First Down (Beyond the Play, #1)(20)
I shake my head. “You’re right. I’m sorry, it was stupid. I’ll see you around.”
I turn, taking a deep breath as I throw my shoulders back. I can manage walking away with dignity, even though I just laid myself bare in front of the guy and he shut me down. But before I get two steps, I feel his hand encircle my sore, bruised wrist, tugging me backward.
I can’t help it. I flinch.
His gaze is dark as he looks down at where he’s touching me. “Bex—”
I shake my head, lips pressed tightly together. Like hell am I admitting aloud that I let Darryl hurt me.
“Fuck it. I don’t like the guy anyway.” He drops his hand, shoving both into his pockets. “You really don’t mind tutoring me?”
I can tell he wants to press. To ask more about Darryl. But I jump on the topic change gratefully. “This is a deal, right? Quid pro quo. You take me on a few dates he’ll hear about, and I’ll make sure you pass this class.”
He nods. “Okay. I can do that.”
“You’re not worried about him trying to fight you?”
He laughs. “Why would I be afraid? Let him try. I can take him, baby.”
I raise an eyebrow in a way that I hope covers up the jolt of arousal that runs through me at the term of endearment… and the casual way he’s talking about fighting Darryl. “Baby?”
“If we were really dating, we’d use pet names, right?” He leans in, brushing a lock of my hair behind my ear. “Do you prefer something else? Sweetheart? Honey? Sugar?”
“Definitely not sugar.”
“Princess?”
“James…”
He gives me a half-smile. “There we go.”
“Just to be clear, none of this is real.”
He cups my jaw with his big hand. I fight the urge to turn my head slightly to nuzzle it. Focus. I need to focus. Going on a few dates together so everyone—and most especially Darryl—think we’re dating is not the same thing as actually dating. This will work well because we’re obviously attracted to each other, but people have sexual chemistry all the time and nothing comes of it.
“I know,” he says. “Football, remember? But if you want people to buy it, you need to sell it, princess.”
I nod. He has football. I have the diner and everything else. This is a mutually beneficial arrangement, like… like clownfish and sea anemones. If Darryl doesn’t believe that I’ve moved on, he won’t leave me alone, and this is the way to ensure that happens.
That’s enough motivation to kiss James again.
He smiles against my lips, winding his arms around my lower back. “You know,” he murmurs, “you can call me anything you want, but I do like the way you say James.”
I crowd closer, wrapping my arms around his neck. This kiss is just as heady as the first one, inexplicably addictive. He has some stubble right now, and as we kiss, the friction against my cheeks and jaw makes me shiver.
Then his hands go lower, lifting me up against him. He maneuvers me so I have my back against the rough brick exterior of the bar. My legs go around his waist automatically, seeking purchase, and my arms must be tight around his neck, because he laughs and says, “Easy, Bex.”
My insides turn to goo. How is it that Darryl saying my name never lit a fire like this inside me, but James tries it once and I’m halfway to abandoning my morals? James kisses me like he’s hungry; I can taste the beer on his lips and feel his hands holding me in place like a brand. Even though this is for show, he’s obviously into it.
Then he kisses down my throat, and I freeze.
Kissing is one thing. But that’s not just kissing. If he goes any farther, I’m going to soak my panties in this parking lot.
I turn my head to the side, shoving at his chest until he puts me down. He complies, but not before dragging his thumb over my lower lip.
Fuck. I straighten my sweatshirt as I glare at him. “What was that for?”
He shrugs. “You looked like you wanted to be kissed. We need to practice so it’s believable.”
“That wasn’t kissing, that was…”
He grins. “Never been kissed like that?”
I hit his chest lightly. “Not outside a bar!”
He takes my hand, entwining our fingers together. “Let’s go inside.”
“Now?”
“Why not? I’ll introduce you as my date. We can play pool, talk for a while.”
“He’s there.”
“I know.”
“What if he…” I trail off as I feel my cheeks get warm. “You know?”
“Then I’ll handle it.”
“Just like that?”
“You’re supposed to be my girl, right?”
I nod. “But not really.”
“I know,” he says again, patiently. “But he needs to believe it, and if I was really dating you, I would defend you every time someone so much as looked at you the wrong way.”
Warmth blooms through me. “You’re a sweet talker, James Callahan.”
I let him lead me into the bar.
12
JAMES
As soon as we’re back inside, Bex is mobbed by a girl with dark curly hair and the most ear-splitting scream I’ve heard outside of the movies. She hugs her tightly, smacking her cheek with a lipstick-covered kiss. “I thought you had work!”