Page 54 of The Dating Game

Plus, Taylor Swift sort of made high school love cool again with her song of the same name.

For his part Will looks nonplussed by the display of teenage theatrics (and I am including my own behavior in that phrasing). Sure, one corner of his mouth pops up and his eyes are dancing as they land on mine, but the man shows zero signs of being embarrassed.

It’s extremely off putting given the fact that being unembarrassable is usually my thing!

Not withWill, though.

Nope, with him embarrassing myself seems to be as inevitable as my next breath.

“Okay then,” he says in his deep voice. “I’ll be sure to remember that you weren’t talking about me or who you want to kiss.”

My eyes are on him as I answer, and I’m studiously ignoring the incessant giggling erupting like molten lava around the table behind me. “Be sure you do remember that.” I jut my chin up defiantly, letting one ear dip toward my shoulder. Then, because the intense way he’s staring at me just made my mouth go dry, I grab hold of my water glass for a sip—and promptly pour it down the front of my shirt instead of into my mouth.

My ensuing gasp is so loud I’m sure the entire mess hall heard it. But what’s truly crazy is that despite the coldness of the water I’m still overheating from my mortification.

“Oh, wow, Brooke, let me help you,” Will says hastily, reaching past me for napkins off the table. He starts to bring them toward my shirt, then at the last second seems to think better of patting my chest with a bunch of 1-ply napkins and simply hands them to me. The only small consolation I feel as I dab at my own chest with the non-absorbent, but apparently easily dissolvable, napkins is that at least he’s finally showing signs of embarrassment. His cheeks have a pinkish color I’ve not seen on them before, and he keeps clearing his throat.

“This isn’t helping much,” I say, holding up the sodden mess and eyeing my lavender shirt, now covered in napkin pill. “I’d better just go change.”

“Yeah, okay. Sure.” Will nods. “You should do that. Go ahead.”

I hear another snort giggle behind me, but can’t identify the source. I give Will one last nod and head off, thinking as I do that at least Will and I have managed to douse any fantastical notions about romance the girls might have with a healthy dose of reality. Falling in love isn’tall sunshine and rainbows. There’s a lot of fumbling and blundering along the way too.

Not, I sternly correct myself, as I rip my wet shirt off and trade it for a new one, that I’m falling in love with Will.

When I fall in love it will be with a guy who thinks I hung the moon and the stars, not one who’s already seen my star fall.

Chapter 21

Will

I’mlastoutofthe church the next morning, busy thanking the pastor for the hospitality and doing a final sweep of the gym and basement for left behind belongings. I asked Tim, one of the other chaperones, to do the headcount for me, so once I step onto that bus we’re ready to go.

Nervous energy pulses through me as I approach the bus to climb aboard. I haven’t seen much of Brooke since the water incident last night. I led the worship service, then most of the games I planned were guys versus girls and didn’t allow space for one-on-one conversation. Although even if they had allowed for it, I’m still not sure we would’ve gotten to talk since it turns out that Brooke is super competitive, which was unbelievably attractive—especially when she led the girls’ team in a victory conga line after they beat us in capture the flag.

Then this morning breakfast was staggered to allow each group more use of the church’s bathrooms, so I haven’t even seen her yet today. But now, now I’m about to get on this bus and spend the remaining seven hours of driving with her. Seven hours during whichI am going to have to force myself not to think about whether or not Brooke actually did tell those girls she wants to kiss me.

It’s incredibly stupid how much I’m dwelling on this. It’s like being around all of these teenagers is already rubbing off on me. Next I’ll be passing Brooke a note asking her to check yes or no or asking her if she wants to hold my hand on the way to class.

Man, I would love to hold her hand.

“Uh, Will?” The bus driver, Pat, looks at me uncertainly, and I realize I’ve been standing at the base of the stairs for a long time. “You coming on?”

“Oh yeah. Just going through my mental checklist,” I say quickly. “Making sure I’m not forgetting anything.”

“Oh sure, sure.” Pat nods. “Sorry to disturb you then.”

“No disruption at all,” I assure him, then hurry to ascend the stairs.

The sight that greets me is nothing like I could have anticipated. I purposely don’t look right at where I’m expecting Brooke to be sitting, and as my eyes peruse the bus behind our row all I see is head after head of braided hair and smiling face after smiling face. The last face I settle on is Brooke’s. She’s got the same hairstyle as all of the other females on the bus: two French braided pigtails that end in ponytails behind their head. It’s a very teenage hairstyle and yet it works on her. Though in truth, I think she’d be hard-pressed to find a hairstyle that didn’t work on her.

Her back is turned, talking to the girl sitting behind her, but she must feel the weight of my stare because as my gaze stays on her she turns and a smile blossoms on her face. That smile has me marching down the aisle toward her like a moth to a flame.

“Morning,” she says with a wave. “I saved you a seat.Hope that’s okay.”

“I was hoping you would,” I say honestly. I scan her face, as I add, “I like your hair.”

“Oh, this?” she says with a laugh, grabbing the end of one of her pigtails. “Cute, right? The girls had some time to kill this morning after breakfast so I suggested we make a hair circle.”

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