Say You Still Love Me(70)

My anger at my father only intensifies.

I glance over my shoulder to see the SUV’s brake lights as it eases around the bend in the road, and then out of sight. He didn’t even bother to linger, to see how I’d handle Kyle.

He assumes I’ll listen.

I always have.

“Hey, Richie Rich!” Eric calls out from his place in net, his blond curls flattened, his T-shirt sitting in a wet heap by the goalpost, to show off a lanky, sunburned torso. “So, is that, like, how your dad rolls all the time?”

“A lot. Yeah.” And for possibly the first time in my life, I’m embarrassed by that.

“Oh.” Eric shrugs. “Cool.”

A cheer carries from the other end, and Eric’s arms are in the air. “Nice! Your boy’s on fire!”

Kyle is high-fiving another guy when he notices me there. He waves and, brushing his damp hair back with his hand, begins jogging my way, his lean body rippled with muscle.

My boy. That’s right. He’s mine. And no one—especially not my dad—is going to decide otherwise.

Normally, I hate the discomfort that comes with rain—clingy clothes and strands of hair stuck to my face. Now, though, I’m too mad at my father and emboldened by my feelings for Kyle to care.

With a determined smile, I take off running across the field, intercepting the soccer ball meant for the center line, to throw myself into Kyle, knocking us both to the soggy grass.

“What are we doing tonight?” I ask, through our laughs.

“I don’t know. Hanging out? It’s supposed to rain all night. They’re talking about setting up the movie screen in the rec hall.” He shifts onto his side, propping himself on his elbow to peer down at me, shielding my face. “How was dinner?”

I roll my eyes. “Fine.”

“Yeah?” His finger trails my collarbone. “What’d your dad say about me?”

“That you seem nice.”

He gives me a doubtful look. “He doesn’t want you near me, does he?” I see a mix of resignation and disappointment in his eyes.

“He doesn’t want me with anyone he hasn’t chosen.” I hook my wrists around the back of Kyle’s neck. “But it doesn’t matter what he wants. It matters what I want. And I want you.”

“Yeah?” He smiles thoughtfully. “How much?”

I pull him down into a kiss, reveling in his hot, soft lips, mildly tasting of salt from sweat.

Kyle flinches and breaks away when the soccer ball bounces off his hip, reminding me that we’re not alone.

“Are we playing or are we taking a break to watch you two do it right here?” Eric hollers.

“Shut up,” Kyle grumbles, turning back to me. “Maybe we can pick this up later, when we’re not in the middle of a soccer field?”

“Probably a good idea.”

“?’Kay.” He dips his head into the crook of my neck with a chuckle. “Shit, I need a minute.”

“Why . . . Oh.” A rush of heat floods my body as I get his meaning.

His hard swallow fills my ear. “Quick, help me think of something else.”

Something else besides Kyle and me together? Because now that Eric has said it, it’s all I’m picturing.

“Eric in a maid’s costume. Extra-short skirt and his hairy legs,” I blurt out, because yesterday’s drama performance had everyone torn between howls of laughter and cringes of mortification.

“Yup. That should do it.” With a groan of reluctance, he climbs to his feet, attempting to discreetly adjust himself in the process.

“You gonna be able to run with that?” Eric teases.

“Run . . . kick . . .” Kyle hoofs the soccer ball, sending it straight for Eric’s head. “Get back in net so we can finish this.” He offers me his hand to hoist me up off the ground. “Ash and Avery and them are in the rec center, making popcorn. Meet you there when we’re done?”

“?’Kay.” Maybe it’s a residual of my defying my father, or maybe it’s because of the growing tension between Kyle and me, but I lean forward to graze his earlobe with my teeth, whispering, “Hurry up.”

The pained look on his face as I back away makes me smile.

“You’re gonna pay for that,” he warns.

“I hope so.”

Heat flares in his eyes, and I know in that moment we’re both thinking it at the same time.

The question isn’t if I’m going to give myself completely to Kyle.

It’s a matter of when.





Chapter 15



NOW


Ashley pounces on me the second I walk through the front door of our condo.

“So, what would you think about”—she slips my bags from my arm—“a party?”

“Uh . . .”

“Like a housewarming party.”

“She’s already making a guest list,” Christa calls out from her seat on the couch, one hand holding the remote as she channel-surfs, the other busy stroking a content-looking Elton.

“You’re home early.” I plant myself on a bar stool, inhaling the delicious fragrance of apple pie. A golden-crusted dish sits in the center of the island, caramelized juices oozing through the slats of the lattice top. Ashley’s handiwork, no doubt.