“Now, are you gonna let me end this date with a kiss or do I have to steal one again?”
Her eyebrows shoot up. “Why, are you asking me if you can kiss me?”
“Right now? Yes. In five seconds, it might be a whole other story.”
Leah laughs, and I’m starting to think that I really fucking like that sound. She rests her hand on my waist and leans up onto her tiptoes, tilting her face up. Her lips press against mine, soft and sweet, the sugary taste of the cotton candy she was eating an hour ago still lingering on her mouth.
“Night, cowboy,” she whispers, stepping away and opening the front door.
“Night, babe.” I walk backward toward my car, not taking my eyes off her, because how the fuck am I supposed to? How am I supposed to look anywhere other than at the girl who’s edging her way under my skin?
“Hey, Corey?” she calls from the doorway.
“What?” I spin, my hand on my car door.
A small smile appears on her face, one that lights up her eyes. “Check your call log.”
I look down and scroll to the log, and sure enough, the last call is from Leah. My eyes go to the door, but its shut and she’s inside. I bring up my messages and text her instead.
Looks like I finally got your cell number.
Wrong. I got your number. SUCKER.
A laugh bursts from me as I get in my car. When did you do that? I reply before driving. It takes me two minutes to get to my house, and when I do, she’s already replied.
When you went to the bathroom at lunch. Can I give you some advice?
You can.
Don’t leave your phone around a girl you’re trying to pull, especially if she shoots better than you. If she can do that, she can probably pull better too.
You’re not letting me live that down, are you?
Never. In fact, I’m probably better than you at most things. All you have on me is throwing a football, and I’m probably pretty close there, too.
I smirk and lock my door behind me. We’ll see, Leah. We’ll see.
I went on a date in public. With a very public, very hot guy. And it isn’t all over the papers.
Well, it is. The front page of the L.A. Reporter is a large picture of us at lunch. The photo was taken from behind me, but you can see Corey’s face well enough. And the accompanying headline?
DISNEY DATE FOR THE VIPER KING! IS HIS BITE LOSING ITS STING?
I laugh at it. I have to. He has a soft side. I saw it. The way he held me close to him in that damn haunted house when I was terrified for my life—quite literally, I might add—melted my heart just a little. It warmed a part of me toward him because it proved that he’s not all asshole and dickhead. Although that part is warmed, it’s still wary.
Because I have no idea what’s his game and what isn’t.
And that little part of me, the part that likes him, is vulnerable. I’m aware of it, that slither of a ‘maybe he’s not playing you.’
It breaks through into the rest of my body, and it’s a fight inside to keep that maybe away from the almost certainty that he is.
I don’t want to fall for him. I don’t even want to trip. Hell, I don’t want to freakin’ stumble.
It’s too risky. And not even for my job. That doesn’t matter—not when my heart is involved. My job is my world, the one thing I live for, and the secrecy that shrouds it controls every part of my life. It isn’t my heart though. It isn’t even close. My heart is the gentle, regular beat of every day, waiting, just waiting, for the person worth pounding for. It’s waiting for the person worth thumping against my ribs for.
He could be it, but I doubt it. To be a heart-pounder, you have to be trustworthy, and I wasn’t kidding when I told him that I wouldn’t trust him as far as I could throw him.
I pull the pin from between my teeth and secure the waist of the dress on the mannequin in front of me. “Yes. That’s right,” I tell Quinn. “I always saw it with the mocha scarf, not the mahogany one.”
“Right,” he replies down the phone. “And the
Her eyebrows shoot up. “Why, are you asking me if you can kiss me?”
“Right now? Yes. In five seconds, it might be a whole other story.”
Leah laughs, and I’m starting to think that I really fucking like that sound. She rests her hand on my waist and leans up onto her tiptoes, tilting her face up. Her lips press against mine, soft and sweet, the sugary taste of the cotton candy she was eating an hour ago still lingering on her mouth.
“Night, cowboy,” she whispers, stepping away and opening the front door.
“Night, babe.” I walk backward toward my car, not taking my eyes off her, because how the fuck am I supposed to? How am I supposed to look anywhere other than at the girl who’s edging her way under my skin?
“Hey, Corey?” she calls from the doorway.
“What?” I spin, my hand on my car door.
A small smile appears on her face, one that lights up her eyes. “Check your call log.”
I look down and scroll to the log, and sure enough, the last call is from Leah. My eyes go to the door, but its shut and she’s inside. I bring up my messages and text her instead.
Looks like I finally got your cell number.
Wrong. I got your number. SUCKER.
A laugh bursts from me as I get in my car. When did you do that? I reply before driving. It takes me two minutes to get to my house, and when I do, she’s already replied.
When you went to the bathroom at lunch. Can I give you some advice?
You can.
Don’t leave your phone around a girl you’re trying to pull, especially if she shoots better than you. If she can do that, she can probably pull better too.
You’re not letting me live that down, are you?
Never. In fact, I’m probably better than you at most things. All you have on me is throwing a football, and I’m probably pretty close there, too.
I smirk and lock my door behind me. We’ll see, Leah. We’ll see.
I went on a date in public. With a very public, very hot guy. And it isn’t all over the papers.
Well, it is. The front page of the L.A. Reporter is a large picture of us at lunch. The photo was taken from behind me, but you can see Corey’s face well enough. And the accompanying headline?
DISNEY DATE FOR THE VIPER KING! IS HIS BITE LOSING ITS STING?
I laugh at it. I have to. He has a soft side. I saw it. The way he held me close to him in that damn haunted house when I was terrified for my life—quite literally, I might add—melted my heart just a little. It warmed a part of me toward him because it proved that he’s not all asshole and dickhead. Although that part is warmed, it’s still wary.
Because I have no idea what’s his game and what isn’t.
And that little part of me, the part that likes him, is vulnerable. I’m aware of it, that slither of a ‘maybe he’s not playing you.’
It breaks through into the rest of my body, and it’s a fight inside to keep that maybe away from the almost certainty that he is.
I don’t want to fall for him. I don’t even want to trip. Hell, I don’t want to freakin’ stumble.
It’s too risky. And not even for my job. That doesn’t matter—not when my heart is involved. My job is my world, the one thing I live for, and the secrecy that shrouds it controls every part of my life. It isn’t my heart though. It isn’t even close. My heart is the gentle, regular beat of every day, waiting, just waiting, for the person worth pounding for. It’s waiting for the person worth thumping against my ribs for.
He could be it, but I doubt it. To be a heart-pounder, you have to be trustworthy, and I wasn’t kidding when I told him that I wouldn’t trust him as far as I could throw him.
I pull the pin from between my teeth and secure the waist of the dress on the mannequin in front of me. “Yes. That’s right,” I tell Quinn. “I always saw it with the mocha scarf, not the mahogany one.”
“Right,” he replies down the phone. “And the
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