Page 83 of Cookout Carnage
‘Soccer.’
He stopped and looked at her. ‘Football.’
She swallowed. God, he was hot. ‘Soccer,’ she said, her voice uneven.
The small space between them crackled. Was he going to kiss her? Did she have the nerves to kiss him?
A slow, lazy smile spread across his face. ‘As a guest in your fine country, I’ll defer to your lexicon. I will now refer to fake rugby as “football”.’
‘And is a pavement now a sidewalk?’
He raised an eyebrow.Ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmygod. ‘Don’t push it, Hot Sauce.’
If her desire had been amped up before, now it was overloading her system. She clenched her thighs together.
The sound of voices made her glance away. At the far end of the field, a group of kids were throwing their bikes to the ground. One tossed a ball in the air.
‘Come on,’ she said, pulling him towards the buildings. If she was finally going to kiss the man of her dreams, she didn’t want an audience. ‘You can look through the windows and see where I sat.’
They approached the main block and peered through the windows into the empty classrooms. ‘This is like a film set,’ he said. ‘Did you have a locker?’
‘I sure did. Same one for four years.’
‘Did you write your name inside?’
‘Might have done.’
‘I want to see.’
‘We can’t. It’s all locked up.’
He shrugged. ‘There’s bound to be a side door we can get in?’ She looked at him sceptically. He grinned. ‘Where’s your sense of adventure?’
They strolled around the building, Tristan inspecting every door they came to until he found one he liked the look of. He pulled the wad of paper from his vest pocket and unfolded it, pulling the paperclip off and opening it out. He knelt down and started fiddling with the lock.
‘Tris! What are you doing?’ she hissed.
‘Pretending to be Sherlock Holmes. Or James Bond. Or MacGyver. Whichever you prefer.’
Her phone started ringing inside her bag.
‘Do you need to get that?’ he asked.
She shook her head, letting it ring out. The world could wait.
The door clicked. Tris stood and held it open for her. He looked extremely pleased with himself.
‘Ladies first.’
Sherilyn looked around guiltily then scurried inside, pulling him with her.
The main corridor of the school ran almost the whole length of the building. Cooler and quieter than outside, dim light reflected off the shiny floors and the lockers lining the walls. Sherilyn led him along, her pumps squeaking and echoing. At the end of the semester all students had to clear their lockers, so her old one was open.
‘Is this it?’ he asked.
She nodded. ‘Are you disappointed it doesn’t have a lock you can pick?’
He grinned. ‘A little.’
