Play On - Michelle Smith Page 0,31
me in the eye. “That’s the biggest bunch of BS I’ve ever heard,” I tell her. “Every girl has issues. Hell, so does every guy. Anyone who says they don’t is lying through their teeth.”
Her cheeks flush. She blinks quickly. My heart lurches because, God, I better not have made this girl cry. I take her hand and back away, holding my arm up. The corner of her mouth twitches as she spins, her cheeks returning to normal. And there are no tears. Dodged that one.
“Is that right?” she says, beginning to sway again. “So what’s your issue?”
My feet are killing me, but I refuse to let her go. I’d dance around this shop ’til daylight if she wanted. “My biggest issue,” I say, leaning down to her ear, “is that I’m trying to decide whether or not friends can kiss each other.”
She winces. “You shouldn’t want to kiss me.”
Ouch. Did she have to wince? I mean, is the thought of kissing me actually painful? ’Cause that’s brutal. Forcing the biggest smile I can, I ask, “And why’s that?”
“You deserve so much better than me.”
Huh. So people do drop that line. “I see. We’re really going with, ‘it’s not you, it’s me’?”
She giggles as we come to another standstill, but there’s something under that giggle—something nervous, something unsure. I should probably regret even asking, but you only regret the chances you don’t take. She’s a chance worth taking.
She takes a step back, lacing her fingers together. “Here’s the thing,” she says. “I think that sometimes, people get so caught up in a moment that a kiss feels right. And even though both people really, really want it to happen, the time isn’t right.”
I gape at her. “Congratulations. You just put more thought into a kiss than anyone in the history of ever.”
She shrugs. “Maybe people should think more about them. Then so many hearts wouldn’t be broken.”
That actually makes a lot of sense.
“I like you,” she says with a tiny smile, and my heart slams against my chest. “I won’t even try to lie about that. You’re fun, and you’re sweet, and you’re, well, kind of hot.” She rolls her eyes. “Oh my God, don’t give me that look.”
“What look?” I ask, smirking. “You just called me hot. How am I supposed to look?”
She shakes her head, but her smile grows even more. “You’re also a good friend, and friends are safer. Right now, I need safe. I need a friend.” She takes a deep breath. “So can we do the friend thing?”
Safe is good. Friends are good. It’s better to be safe than sorry and all that. And getting slammed into the friend zone kind of sucks—okay, it really sucks—but I’d rather have her as a friend than not at all. “We can absolutely do the friend thing.”
She exhales with a huge grin. The next song on my playlist starts up, and she holds her hand out for mine. “Friends can dance, right?”
“If so, then I’ll be the best damn friend you’ve ever had.” I grab her hand and pull her back to me. She bites her lower lip, looking up at me through those long lashes. I swear, the girl turns me to goo every time. And that’s why I can’t resist saying, “Happy Valentine’s Day, Marisa.”
That smile of hers returns as she rocks to the music. Her cheeks flush again, making her skin nearly as red as her shirt. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”
It’s a little terrifying, how one person can knock you clean off your feet before you even saw her coming. It’s also pretty freakin’ awesome.
chapter ten
Momma and I went to church this morning, like we do every Sunday. I took her home and drove off to meet the guys at The Strike Zone, also like I do every Sunday. When I came home, I found Momma locked in her room. Through her closed door, she told me that she needed some time alone. So without another word, I grabbed my keys and walked right back out of the house. I wasn’t touching that with a ten-foot pole.
See, today would’ve been my parents’ anniversary.
I wish there was something I could do to help. I wish I could suck it up and talk to her about what happened because I’m sure she does need to talk. Dad was her best friend. He was mine, too, for a long time. But that doesn’t mean I can forget what he did. He left us here alone.
The worst part of it