I’m glad those guys from Romeoville don’t recognize me. We played them this year and beat them 21–20 in the first round of the playoffs. A fight broke out between our players after I’d kicked the field goal to win the game. Police were called in to break it up.
Derek waves a hand in front of my face. “Stop lookin’ at other guys when you’re with me.”
“I’m not looking at other guys.”
“I’m not an idiot, Ashtyn. Every two seconds you’re checkin’ out the football players at that table behind me. Obviously you’ve got a thing for jocks.”
“I do not. They’re . . . rivals. I just hope they don’t recognize me.”
“Then stop lookin’ at ’em and pay attention to your date.”
“This isn’t a date.”
“What would Bree say if she knew you and I were out on a date?”
“Bree?” He laughs. “She just wanted to hook up. Nothin’ more than that.”
I don’t want to know how much he hooked up with Bree. I don’t like guys who think they’re God’s gift to girls and have no goals except to get with as many girls as possible, which is the definition of Derek Fitzpatrick. So why do I like being here with him, trying to one-up him on the witty comment scale? The guy makes stupid jokes and doesn’t take anything seriously—especially his relationships with girls. I mean, who thinks of taking a girl on a date to learn synchronized trampolining?
Not that this is a date. It’s not. It’s paying for a lost bet, nothing more. Sure, Derek’s pretending it’s a real date, but that’s only because he likes playing games. Taking me out is just another game to him, another way for him to amuse himself.
When Tracie brings the corn fritters piled up in a little white ceramic bowl, I sample one. I swear the fritter practically melts in my mouth, perfectly warm and sweet. It’s everything Tracie said it would be and more.
I pop one after another into my mouth while Derek watches me with those electric blue eyes.
“You have to try one,” I tell him. Tracie brings a second helping after I’ve devoured the first.
“No, thanks.”
“They’re amazing, Derek. Seriously addictive.”
I lean across the table and hold up a fritter. “Try it. It’s fresh, and has corn in it. Consider it a vegetable, surrounded by tasty goodness.”
He looks at the fritter, then at me. “You eat it.”
When I see it’s useless, I pop it into my mouth. No need to waste a good fritter on someone who won’t appreciate it.
Tracie brings the rest of our meal. Derek takes a bite of chicken and moans. “This is the way chicken should taste.”
I’m surprised Derek enjoys the chicken as much as he does. He even reaches over and grabs the wing off my plate when I mention that I’m stuffed and can’t eat another bite. It makes me think of Trey and Monika, who share food all the time. Landon and I never shared food.
Okay. I admit it. This night does feel like a date. When we were on the trampoline holding hands, I couldn’t look him in the eye. Derek has strong, capable hands that mow lawns and fix old sheds with rusty hammers. My heart skipped a beat when he almost fell on top of me on the trampoline and I could feel his body close to mine. When we jumped in sync, I felt a connection. I know it sounds ridiculous, and I’m sure Derek would laugh if I mentioned it, but I could sense when he was going to jump without even having to look at him.
After dinner, he drives back home.
I don’t make eye contact when he parks in our driveway, because I might be tempted to lean in and kiss him. “I had a really . . . interesting time tonight.” I don’t want to tell him the truth . . . that tonight was the first night in a long time I forgot to be depressed.
I’m super confused and emotional. I don’t want to do anything I’ll regret. I open the door, but Derek reaches over to stop me from getting out.
“Wait!” he says. “I wanted to give you somethin’ . . .” He reaches into the backseat and grabs a football. “Here. It’s signed by the ’92 Dallas Cowboys. It’s even got Aikman’s signature.”
My fingers trace the signatures. I’m holding a piece of Texas history. “How’d you get this?”
He shrugs. “My grandmother sent it for my birthday a while back.”
“This is really cool, Derek. You should keep it.”
“I want you to have it.”
I give him a big hug. “Thanks, Cowboy.”
I intend to pull away immediately, but when he hugs me back I find myself closing my eyes and lingering in his warm embrace. I’ve wanted this. I’ve waited for this. My heart is beating fast and I feel out of breath with his strong hands on my back.
I lean back slowly. Our gazes lock. His eyes practically shine in the dark.
His gaze moves down to my lips. “I want to kiss you so bad right now.”
“Do you usually ask a girl, or do you just do it?”
“Usually I just do it.”
The words come out without my brain contemplating the consequences. “So what are you waiting for?”
The side of his mouth quirks up, but it’s not from cockiness. I think he’s shocked that I haven’t punched him in the face or left the car. I’m challenging him. His hand cups the back of my neck, his thumb slightly caressing my sensitive skin. Oh, I am in so much trouble right now because I want this so bad.
My breath hitches when Derek leans forward. I wet my lips with the tip of my tongue, eager to see what it feels like to have his lips pressed against mine.
His breathing is ragged. “Damn, that’s sexy.”
I smile wide. “You know we shouldn’t play games like this.” My teasing lips are a whisper away from his.
“I know. This is a really bad idea,” he agrees, but doesn’t seem to want to retreat.
“You better be as good at this as you think you are.”
“I’m good, Sugar Pie.”
I move back just the slightest bit, knowing I should protect myself and run into the house, but I want to continue to play the game. He wants this to be a game, so I’m playing it the only way I know how. I know guys like Derek. They like challenges and the cat and mouse game.
Time to play the mouse.
“Wait.” I place a hand on his chest. I feel the muscles beneath his shirt and the fast pounding of his heart. “Our kissing styles probably aren’t compatible.”
“Try me,” he whispers, then moves in and places slow, thoughtful little kisses on my lips. I fight the urge to moan. Those little kisses are meant to drive me insane. And they are. Damn him!
“Umm. . . .”
His tongue traces the line between my lips.
“And that?”
That’s it. I’m definitely going all in for this now. I grab the back of his neck and pull him closer so we’re full-on kissing and my lips are crushing against his and he feels so different and good and my body is starting to turn into liquid fire . . .
His lips urge mine open. His hot slippery tongue searches for mine. Our tongues mingle in a sexy dance. I like this way too much.
“I think we’re compatible,” he groans against my mouth.
“You think?” I’m panting and wanting this to last longer.
“Maybe we should keep doing it, just to make sure.” His hand reaches up and he slowly slides the ponytail holder out of my hair, which falls around my shoulders. “Hey,” he says. “Why are your eyes closed?”
I shrug.
“Look at me, Ashtyn. I don’t want to be some faceless guy.”
I open my eyes. His lips glisten in the faint light from the porch.
“You’re like a warrior princess, you know that?” He gently swipes my hair out of my face. “So beautiful.” The moment is too intense and feels so real. It doesn’t feel like a game, even though I know it is. It’s confusing my already raw emotions, which is exactly what he wants.
“Are you being serious?”
My question has lots of implications, because if he’s serious, that means the game-playing is over.
He hesitates, then leans back in the driver’s seat. “You should know me by now. I don’t take anything seriously.”
“That’s what I thought.”
“In fact,” he adds, “I was hopin’ you’d let me take a pic of you and me makin’ out so I can post it on the Internet and piss off your ex-boyfriend. How about it?”
A picture to post on the Internet? I almost got sucked into spilling all my feelings to Derek, when all along this was just a joke to him. I’m the punch line.
“How about this nondate being officially over.” I push him away and rush out of the car as I vow never to play kissing games with Derek Fitzpatrick again.