Page 33 of Hard Count
Eli passes him the ball while still holding eye contact with Frankie.
“For the win,” Nash repeats, before throwing the ping pong ball at our last cup. He makes it easily and I brace myself for his final question. He waits for me to dump the contents of the cup onto the ground and stack it with the rest of our empty ones.
“What do you want to know?” I taunt him.
“For my final question, I want to know…” He walks over to my side of the table and stands in front of me. He runs the tips of his fingers down my forearm until the palm of my hand is held in his. “If you’ll go out on a date with me. What do you say, Drew?”
“You’re really putting me on the spot.” I glance around at the crowd of people waiting to hear my answer.
He pulls my arm and I fall into his chest. “Don’t worry about my pride. You can say no. What do you want, baby?” His arms wrap around my back and his hand gets dangerously close to my ass.
“You…I mean yes. I’ll go out with you.” My cheeks flame in embarrassment at my slipup.
“I think you had it right the first time,” he says, then kisses the top of my head.
12
DREW
“Have you ever been here before?” I ask Nash, glancing around the arcade. It’s a cool place. They have a full bar and dining area in the very back. There are more pinball machines than I’ve ever seen in one room along with other coin-op type games.
“A few times last year when they first opened,” he replies, handing me a game card he just filled with money. I told him on the way over that we can split everything tonight but he shut down the thought real quick. “I prefer playing video games at home.”
He clicks around on the kiosk and adds money to his game card. I admire the way his bicep and tricep muscles flex with literally the push of a button. He smirks into the machine—which I know isn’t doing anything funny—he must feel my eyes on him.
His jeans and cotton shirt look like they were custom made the way they are molded to fit his muscular thighs and arms. The gold chain he wears around his neck only adds to his appeal. Everything about Nash is attractive to me. From the way he looks to the way he carries himself. For as long as I’veknown him, he’s always had this magnetic personality that drew people in.
“You don’t like being around people,” I state.
He throws his arm over my shoulders and pulls me into his side. “I like being around you. I don’t mind other people but I feel like I have to constantly be on. I’m Nash Pierce, the quarterback to everyone on campus. They’re all watching, waiting for me to mess up. Their friendship depends on how well I play.”
“That would be difficult,” I say, as he leads us toward the bar. “You don’t have to be that way with me. I don’t want you to feel like you can’t be yourself.”
He stops walking and turns toward me. “You are one of the few people I can be real with. From the very beginning you put me at ease.”
“It was all the insults,” I joke. His lip twitches in amusement but his eyes hold a level of affection that makes me suck in a slow, quiet breath.
“It was you,” he says, gliding his hand over my shoulder and down my arm. He takes my hand in his and laces our fingers together. “Do you want a drink?”
“Sure.” I chew on my bottom lip while glancing over the drink menu they have written on a giant chalkboard behind the bar.
“Two Shirley Temples,” Nash requests from the bartender before I can come up with a drink order on my own. “Is that okay? You were drinking one the first time we met.”
“It’s perfect.”You’re perfect. “You can drink if you want. It doesn’t bother me.”
“I don’t drink when I’m competing.” He grins.
“We’re on a date, not in a competition.” I take a sip of my drink.
“Baby, I’ve been competing with you from the start.”
We have been challenging each other from the moment we laid eyes on each other. “For what?” I ask.
He picks up his drink and stretches out his empty hand for me to take. “Your heart.” He gives my hand a playful squeeze but his bold tone leaves no room for misunderstanding. If I was unsure of what Nash’s intentions were before, they are crystal clear now.
He wants me.
“That’s a pretty big prize,” I say. My heart is not something I give freely. If anything, I hold it tighter than necessary. It’s battered and bruised and needs to be handled with care.
