Page 8 of False Start

“You’re pretty fucking perfect, you know that?” I said softly before giving in to my desire and giving her a quick kiss.

“Far from it,” she laughed. “But you go right ahead and keep thinking that.”

Before I could respond, she glanced out the window as we pulled into another stop and inquired, “Are you going to tell me where we’re going?”

“Nathan’s Hot Dogs,” I hinted with a grin.

Her brow furrowed. “Why are we taking the…wait, this is the D line.” Her face flushed with excitement, and she bounced on her toes. “We’re going to Coney Island?”

I nodded, and she clapped happily. “I love Coney Island. My dad used to take me and Charmaine every Sunday during the summer.”

“You mentioned how much you love the beach last night, and there were a few other hints, so I took a shot that you’d enjoy a date with a Nathan’s Hot Dog for lunch and an afternoon at Luna Park.”

“So far, this date is kicking last night’s ass,” she quipped, making me laugh.

“The day is just starting.”

We spent the rest of the ride talking and laughing, so it felt like almost no time had passed when we pulled into our stop.

I took her hand to help her over the gap between the train and the platform, then laced our fingers together. Once we were out of the station, we moseyed over to the area where there was a small, Nathan’s Hot Dogs, grabbed our lunch, then found an empty table in the eating area.

When Dakota spoke again, I’d just taken a bite of my lunch and nearly choked on it at her words.

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but I find it hard to believe that you would agree to a blind date. I mean, you’re a famous athlete, who looks”—she waved her hand up and down my body—“like that. I highly doubt you need to resort to being set up for a date. How did Charmaine talk you into it?”

I mentally sighed. My plan had been to tell her when she was high on rides and cotton candy, which she’d also mentioned loving. Hopefully, she wouldn’t be too upset with one tiny lie of omission.

“Dakota, I have to confess something.”

“Is this like, ‘I snore so I can’t get a date,’ or ‘I’m secretly married to a goat’?”

“Somewhere close to the first one, I guess?” I answered with a snicker. Then I sobered and took her hand. “Hear me out, okay?”

She nodded.

“The minute I saw you, I knew there was something special about you and that we would be amazing together. And that was just from seeing the back of you and hearing your sexy voice. I was trying to figure out how to approach you when I overheard you telling the host about your blind date.”

“And that’s when you told me you were my date,” she continued.

I winced. “Not exactly. I never actually told you I was your date.”

She thought for a second, then laughed. “I guess you didn’t. But you still haven’t answered my question about why you agreed to it in the first place.”

“I didn’t.”

Dakota’s forehead creased as she tried to comprehend my meaning.

I took her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Baby, I wasn’t your date. You assumed, and I let you because I hated the thought of you spending the evening with anyone but me.”

She watched me in silence, her expression neutral, so I had no idea what she was thinking.

“I’m sorry,” I added, realizing I hadn’t apologized yet.

“You pretended to be my date, because you wanted to be? You were that sure?”

“Yes. You were beautiful, sexy, and your rambling was adorable. I have no explanation for my behavior, other than to tell you that it just felt right. I was so drawn to you that I was nearly desperate.”

She went quiet again, her brown orbs studying my face for so long that I began to worry that she would throw her hot dog in my face and storm off.