Page 7 of The Promposal

Jake sat down next to me, a playful glint in his eye as he responded to my teasing. “You love the Dodgers as much as I do.”

True, but I loved giving him a hard time even more. “Baseball is civilized and makes sense. This is just ...” I held my hand out toward the massive flat-screen. “Dudes tackling other dudes for fun.”

“You know, guys aren’t the only people we like to tackle.”

“Oh?” My pulse kicked into overdrive given the predatory look in his gorgeous eyes.

Without warning, he playfully knocked me back, pinning me against the couch.

I did not mind one bit.

He kissed me then, long and hard and with an unhurried deliberation. Waves of heat spiraled through me with each movement of his mouth.

When he finally stopped, I struggled to catch my breath. “I hope you don’t do that with the opposing team,” I murmured.

Jake pressed a soft kiss against my cheek. “Most definitely not.” He lifted up his arm and checked his watch. “My parents will be home in half an hour. I should turn off the game, and we should ...” He used his lips to finish his sentence.

If he paused his game, he’d make me watch the rest later. “Maybe leave the game on. Muted.”

His eyes narrowed at me. “Do you know how much I’ll miss in half an hour?”

“Yep. Fifteen seconds of actual game time.”

Shaking his head, Jake did as I asked. He left the game on but turned off the sound. I knew that once the real kissing commenced, all brain functions would cease. While I was still desperate for him to launch his promposal, I also still wondered about his weird phone call and how he hadn’t driven me to school. How he’d missed Ella’s meeting. Or how he’d seemed distant the whole day. Why he’d spent the last two hours with me, in an empty house, watching a football game instead of doing something ... more fun.

“Before we proceed, I wanted to thank you for taking me to the building last night.” Even if it had been a staph infection waiting to happen. “I’m glad you figured out what you want to do with your life.”

Jake trailed his fingers up my right arm, and my goose bumps became goose hills. “Me too. I’d been spending a lot of time lately trying to think of what I loved most. I didn’t want to go to school and flounder around with my classes and waste time. And since I can’t major in you ...” His hand moved up to my hair, and he gently pushed a strand from my face, making me sigh happily.

“I don’t know,” I countered. “You’d still have a lot of classes to take. Like Things I Like 201 and Favorite Manga 312.”

His lips nibbled at my earlobe, and I had to close my eyes against the sensation onslaught. “I’m pretty sure I could test out of those classes.”

“O-oh?”

“Mm-hmm.” He brushed his lips against my cheek. “Especially the things you like.” He showed this to be true with another long, limb-drugging kiss. “In fact, I think I already have a PhD in Matilda Lowe.”

I had a really clever and witty response. But all I could think about was that my Jake had returned, proving his degree-worthy status to be true by kissing me into mindless oblivion. I had to stop making mountains out of molehills. People were allowed to have off days. Right now, we were ourselves, and we were fine.

Then his lips burned against my neck, and my brain turned completely off.

When I arrived home later, Ella arched a single eyebrow at me as she took in my appearance. With a smirk, she asked, “And just what have you been up to?”

“Shut up,” I tried to grumble, but couldn’t keep the perma-grin off my face.

She was carrying three sodas, and I followed her to see where she was going. She went into my dad’s poker room where she, my father, and Jennifer were playing Scrabble at his professional poker table. I couldn’t remember the last time he’d had his buddies over to play. Whatever free time he had he now devoted to us or to his girlfriend. And because he was a world-famous/celebrated/renowned artist, he didn’t have much free time to begin with.

“Hey, sweetie,” my dad said, tapping his finger while he waited for Jennifer to take her turn. “Or should I say, Miss Happy O’Smiles? Where’s the moody teenager who lives down the hall from me?”

“Ha-ha.” I smiled other times. I did. Nobody needed to make such a big deal about it.

He pushed out a chair for me at the table, and I sat down.

“Do you want to join in?”

“No thanks. I’m not interested in homework disguised as a board game.”

My dad smiled and rearranged a couple of his tiles. “How’s school?”

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