On the Sideline (BSU Football #3) - J.B. Salsbury Page 0,22
hair and half asleep I hear something hit my window. I sit up, startled, and think maybe one of the snakes made the noise when it happens again. The distinct sound of pebbles hitting my window.
I crawl to the end of my bed and throw back the curtains. I can’t see anything. I grab my glasses and—holy shit. “Loren?” I whisper.
He waves at me from the parking lot where he’s crouched between Betty’s VW and Dana’s Mustang. He’s not waving at me so much as he’s waving for me to come down.
“Are you insane?”
He obviously can’t hear me so I hold up the universal sign for one-minute and then slide off the bed and into my flip flops. What the hell is he doing here at three o’clock in the morning? The house is quiet as I tiptoe down the hallway, stairs, and to the front door. My rubber soles smack on the concrete as I walk-jog around the corner and meet Loren there. “What the hell are you doing?”
“I needed to talk to you but I don’t have your number.”
“You couldn’t have waited until tomorrow?”
The corner of his mouth pulls up on the side. “It is tomorrow.”
“What do you want?”
He shifts uncomfortably, moving his weight from one foot to the next. “Can we go somewhere so I don’t have to whisper?”
“I’m in my pajamas.”
His gaze slips down my body making me highly aware of my silk sleeping shorts and my Hiss Off! shirt. “You look cute.”
Cute. There’s that word again. Awesome. “Come on, I know where we can go.”
I lead the way around the back of the house to the rose garden where a bench sits mostly hidden from view and far enough away that we can talk without being overheard. I sit on the bench, he stays standing.
“I need to ask you something.” He paces back and forth making me dizzy with the angle I have to careen my neck to look up at him. He has to be close to six-five.
I already know, so I answer his unspoken question. “I don’t know if Riley likes you. Honestly, we’re not that close, she doesn’t share those things with me.”
He stops pacing and looks down at me, eyebrows pinched.
“I don’t get it, I told you she hates garlic and sweat. If you like her so much why didn’t you listen to me?”
“Huh…” He shakes his head and takes the spot on the bench next to me. “You think I’m here to ask you about Riley.”
“Is that a question or…”
He tilts his head to look at me. His eyes look pale blue in the dark with nothing but the moon to light them. “I’m not here to talk about Riley.” His deep voice is almost a whisper and I find myself leaning in to listen.
“You’re not?”
“You’re telling me you don’t feel it?”
Feel it? I feel a lot of things.
“When we’re together?” He slides his hand toward me on the bench stopping just shy of my hand. “Do you feel it?”
I suck in a shuddered breath and press my thighs together.
“You feel it.” The deep timbre of his voice is like liquid sex.
“You’re a good looking guy.” I hate the shaky weakness in my voice. “Every girl feels something around you.”
“But I only feel something around you.”
I gasp and tell myself not to forget to breathe when he scoots closer, so close our thighs touch. “I don’t like jocks,” I blurt.
He must find that funny because he smiles. “I’d like to try and change that.”
“I have a boyfriend!”
His expression changes from playful to murderous in an instant. “Evan,” he spits. “Who is he?”
I blink rapidly at the sound of Evan’s name. “How do you know about Evan?”
“Does he go here? What’s his last name?”
“He doesn’t go here, and Zanderboughten and how do you know—”
“Riley told me.”
“How would she…huh.” I stare into the darkness in front of me. “I guess she does listen when I talk.”
“How long have you and Evan,” he says his name like it’s a venereal disease. “Been together?”
Huh? Um… “Four.”
“Four what? Months?”
“Four…” Years are too much, months is a lot, days are not enough. ”Weeks?”
“Are you asking me?” His eyes narrow.
“Four weeks.” I shrug, putting on an air of confidence I am not feeling.
“Where did you meet?”
“Online.”
“What is his favorite food?”
“I…I don’t know.”
“You’ve been dating for a month and you don’t know what he likes to eat.”
Good point. “Pad Thai.”
“Where did he grow up?”
“Georgia.”
He puts his hand on his chin. “Georgia, huh? Where in Georgia?
“I don’t remember.”
“What’s his