Page 26 of Play Fake
“Sometimes. What’s wrong with that?”
“I mean, it explains the stunted ability to interact with women,” I tease.
“Hey! I have moves.”
“Sure, you do, buddy,” I laugh dismissively. “Now it all makes sense. Waylon Prescott has no moves because girls just fall in his lap.”
He gives me a surly pout, and it only spurs on my giggles until I almost buckle over at the idea of a guy like Waylon, the guy who’s rumored to be a sex god, having absolutely no idea how to date or woo a girl. All because they just drop into his lap without effort.
“It must be nice to have things so easy. No effort. Fringe benefit of football, I guess?”
“I have moves,” he says defensively, a flash of frustration storming over his face, and I choke back some of my laughter at the worry of having actually offended him.
“All right, let’s see them then.”
“What?”
“Your moves. I want to see them.” I challenge.
“I don’t even know what you’re talking about,” he grumps, crossing his arms over his chest.
“Pretend I’m your date. I’m not a jersey chaser, so you actually have to work for it. We’ve had dinner. You’ve got me in the bed of your truck out on some rural turn-off under the stars. We’re not being murdered—yet. Now what?”
He shakes his head and looks off into the distance like I’m crazy.
“Come on. Talk me through it. Unless I’m right…” I tilt my head, smirking, and honestly, I love for once I’m on the other end of this interaction with him. Watching him squirm right now almost makes up for all the times he’s cornered me mercilessly in the past.
“Then you realize I’m the hottest guy you’ve ever had the chance to be with, and you hop in my lap and beg me to fuck you. Apparently.”
“Nope. First, highly presumptuous of you to assume you’re the hottest guy I’ve ever had a chance with, and two, I’m not that easily convinced. You might be hot, sure. And maybe I’ve considered fucking you. But I’ve heard the rumors about your fuckboy-ness, and I don’t want to be another notch on your bedpost. I want to be convinced this is different. That you actually want to put in effort. So, what’s your move?” I pin him with a defiant look. I’m not letting him off easy in this game we’re playing.
Something dances over his features, and I can see the moment he decides he’s not gonna let me have the win on this one.
His hand wraps around my wrist and he gently tugs me down into the truck bed next to him, while I eye him doubtfully. His fingers work up from my wrist to explore the curves of my palm and his thumb strokes the pad of mine.
“Then I’d find a quiet moment to finally confess I’m not good at all this stuff because despite the rumors, I’m actually not that much of a fuckboy. That I don’t have ‘moves’ because I don’t play games, and I prefer to just be up front about where things stand.”
His voice has a raw quality to it that almost makes me believe him, and it’s my turn to shift uncomfortably under the weight of the building tension. Tension that almost feels real.
“Points for a unique approach, but I think I’m still skeptical.”
His eyes shift up to mine, and I offer him a small, playful smile. He searches my face for a minute and then his jaw sets, determined. Waylon does not like to lose. Noted.
“And then I’d tell you I can’t stop thinking about you. Haven’t been able to since the moment we met. You’re so fucking gorgeous it hurts, and when you walk in a room, it’s like no one else exists. I know guys like me don’t end up with women like you because we don’t deserve it, but if you’d give me the chance, I would try real fucking hard to prove it was worth it.” As he says the words, he cants his body toward me and his free hand works its way up my neck, his fingers sliding through my hair sending little fireworks down my spine.
He leans in, his eyes set on my lips and the fluttering I’d felt earlier has exploded into a million tiny wing beats spreading their way through my body as my brain races to calculate whether I should give in to the temptation to kiss him.
How much I might regret it tomorrow versus how much I might enjoy it right now is violently wavering back and forth on a scale. And holy hell, I think I might actually want Waylon Prescott to kiss me right now. In fact, I think I might want him to do a lot more than kiss me.
My heart betrays my mind when I ask, “And then?”
And I lean in closer, my heartbeat catching in my chest as I desperately hope he’ll make the next move.
TEN
Waylon
“And then?”She asks softly, her tongue darting out to wet her lips.
