Page 24 of Cross Check Daddies
“I didn’t bring a speaker.”
“Exactly.”
She shakes her head but slides her fingers into mine anyway as I tug her to her feet. The sand is cool now, damp with the tide. I pull her close, one hand on her waist, the other holding hers loosely.
We move slowly, feet shifting in soft syncopation to waves and wind and whatever rhythm lives under the stars.
Her chest presses against mine in shallow breaths. Her eyes are locked to my mouth, her face tilted up just enough that I can taste the proximity. My thumb brushes the soft curve of her waist.
Something shifts.
The air around us tightens. Her fingers flex at my shoulder, and my grip on her hip deepens instinctively. Her lashes lower. She breathes out like she’s about to say something and then?—
She steps back.
The air drops a few degrees, the space between us jarring in its suddenness.
“I can’t,” she says quickly. “I just...I’m not ready.”
I nod, still catching my breath. “Okay.”
“This was fun. Really fun. But casual is...what I need right now. Not complicated. You’re Cam’s brother. You’re—this would be complicated.”
“I get it.” And I do. Even if part of me wants to punch a hole through the sand.
She runs a hand through her hair, shaking it loose behind her. “Can we still be friends?”
I smile. “I’m pretty great at being a friend.”
Her grin returns, easier now. She slides her sandals back on. We walk back to the road, the silence again friendly, not stiff. I grab my bike and promise to follow her car back, just to make sure she gets home safe. She rolls her eyes but doesn’t argue.
In her parking lot, she puts the car in park and steps out.
“Huh! Interesting. I could have never thought you lived here.”
“You live here too?” she asks.
I lean on the seat of my bike. “Nah. But Coach Ace does. You’re neighbors.”
Her eyebrows raise. “Seriously?”
“Swear. Top floor.”
“Well, that explains a lot. Although, between you and me, I don’t think your coach likes me very much.”
I chuckle. “Don’t take it personally. Coach doesn’t like anyone. Except maybe Daisy, and that’s cause he is related to her.”
She shifts her weight, studying me. “Are we okay?”
“Of course.”
“I didn’t mean to make anything weird.”
“You didn’t. I promise.”
We hug. It starts off short, light, but somewhere in the middle, it lingers. She’s soft against me, warm and sun-salted and smelling faintly of cake and vanilla. When she pulls back, her face is right there, close again.
I almost say something I shouldn't. But instead, I ask, “Can I ask something?”
