I Promise You: Stand-Alone College Sports Romance(51)

As the tryouts begin, her leg is pressed against mine and she keeps sneaking little looks at me. She laughs under breath when I catch her gaze.

“Come on, you’re glad I came, right?”

She pets the dog, currently in my lap. “Maybe.”

Score.

Maybe, just maybe, she wants me around.

I’ll take whatever she gives me.

Just…

Need me like I need you.

Let me in, Dandelion.





16





The sun is setting as I squat down to pull weeds out of the flower bed, a task I meant to do weeks ago. Mom took pride in her flowers, and look at them now: overrun with vines and grass. I huff out a breath and reach behind overgrown boxwood bushes to pull the Bermuda that’s inched in. It’s a clear attempt by the invasive grass to conquer new ground. If not for human intervention, half the world would be covered by Bermuda, the other by kudzu. “Grass Comes To Life And Overtakes Mississippi.” That would make a great story.

“You missed a spot,” a deep voice says.

Ass in the air, I let out a yelp while simultaneously hating that I’m wearing an ancient shirt tied at my midriff, cutoff shorts, and old gardening gloves. My hair is pulled back in a scarf like a fifties housewife.

I turn around and face Dillon. The last time I saw him was yesterday when he popped up at the tryouts. He’s pressing hard. He’s made it clear he wants me—any way he can get me.

And what do I think? I’m at a crossroads. One way is to run far away; the other is to sink into his arms and say Put the D in me, football player.

I gape at the camo pants and long-sleeved black shirt he’s wearing. “Did Nana talk you into taking her squirrel hunting? It’s not in season, she’s terrifying with a gun, and squirrels are adorable. Did she promise you waffles?”

“Nah, I only hunt dangerous game, and you’re part of it. Let’s go.” He pins me with stormy eyes, and I feel like one of those antelopes on the nature channel when she realizes the tiger has her in his sights.

“It’s getting dark!”

“Goofball. You want to get to know me better for your article, and I want to spend time with you. I don’t see a problem.”

He wants to spend time with me. The statement makes me gooey inside. Resist!

I dust the dirt off my gloves. “I emailed you questions.”

“Did you?” He grins. “I’ll get around to those. Face-to-face is best. Put on some jeans and a dark sweatshirt, and you’ll see a side of me you’ve never met.”

“It’s eighty degrees—the last thing I want to wear is hot clothes.”

“We’ll strip them off later. You got any champagne?”

“Funny.”

“Hurry, we’re late. I’ll help you pick out some clothes so you won’t get hurt.” He’s already stalking away and heading up to my apartment.

“Hurt?” I call out after him.

He walks up my steps. “You look sexy in those shorts, but you can’t wear them. Come on.”

Ugh, the arrogance of him… So why am I smiling back at him?

I toss down my gloves and pruning tools as I glare back at the Bermuda. “We shall battle again soon, my friend.”

I find him in my closet, face intent as he moves hangers around. He pulls out an old long-sleeved black shirt, frowns at the Four Dragons logo on the front, and shoves it back on the rack. “Why do you still keep his shirts?”

“They’re just shirts.” I forgot that one was even there.

“When I hear ‘Sweet Serena’, I want to hit something.”

Okay… “Why?”

“He hurt you. This!” He holds up a black sweatshirt and waves it at me. He also finds a pair of black skinny jeans.

“Okay, cool, just make yourself at home,” I say dryly. “My panty drawer is the top one. Help yourself—hey! I was being sarcastic!” I shout as he darts over and pulls it open. Oh, it’s like this, huh? I jump on his back and wrap my arms around his neck, and he starts, surprised, then laughs as he grabs a black lace thong.

“Score!” He tosses me back and I crash down on my bed. He turns and twirls the panties for a moment then stuffs them in the front pocket of his jeans.

I shake my head. “I swear, if you don’t give those back…”

“Nope. Mine. Get dressed, please. We have things to annihilate.” He whistles and heads out to the den.

Five minutes later, I find myself bemused as I ride in his vehicle down a one-lane gravel lane outside of town. We’re in deep farm country with no houses in sight. I’ve asked him questions about what is going on, but the man is a devil…

“Just so you know, I’m not killing anything. Not even a mouse.”

“We won’t be killing anything today. Just tagging.”

Oh, the black clothes… “Paintball.” Dread hits me like a brick wall. “Dillon, come on. I’ll embarrass you.”

“Nah.” He takes his eyes off the road to give me a searching look. “Never.”

“It’s about time,” Sawyer calls out a few minutes later as we park at a clearing where several players stand around. We get out of the Escalade.

“Pool Shark!” Sawyer says when he sees me. “I have a killer idea. How about you participating in some skee-ball next week with the girls—”