Page 15 of The Riley Effect

“You clearly don’t know my mom,” I say sarcastically, considering we just met. “She would have kicked my ass if I ever waited for a date in the car.” The corners of her mouth move slightly, forming something of a shy smile.

I place my hand on her back to guide her toward my car. I am happy to be a step behind her because even though I am the only one who knows it, I smile when I see she is wearing sneakers again. I love that she doesn’t wear heels like every other girl on campus. For someone who seems so shy and desperate to fit in, she dresses unlike the girls I’m used to seeing around Jasper’s, in clothes that leave little to the imagination. Don’t get me wrong, I love that too, but something should be said about the quiet confidence it takes to have your own style. I find that incredibly sexy.

Before the door can close behind us, her roommates peek their heads through it. “Be irresponsible for once in your life!” Indy says in what I think is supposed to be some kind of sly whisper, but I’ve known Indy for over a year now, and nothing that comes out of that girl’s mouth is remotely close to a whisper.

Ivy turns laughing wryly while shooting her roommates both middle fingers as the door closes.

“You look beautiful,” I say honestly. “I don’t think I’ve seen pants like that before. Is your closet just full of patterned pants? Didn’t you have camo pants on at the party?”

She seems a little taken aback at first. But relief washes over me when she lets out a giggle. “You remember what pants I worethat night?” she asks as her thumb runs over one of the silver stars patched onto her pants.

“You mean the pants I watched you wiggle your way out of when you lost that game of beer pong? I don’t know if you know this, but you have one of the best asses I’ve seen, and I’ve seen my fair share of asses.”

“I don’t think you’re supposed to start a first date talking about all the asses you’ve seen.” She tells me as she shoves my shoulder. When I go to open the passenger side door for her, she adds, “But with all the stories Indy’s told me, I’ll take the compliment.”

Once I settle into the driver seat, I hand Ivy the AUX cord and tell her to play whatever she wants. She looks skeptical, like I’m trying to test her, but I am not. I grew up listening to everything, so letting my passengers choose the music keeps them from complaining about my playlist that jumps from hip-hop to country.

As I turn to my right before pulling out of the apartment complex, Ivy’s fingers work quickly to find something she likes on the endless playlists I have saved to my phone. Honestly, I’d take some cheesy show tunes at this point, just so we don’t have to sit here in silence anymore–and not because I secretly love musicals. I see her fingers slow when she finds a playlist titledGame Day.

“Is something wrong?” She asks when she notices I’m still sitting in the parking lot in front of her house.

“What…umm…No. Sorry, I was waiting to see what you picked.”

She lets out a low sigh loose, drawing attention to her full lips. Her eyes shoot back to my phone, and she rolls her lips and pushes them out as she takes her job of finding the perfect song seriously.

“If we’re being honest, I’m stressed right now. I’ve lost all my DJ privileges because half the group never likes the music I choose. I can’t blame them because my playlist jumps from A$AP Ferg to Taylor Swift.” It’s one long run-on sentence like she is letting out a secret that’s been eating away at her for too long.

It feels like I just peeled away another layer. I try to keep a straight face, but when I can feel a smile creeping out, I take a moment to look out the driver’s side window and appreciate the beautiful sunset I get to witness with one of the most interesting people I’ve ever met.

Little does she know the playlist she’s chosen is littered with songs from John Mayer’sSomething About Oliviato Eminem’sLose Yourself.

The twenty-minute ride to the restaurant is easy. Easy conversation, easy silence, easy laughter. Ivy is more relaxed after realizing I’m not going to throw her out of my car for her taste in music.

“I love this song!”

I’m shocked when Meek Mill’s Dreams and Nightmares plays through the speakers. I look over to Ivy, and she’s reciting the lyrics of the Philly-born rapper while bobbing her head.

I smile as she taps her hand to her leg in time with the music. She pulls her hair over one shoulder. I know she’s getting ready for the beat to drop, and when it does, I join her. Her laugh is infectious as she lets loose.

We pull into the restaurant as the song finishes. I rotate in to face Ivy and ask her, “Have you ever been here?”

Her eyes brighten with the same competitive glow I saw during the party olympics.

“Have I been here,” she repeats my question with disbelief. “I love this place, it was the go-to hangout after Friday night games when I was in high school. I still come here with my niece and nephew.”

I chose the upscale sports bar because they have a room dedicated to arcade games. Ivy let her walls down the night of the party because she was focused on winning. It kills me that someone with such a vibrant personality feels the need to hide in the shadows, so I thought that she would feel more comfortable in a situation like this.

I’m about to open my car door when Ivy wraps her soft fingers around my forearm.

“I’m picking the terms of the bet this time,” she murmurs.

I shoot her a playful look when I ask, “What do you have in mind?”

“If I win, you have to rebound for me during a shooting workout after one of our shifts at the shelter. If you win, you have to teach me how to skate.”

I may be new to this whole dating thing, but I’m smart enough to know I can’t really come out on the losing side of this bet. Especially because her shit-talking does something to me that dirty talk never could.

Ivy opens the passenger side door before I can get around the hood of the car to open it. I shoot her a sad attempt at a stern face as I hold my hand out to help her out of the car.

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