I Promise You: Stand-Alone College Sports Romance(48)

He lifts his glass in my direction. “Touché.”





“You didn’t have to walk me to my car,” I tell Dillon as we maneuver through the crowded lot to my Highlander.

“Let me follow you home.”

“No. I’m not buzzing, and I have work to do.”

‘“Bigfoot Is A Pool Shark?”’

“Nice. It’s in the queue.”

He threads his fingers with mine. “I’m good at several things.”

We reach my car. “I have a feeling where this will go…”

His hand tightens. “Nah, get your head out of the gutter. First, I can cook. My chili is the best. Sawyer begs me to make it. My omelets are ugly but good—I use the good cheese. I’m a good friend, loyal. I’m tidy. My room is the cleanest at the house. I, uh, like the stars. There are so, so many stars in the sky at night.” He exhales and closes his eyes briefly.

“So many,” I can’t help but deadpan.

He mutters, “I swear, I’m not this awkward.”

I bite back a smile as he continues.

“And running, yeah, it helps me figure things out. I dig nature, like mountains and stuff. There aren’t any mountains here, of course, just flat plains. Jesus, I suck!”

I’m entranced by his struggle.

“Anyway, um, long story short, I enjoy giving presents.” He holds out a package and sets it in my hands slowly, as if it might explode.

“What…” I stop and look up at him. “You got me a gift? Why?”

He dips his face. “Um, no reason, uh, just saw it and thought it suited you. It’s not a big deal, I don’t know…” He rakes a hand through his hair. “Just open it.”

I tear at the delicate tissue paper, tugging on the pink bow around it, and out falls a small dandelion charm. It’s sterling silver with a slightly bent stem, the seeds on one side fading away.

“It’s, uh, like your tattoo.”

“I know,” I murmur. “Why?”

“Can’t a guy just get a girl a gift?”

“Sure.” No. It’s personal.

He takes a deep breath, gearing up. “You said it symbolized hope and happiness for you, so I thought, um, you know, that I’d give you something you could see everyday…since your tattoo is on your nape. Does that make sense? I mean, I guess you could just pull your hair up and look in the mirror if you needed a reminder.” He scrubs his face. “Anyway. The girl who sold it to me said you could wear it on a necklace or a bracelet, or you can just stick it in a drawer.”

“It’s so delicate. I don’t have anything to put it on…”

“See… I fucked up.” He exhales heavily.

“No, no, you didn’t. It’s beautiful and means a lot—especially because of our conversation. You remembered. Thank you.”

We stare at each other, the moment stretching under the streetlights. He looks away. “Seeing Sawyer and Bambi kiss was spectacular.”

“Watching them try to figure out where to put their arms…” I laugh. “Then we timed them.”

“Sixty seconds is a long kiss.” His eyes hold mine. “We can beat that record.”

My heart skips a beat. “Yeah.”

“They hooked up freshman year.” He moves closer, the smell of him making me sigh. He tilts my chin up. “He’s got a thing for her.”

My head is not thinking about Sawyer and Bambi.

“Fact: lips have more nerve endings than most of the body. People remember kissing more vividly than sex.”

“True?”

“I read it somewhere. Can’t recall…” I stop as his nose runs up my neck.

“You nervous, Serena?”

“A little.”

“Good. I am too. You make me feel…” His hand slides around my nape, drifting over my tattoo. “Like I don’t know which way is up.” He brushes his lips over mine. Long and soft and thorough, he kisses me, his tongue lazily teasing. It goes on for longer than sixty seconds as he presses me against my car. Desire rushes at me like a whip and I sigh as he pulls away. My chest rises rapidly.

His eyes search my face. “You’re really going home?”

“I need to check Romy’s calculus homework.”

“Excuse?”

Maybe… Yes. I’m just not ready. This, whatever it is, is hurtling toward me like a whirlwind. I’ve done that before, and it blew up in my face.

“Let me follow you then.”

“Dillon…”

He puts his fingers on my lips. “I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

“My neighborhood isn’t that bad.”

“No, it isn’t that.” He pauses. “I like knowing you’re safe. Even the night at the Pig…just… I haven’t always watched after people…” He frowns.

“Your brother?”

He sticks his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “Yeah. He died on my watch. I think he dove off that cliff because he wanted my approval, you know? He wanted to impress me and my friends.”

Guilt about his brother plagues him. He’s internalized that pain and therefore does acts of service. Maybe it’s his way of saying he cares? Not that he cares for me. This heat between us is about sexual attraction. Right?