chance to make up some excuse, and charged over to the hostess
station. A few words with the hostess and they were on the list for
the restaurant. “They said about ten minutes,” he told Honey back
at the table.
    “Oh.” She held her purse on her lap as
if she was ready to bolt. “Matt…”
    He sighed and put an elbow on the
table then set his forehead to his fist. “I know. Believe me, I
know every single reason we shouldn’t do this.” Without lifting his
head, he met her eyes. “What would you be doing if we weren’t
having dinner? Going out with some friends? Hitting some Beverly
Hills clubs?”
    “I don’t do the club scene anymore,”
she said quietly. “And I don’t have many friends left in L.A. After
being away at college for a few years, we haven’t really stayed in
touch. Well, the truth is, they were never that great of friends to
begin with. So. To answer your question, I’d be doing what I do
most Friday nights lately―eating dinner on my couch in front of my
TV, possibly giving my eleven-year old neighbor a manicure, or
knitting.”
    He lifted his head. “What the fuck?
Knitting?”
    “Yeah.” The corners of her mouth
lifted. “Knitting. I took it up as a hobby when I was in therapy. I
really like it. It’s very…soothing.”
    He gave his head a shake. “What do you
knit?”
    “Lots of things.”
    The waitress returned with their
drinks and he gratefully reached for the cold beer and took a big
gulp.
    “When I started, I made a lot of
scarves,” she said, switching out her empty wine glass for the full
one. “Some very crooked scarves. And afghans. Then I learned how to
make mitts.”
    “Not much call for mitts in
California,” he muttered.
    “True. I donate them all to charity,
though, so they go where they’re needed. I’ve knitted socks, and
baby clothes, and I’ve actually made a few sweaters.”
    This was fucking with his mind―the
image of Honey Holbrook, former wild child and half-naked Mustang Magazine model knitting baby booties.
    “It’s good to have a hobby,” she said.
“What about you? Don’t you have some hobby you do in your spare
time?”
    He took another big swallow of beer.
“Huh. Not for a while. My favorite activities are all pretty
physical.”
    Their eyes locked again. And shit, he
could tell that their minds had both gone the same
direction.
    “You know,” he said quickly.
“Swimming, water skiing, lifting weights. Beach
volleyball.”
    “You used to like video
games.”
    “Yeah. I still do, I guess. I got sick
of that when I was in the hospital and there wasn’t much else to
do. I was anxious to get moving again.”
    “That must have been a hard
time.”
    He nodded. “Knitting.
Jesus.”
    She grinned. And fuck, the way it
illuminated her whole face, brown eyes lighting up, white teeth
flashing, made him feel like all the air had been sucked out of the
room. “You’re having a hard time with that, aren’t you?”
    He smiled too. “I guess. Just having a
hard time picturing you back when you were nineteen sitting around
knitting socks.”
    “Nineteen-year-old me wouldn’t have
done that,” she