Page 28 of Late to Love

She snorts as she crumples the can and buries it in her tote. “No, Darcy.Daddy.Anthony Hall.”

My cheeks burn as I look for something else to do. “Oh.”

She cackles now, pointing at my blush. “Yeah—oh. So, tell me how that’s going along.”

I groan and cover my face, my hands muffling my voice. “Absolutely nothing is going on.”

“Still?”

“Still.”

She sighs. “When is he going to stop being all uppity about it and bang you?”

I laugh. “It’s not all about being banged.” Even as I say it, the words surprise me. It’s not?

“Sure it is. That man is fine as hell, and even though older men aren’t my thing, we both know that he could do some serious damage to your uterus.”

I pull my hair out of the elastic so I can re-twist it to the very top of my head. “I don’t even know where to start with all that.”

“Oh, shit. You like him, don’t you?”

I hesitate. Do I? Oh no.

Amanda points at me. “Oh, my God. Youdo. It’s more than just wanting to bang him, isn’t it?”

I hang my head, realization slamming into me. “I’m so down bad for him, it’s stupid.”

Amanda pats my leg reassuringly. “Then I think you need to go after him, my love.”

“I don’t think he wants me.”

“After everything you’ve told me, how could he not? Of course he does. You just have to convince him that the age thing isn’t a big deal.”

“I’m pretty sure I can get him to sleep with me—that’s not the problem.”

“Then make it happen!”

Shaking my head, I twist and untwist the cap of my water bottle. “I want more than that, Amanda. I think. I don’t know.” I groan. “What if he’s so good at it that I get addicted?”

“You should be so lucky,” Amanda says with a laugh, rolling her eyes. “Now excuse me while I go flirt with the easy, uncomplicated boys over there.” She stands, then sashays over to where some guys around our age have set up a tent.

In moments, she’s got the invite for us to join them, and I do. There’s no reason that my angst over Anthony should stop my friend from getting her flirt on.

“Hey, gorgeous,” one of them says. He’s wearing an Auburn hat turned backwards, his bare chest golden and taut. He wears a gold chain around his neck, and his grin would normally devastate me with how hot it is.

“What’s your name?” I ask him.

“Derrick,” he answers.

I smile. “Derrick. You’re cute.”

His grin widens as he swaggers closer. “So are you.”

I step back and hold a hand up. “And I’m not interested.”

He quirks a brow. “You sure?”

“Roll Tide, Derrick,” I deadpan, letting him know with that one phrase that my loyalty is with the University of Alabama and not Auburn.

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