Page 96 of Love, Rekindled

Shit. Why’d I say that?

I’m not good with girls. Like, yeah, they come to me because I’m an athlete and they want to say they’ve been with a guy from the team, but that doesn’t mean I’m that dude who says the right things or knows how to flirt.

Instead of responding to my awkward statement, she stares back at me, blinking long lashes before turning onto her back.

“Look how bright the stars are tonight,” she says, biting her bottom lip and watching me from the corner of her eye.

I ease down on the blanket beside her, careful not to let any of our body parts touch. I fold my hand under my head and consider the sky.

“Up here,” I say, “they feel really close and bright.”

“It’s the quarter moon. Less moon, brighter stars. When there’s a lot of moonlight, it hides them. Dims them.”

Over the next hour or so, the noise below grows thinner as cars pull off and the guys leave. I keep holding my breath and stealing glances at the stairs, like someone will come up here any minute and make us stop, but no one comes, and we keep talking. She has this way of looking at the world that feels a lot like mine. She’s filled with subtle ambition, too. Her brother’s ambition blares in every room he enters, like a trumpet. Her hopes and dreams are quieter, but no less sure. I want to see where this girl will go because I think it will be far. Probably beyond my reach. I may only have these moments to know her.

It’s a strange night. It feels out of time, like we’ve known each other for a century or more and the rhythm of the conversation is something we’re resuming, not just beginning. Not something that will end. As it gets chilly, she pulls the corner of the blanket up over her legs, and I do the same. We’re rolled up, and it pushes us closer together.

“We’re an egg roll.” She giggles.

I love her laugh. Low and breathy or when she’s surprised into it, big, chasing away reservations. She gives her whole self to it, throwing back her head and once even slapping her knee. I wish I was funnier and had made her laugh more tonight. I don’t havelines. I enjoy a good conversation—the kind that makes you think about who you are and get to know someone else. The kind that makes you laugh at yourself and want to make someone else laugh over and over because in just a few hours, you’ve grown addicted to the sound.

I glance at my watch and swallow a curse.

“It’s later than I thought. Coach’ll kill me if I’m not ready tomorrow. Even though I’ll probably ride the bench all night. Cliff’s gonna play every minute he can with all those scouts at the game there to see him, but I gotta be ready.”

“I hope you get some time to play, too.” She frowns. “It’s the last game of the season. It’s not fair if you don’t getsometime on the court.”

“It doesn’t work like that. Besides, like I said, I may still get some looks for football.”

“I hope so.” She hesitates, bites down on her bottom lip before rushing on. “Maybe you could call me sometime, or…” She shakes her head and blows out a quick breath. “You don’t have to. It’s not like?—”

“I will call you,” I cut in. “I don’t know where things are headed after this year, but we could stay in touch.”

She beams, and that smile outshines the moon and the stars. “Yeah, I’d like that too.”

I can’t leave without…something. I want to touch her, to kiss her, but that might be weird. I’m still trying to figure out what move I should make when she makes it for me. She leans over and kisses my cheek. It’s a friendly gesture, but as soon as her mouth touches my skin, the small flicker of heat that has simmered inside ever since I laid eyes on her in that tiny top and those tight jeans roars to full flame. I turn my head, kissing the corner of her mouth. She stills, her wide eyes searching my face. Without looking away, her tongue darts out to lick my bottom lip. I groan, cupping her head in my hand, dipping to suck her bottom lip and then the top. She pushes closer under the blanket, pressing into my chest, straining up to open my lips with hers.

“Takira,” I whisper, sharing a breath with her. “We should stop.”

“No.” She shakes her head, kissing my chin and touching my cheekbone. “Kiss me again.”

I can’t resist her, especially not when the lust, the desire I’ve been feeling for her all night is so clearly reciprocated in her eyes, in the way she touches me. I kiss the fragile line of her collarbone and suck at the satiny, sweet-smelling skin of her throat. My lips coast up to the small cleft in her chin. I notch my tongue into that little indentation, and she laughs, shifting her head to kiss me again.

This time it’s deeper, hotter. My hands wander down to her ass. It looked so good in these jeans, but in my hands—God, my dick is so hard. She touches me through my jeans, and I pull away from the kiss to draw in a deep breath.

“Takira,” I pant. “Don’t do that. I won’t be able to…I want to…”

She places my hand on her chest, looking at me and not breaking the stare. Her breast is soft and spills over the edges of my hand. I squeeze, and she moans, her eyes drifting closed as she leans deeper into my palm. I brush my finger across the nipple, and it goes hard.

“That feels good,” she gasps. “Keep doing it.”

With one hand, I knead her breast. The other hand wanders down her back, palming her ass, cupping her hip. Turned on her side, she opens her legs, resting her knee on my thigh and biting my earlobe, then soothing, sucking it into her mouth.

“You can touch me,” she whispers, guiding my hand between her legs.

Even through the denim, I can feel that she’s hot there.

“You sure?” I ask, frowning. “We don’t have to.”

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