Page 112 of Playbook
I expected him to say lion or cheetah or something big and strong. A rabbit??
“Yeah, they’re soft and fast and they have those big floppy ears.” He reads my surprised expression and adds, “And at Easter they bring all kinds of candy.”
I burst out laughing. The movement makes me tilt forward and I rest my head on his shoulder.
“Rabbits are awesome. Don’t laugh at my favorite animal.”
“No. I’m not,” I say, but I can’t seem to stop.
His hands move up under the shirt and he starts to tickle my sides. I’m not normally this ticklish, but my skin is oversensitive from the night and him and the giddy bubble that we seem to be floating inside.
His hands stop and flatten against my side and my laughter dies off. I look up at him into his dark eyes.
“You never stop surprising me,” I tell him.
“I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or not.”
“It’s very good. Never a dull moment.”
“Dull doesn’t sound so bad as long as you’re around.”
“Are you calling me dull?” I ask. I know he isn’t, but I just want to stretch out the moment.
“Definitely not.” He brushes his lips over mine in a quick kiss, then rests his forehead against mine. “But when you’re around, I don’t think I’d notice or care what was happening. I sort of lose track of everything else.”
My heart rate picks up speed and my lungs struggle to pull in air. “Yeah, me too.”
I know it’s the moment that I need to lay my cards on the table.
“I’m glad we’re doing this for real. Me and you, Saturday night out, and then going home together. It feels good and right and fun.”
He stares at me intently, but says nothing.
“I lose track of everything too. Or maybe I don’t, but I choose to ignore it because you’re the most amazing, kind, generous, and sexiest person in every room.”
“That’s a lot of adjectives.”
“And not the full list.” I want him to know that I can see how much more he is than he gives himself credit for. He feeds into the sexy, professional football player role like he’s hiding behind it. But he doesn’t need to.
“I think…” he starts, bringing a hand up to my face and stroking my cheek. I stop breathing as I wait for his response. “You might still be drunk.”
Disappointment settles in my gut. I’m not. I haven’t felt drunk since before we went to the club. And something about him blaming my feelings on booze makes me feel silly and small.
“I’m not,” I say. “Or maybe I am, but I still mean it.”
He studies me, then nods. “All right.”
I’m not exactly sure what he’s agreeing to until his lips curve into a smile. “Me and you, sweetheart. Let’s lose track of everything else together.”
THIRTY
Flynn Holland Search Party
Ilaugh at the current name of our group text thread and then read through the messages that came in while I was in the shower.
Knox
Flynn, it’s been a whole week without a text back, little brother. Send proof of life or I’m showing up to campus tomorrow.
