Curvy Girls Can't Date Quarterbacks - Kelsie Stelting Page 0,35
and music blended with the crash of the surf. It had a nice beat with something that sounded like steel drums in the background.
“What do you think?” he asked.
“I haven’t heard it before. It’s like a cool version ‘Under the Sea.’”
“It’s indie.”
I listened to the song for a minute, my heart racing out of tempo. “What about now?”
“If we’re going off last time, I think you still owe me a truth, Cupcake.”
A groan escaped my lips as I remembered the horrible event that led to one of the best nights ever. “What did you ask again?”
“I think it was most embarrassing date.”
“Oh.” I looked down at the drink in my hands, almost wishing the ground could swallow me up as easily as I did my birth control pills at night. “I haven’t been on a date.”
His mouth fell open, almost comically. “What? Really?”
My cheeks warmed. “Why do you look so surprised?”
He sat back, masking his expression. “I just...I don’t know why no one’s asked you out.”
I shook my head, so not wanting to go there. Self-deprecating why-would-guys-like-a-girl-like-me talk was definitely not sexy, even if it was accurate. “I guess that means I really do get a pass?”
“This time,” he agreed. “And I think it’s a dumb game anyway.”
“You do?”
He nodded. “Why don’t we just talk? I liked when we did that at the bakery.”
I didn’t need the fire. His words warmed me up way more effectively. I looked down at my hands folded over the blanket in my lap. “I liked that too.”
“I have a question for you,” he said. “Where would you go if you could go anywhere in the world?”
I glanced toward the stars that dotted the sky. “The Vatican. I want to see the Sistine Chapel.”
“Really? Anywhere in the world and you want to look at ancient paintings?”
With a shrug, I said, “I could go to a touristy place and take a selfie, or I could see thousands of years in a single second. That art, the amount of people who have seen it and been moved by it—it’s more amazing than anything I could imagine.”
“When you put it like that...” He nodded appreciatively. “I can see why.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” His smile softened, making my insides do the same. “I like older art anyway.”
“What do you mean?”
“Back then they accepted things as they were, found beauty in the everyday.”
“Aside from painting things that didn’t exist,” I teased.
With a laugh, he leaned forward, elbows on his knees. I found myself leaning closer too. “Think about the paintings,” he said. “They weren’t these airbrushed models holding themselves to ridiculous standards. The women were real.”
My heart fluttered. I’d never thought of ancient art like that, and the fact that Beckett had thought so much about it made me like him even more. But it got me thinking. “What’s your favorite thing you’ve ever taken a photo of?”
His hazel eyes caught mine, dark in the fire, and all the energy there transferred to me as he said, “You.”
My heart hammered like it was trying to leap out of my chest and touch his words where they hung between us, sizzling over the fire.
“Me?”
He nodded. “Your lips.” His fingers twitched in his lap like he wished he could touch them. I wished he would.
“Yeah?”
“They’re stunning.”
I absentmindedly brushed my finger over my mouth, each nerve ending sensitive, longing to feel his lips on mine. What if my first kiss was with Beckett Langley? With this strong, thoughtful guy sitting across from me?
“What’s your favorite thing you’ve ever painted?” he asked, breaking the tension.
With nervous tingles spreading through my chest, I made a decision. Wordlessly, I took my phone and thumbed to the watercolor I’d painted of us and extended it to him.
“Is that...” He left his question hanging, and I answered it with a nod.
Us. Kissing. Doing what everyone thought was impossible.
His lips pressed together, and for a second I was afraid he’d sneer at me, walk away, share what an embarrassment I’d made of myself with the entire school. But he didn’t do any of those things.
Instead, he shifted from his chair and got to his knees in the sand. Soon, he was kneeling in front of me, his eyes level with my own. He was coming closer. His breath smelled sweet, like he’d sampled something from the bakery.
I closed my eyes, waiting for the magic of his lips to mine, but was greeted with a ringing instead.
His phone was ringing.
Beckett swore under his breath, but I sat back, catching my own. His thumb