I Dare You (The Hook Up #1)(13)

“Don’t let me keep you from your Mensa meeting,” I say before moving to walk around her.

I’ve gotten a few feet away when she calls out after me, almost tauntingly. “I can’t believe you’re being so rude, especially since I haven’t seen you in weeks.” I cringe, knowing she’s referring to the night I caught her with Alex.

I turn back around, knowing I shouldn’t, but I just can’t stop myself.

She puts a hand on her hip. “Look, you don’t have to be so upset about Alex. He’s an athlete. They screw around—it’s what they do.”

My stomach churns at the imagery her words bring up, and I feel the blood draining from my face.

Her friend tugs on Martha-Muffin’s arm, ushering her out the door, and I stand here for a full five seconds just breathing, trying to get myself under control.

I make my way over to the produce aisle and walk around, not really seeing anything, my heart heavy as I think about Alex and everything we lost.

On an impulse, I pull my phone out of my bag and send a text to my mystery man.

Paging He-Man. I miss you. Where are you? Not that you care, but I’m staring at cherries at the Piggly Wiggly and thinking of you. It’s been a shit day. Shit week. Shit month. Just ran into the girl my ex cheated on me with. Need to vent. Need a cigarette…or I would if I smoked.

He replies immediately, and I want to shout with glee. Awkward. Want me to kick her ass?





Yes.


Done. I’ll be there in five.

A laugh comes out of me, and for some reason, seeing Martha-Muffin doesn’t have nearly the punch it did a minute ago.

No! I’m just kidding. Plus, she’s gone already. Hey, can I ask you a personal question?

Shoot, he replies.

Do YOU sleep with those groupies who hang all over athletes? You know the ones—they’ve had more loads than a washing machine but they’re hot so all the guys want a spin?

Uh…how many loads are we talking?

Of course he sleeps with them. He calls himself “Badass Athlete”, and what red-blooded male is going to turn down what’s offered?

He-Man, you’re disappointing me.

Truth: I haven’t been with a girl in months. I’m turning them down left and right.

You’re so full of yourself.

True, he says. But I am the best.

Best at what? Football? Volleyball? Baseball?

Why are you turning them down? I ask.

I’ve been waiting on you.

WHAT?

Is he kidding? Is it the truth? He never replies, even after I linger around the produce, waiting to see those three little dots that mean he’s responding.

They never appear, and once again I’m overcome with embarrassment at my neediness and lack of male attention. Screw it. I stick my phone in my purse and head to the magazine section to pick out a new Cosmo. I move on from there and hit up the meat department. Several minutes later, I’m lifting a large container of ground beef into my cart when I hear a deep male voice behind me.

“Didn’t know you liked that much meat, Delaney.”

I stop in my tracks.

I turn to see Maverick standing behind me, wearing low-slung jeans, a tight t-shirt, and a grin. We’ve been sitting together all week in class, and it’s been pure torture. We make small talk about the weather and football, but underneath is a current of electricity that I do my best to ignore. Maybe he’s ignoring it too.

His gaze brushes over me as if he’s undressing me, and a tingling sensation tickles my nose. I can’t stop it, sneezing once, twice, three times before I clench my hands together and calm myself.

I’m digging for a tissue in my bag when he says in his southern drawl, “You okay there?”

Sucking in a breath to stop the next one, I hold up a finger for him to give me a minute, and he seems to understand. It would be better if he just moved away.

He takes my packages from me and sets them down in my cart. It’s a thoughtful gesture, and I think he does it because he knows he makes me feel out of sorts.

He’s just standing there, patiently waiting for me to speak.

“You make me sneeze,” I finally say.

“I hope you can find the antidote or we won’t be able to hang out together.”

“It’s worse when I’m surprised by someone, and you’re always sneaking up on me.” Not exactly true, but I’m making up all kinds of excuses.

“Is it because you think I’m hot, Delaney?”

“Doesn’t everyone think you’re amazing and wonderful and hot? Been there, done that with a football player, and not doing it again because all it got me was a broken heart.”

He rubs at the scruff on his beautifully chiseled jawline. “We’re not all cheaters, Delaney.”

“I’m not buying it.”

He gives me a serious look. “Challenge accepted.”

“What challenge?”

“Proving to you that I’m not like anyone you’ve ever met.”

“And how are you going to do that?” I cock my hip and lean against my cart, trying hard to be nonchalant, but it’s hard as hell with six feet four inches of solid muscle running his gaze over you.

“You can start by hanging out with me.”

“We do…in class.”