The Penalty Box - Teagan Kade Page 0,11

happens. Casual, you know.”

Phoenix and Peyton, the dirty bastards, high-five across the table. “Oh, we know,” they reply, which earns them both elbows from their respective partners.

“So we’re not going to be adding another Mrs. King to the clan then?” asks my father, and I’d love to be sucked away into a nice big hole right about now.

“Slow, I said.”

That puts an end to it, the conversation turning to the Academy, Peyton drumming up one of his many war stories from the field.

I eat—eat and think. I told them it was casual, yes, but I get the feeling it could become a whole lot more if I let it. Linnea is unlike any girl I’ve been with before. We could become serious. That could happen, and maybe I want it to.

The more I play with the idea the more appealing it becomes. Linnea could be the one for me, that commitment unicorn I thought would never exist, but heck, here we are. I decide I need to get to know her—all of her, and not just sexually.

A sound plan, I tell myself. Question is, can you stick to it?

CHAPTER SIX

LINNEA

Tapping my pen against the paper isn’t getting this essay written any faster. Some have called me the queen of procrastination, but that’s just how I work. I perform when the pressure is on—not a week away from the due date.

A bing from my cell indicates a new, welcome distraction. I pretzel my legs underneath myself and cradle the phone in anticipation for a text from Nolan, but it’s from my father.

I read through it quickly. It appears he is summoning me to dinner Monday night, which has about as much chance happening as Northwestern winning the NCAA.

I delete the text and place the cell down next to my pen, getting off my chair and heading downstairs to where Mom’s busy working her way through all seventeen seasons of Grey’s Anatomy.

I jump over the lounge, landing next to her with my legs folded. “How’s McDreamy? He floating your boat tonight?”

She rolls her eyes. “If you’ve come to make fun of one of the finest actors of the twenty-first century, you can move right along, daughter.”

“I think Dwayne Johnson would like a word with you, mother,” I retort.

“Dwayne Johnson,” she laughs, “with his shelf of Oscars.”

I raise a finger. “And mountains of money, but seriously, Mom, when are you going to start dating again?”

“When all men aren’t selfish, arrogant pricks.”

I whistle. “All men are not Dad. You could find your McDreamy out there somewhere.”

“Hon,” she smiles gently. “I’m okay, but it seems like you’ve landed yourself something special. Don’t think I haven’t noticed.”

I play ignorant. “Who, me? Dating? No. You must have me confused with your other daughter, Esmeralda.”

“The one I keep in the cupboard and feed a steady diet of Pop Tarts?”

“Doesn’t sound so bad to me.”

I put my feet up on the coffee table, stretching out.

“Seriously?” says Mom. “Don’t you have homework to do?”

“I thought Grey’s provided all the life lessons you needed? Didn’t you tell me that once? ‘Always be open to love’? How does that one sound?”

“How about ‘trust your instincts when it comes to your health’?”

I pat myself down. “What’s wrong with my health?”

“Plenty if you don’t get off this sofa and let me watch my show in peace.”

“Fine,” I relent, swinging off the couch and heading to the kitchen. “But I’m making you a dating profile. It’s time we dusted off those cobwebs and got you laid.”

“Linnea!”

And god help me I can’t stop smiling.

When I arrive back upstairs with my Frankensandwich of mayo, mustard, tomato, baloney and peanut butter, I see another text waiting.

This one is from Nolan, telling me to meet him downstairs in five minutes.

Where are we going? I text back.

I get a winking emoji in return.

I shrug. “Booty call it is.”

*

It’s not a booty call—yet, but it is nice to be out with Nolan.

We turn down a dirt road heading into the large forest at the south end of town limits.

“You’re still not going to tell me where we’re going? I’ve seen Dexter. You don’t want to fuck with me, mister.”

“I’m sure you can handle yourself,” Nolan smiles, turning on the high beams. “But it’s nothing sinister, I promise. I’m saving the Satanic rites for our third date.”

A short while later I see light through the trees ahead, Nolan parking next to a line of cars in a clearing.

I hear music, see people dancing ahead, fairy-lights strung through the trees. “Whoa.”

“Come on,” he