Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 105306 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 527(@200wpm)___ 421(@250wpm)___ 351(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105306 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 527(@200wpm)___ 421(@250wpm)___ 351(@300wpm)
Instead, Dallas laughs.
“Why are you laughing?” I huff. “And why are we just standing here? You asked me to come out here and—”
Suddenly, I’m pressed against his body, and the heat radiating is the first thing I notice besides his warm breath against my ear. “You’re so cute when you’re mad.”
“I’m not mad,” I argue. “I’m…I’m…” Not mad. I’m flustered and confused and want to be warm. I want to not be standing outside, want to be inside where it’s warmer even if that means climbing inside the cab of his truck—which he doesn’t even have running yet.
What is this, amateur hour?! Start the engine, man.
“Y-you’re what?” he whispers, and it’s not so busy that I can’t hear him, cars emptying the parking lot until their numbers dwindle.
“I’m cold.”
His large arms go around me, instantly warming my body but still not enough. “I’ll warm you up.”
I can’t help myself; I laugh.
Instead of melting or swooning like so many of my friends would, I laugh at Dallas Colter and his attempt to be suave and sexy.
It’s comedic at best because it’s out of character for him.
Sure, he has sex appeal because of the hard muscles and good-looking face, but Dallas is anything but. He’s rigid and serious and has to force himself not to scowl; therefore, it’s not my fault if I burst out giggling.
“You’re an asshole,” he grumbles, my nose pressed to his chest. “Do you know that?”
“Yes, I’m aware.”
His arms are still around me, my face still pressed against his pecs, cheek brushing the cool skin of his shoulder. When I tilt my head up to look in his eyes, he dips, lips pressing against mine.
It takes me by surprise, this kiss, but I’m up on my tiptoes before I can think it through, reveling in how warm his mouth is. Soft. Heated.
Warming me from head to toe.
My lips part to let his tongue slip inside, and I wonder what the hell I’m doing, what we’re doing. This isn’t what I came out here for, but is this why he invited me? We’re just friends—we’re not supposed to be making out in the parking lot after a game. It feels so very…
So very nostalgic.
I feel like I’m in high school again, kissing my boyfriend Rory after his football game in the dark parking lot by the locker rooms, his buddies trickling out a few at a time after their win. Rory’s inexperienced fumbling and overeager tongue had me squirming, not melting in a puddle at his feet.
But that’s nothing like kissing Dallas.
He knows what he’s doing, and I’m not sure if it’s because he’s kissed hundreds of girls or if it’s because we…fit?
A drop of rain falls on my forehead, and I look up, searching for more.
One hits my eyelash.
My cheek.
Dallas’s mouth kisses my jawline while I’m gazing at the sky, the forecast a surprise to me. Who knew we were expecting rain?
twenty-two
dallas
“Love at first sight is possible, but maybe you should take a second look.”
– Eli Cohen
Know what I want?
I want to keep kissing her in the rain until we’re both soaking wet, but Ryann is having none of it, blinking up at the sky, clearly not interested in being soaked to the bone. She’s already complained about being cold a few times; standing here to make out would only get her sick.
She grabs my arm. Yanks it, actually, pointing across the parking lot.
“Do you see that?”
“See what?” I don’t need to crane my head around because I’m a head taller than she is and I can see just fine.
“That guy.” She’s staring off into the distance, squinting as rain begins to pelt us harder. “I thought I saw him taking pictures.”
Yeah, I saw him too, but I won’t admit it. “In this rain?”
She nods, beads of water dripping from her hair. “Before that…”
I grab her hand and pull her over to my truck. “Why are we still standing here? Let’s go.”
She’s not easy to convince despite the wet weather, determined to drag me toward the man in the parking lot—a photographer, no doubt, if my suspicions serve me correctly.
Sopping wet, we’re finally in the truck, my rain-drenched T-shirt clinging to my body like a second skin ’cause I skipped wearing a coat and didn’t bother with long sleeves either.
Ryann’s puffy coat must be thirty pounds heavier having taken on all that water.
She pulls the hat off her head.
Ruffles her hair with her fingers, though that doesn’t do anything to smooth it down or straighten it out. Strands stick up every which way, hat head making it messy.
The ends of it are wet, obviously.
Shrugging out of her coat, she stuffs it at her feet, fussing with her sweatshirt and the rest of her outfit once she’s buckled in.
“So,” Ryann says at last.
Easing out of the parking lot, I tip my head to the dude in the yellow reflector vest, signaling me onto the street with his orange glowing stick, recognition lighting up his face when I give him a thank you wave.