Page 26 of Personal Foul
“You two are just the cutest,” Isabelle says, a wistful expression on her face.
“Yup. Super cute right here,” I say, because I don’t know what else to say, and I feel like someone needs to say something.
Dylan chuckles and gives me a squeeze, but keeps ahold of me through Isabelle and Andrew’s respective turns.
This is the way a boyfriend would act. This is Dylan as a boyfriend. I saw him like this with the girls he dated in high school. I know he’s this touchy feely when he’s in a relationship, and the tiny part of me who saw him like that in high school and wistfully hoped that could someday be me—before that “clothing drive” and the other things the girls in his group did—is thrilled. And it’s totally messing with my head.
Which makes me mad, and I stiffen, wishing I could pull away. He feels the change and gives me a concerned look. I force a smile in return, but can’t relax again.
I’m relieved when it’s my turn, because it gives me a reason to slip out of his hold without it looking like I don’t want him to touch me. But if I’m going to maintain my sanity, I kinda need him to not besogood at selling our relationship.
Couldn’t we be one of those couples who don’t do a lot of PDA? Those exist, right?
I go for the throwing star this time because I know I can hit with it, and I want the satisfaction of scoring again, even if there’s no way of getting to twenty-one right now. Carefully taking aim, I time my throw with my breath again, and manage to land in the six point bullseye!
“Yes! Go, Charity!” yells Dylan. Isabelle and Andrew clap and cheer.
When I move to retrieve it, Dylan stops me. “Wait, wait. We need a pic. Go stand next to it. That’s awesome. We didn’t get one earlier, and you know if you tell people they’ll say, ‘Pics or it didn’t happen,’ right?” He already has his phone in his hand and strides closer to me, positioning me next to the throwing star and having me take several pics, smiling, fierce, and from different angles so it’s obvious that it’sinthe bullseye.
Finished, he grins at me. “We’ll have to pick one of these to print out and hang up.”
I swallow hard and force a smile. “Definitely.”
Does he mean he wants to hang it up at his place?
CHAPTER TWELVE
Dylan
Charity’s barely keeping it together tonight, practically jumping out of her skin every time I touch her, her smiles forced more often than not. Except for these sweet moments where she genuinely relaxes. Her body goes pliant against mine, and her smiles come easily.
That’s the real victory of the night for me. Yeah, I want to win this game too, but if I don’t, those moments with Charity are more than a consolation prize.
Slipping my phone back in my pocket, I refocus on my next throw. If I do this right, I’ll win the game. Pushing aside premature thoughts of how I want to celebrate my win—namely with Charity, clothing optional—I pick up the smaller hatchet.
I need one more point. Just one. Andrew’s managed to land in the one point circle several times in a row. On purpose. I should be able to do it once.
It’s not like Andrew has more experience throwing than I do. He’s a tailback. The quarterback just hands the ball to him most of the time. Since I’m on defense, I’m more concerned with blocking passes than anything else.
Still, though. I’ve played catch with a football since I was a little kid. I’m athletic and have good hand-eye coordination.
There’s no reason I shouldn’t be able to land this axe in the one point circle.
With a deep breath, I raise the hatchet and let it fly. It lands with a thunk.
In the one point circle.
“Yes!” I shout, hands raised.
Charity lets out a whoop of joy behind me, and I turn. Holding my arms open on instinct, I rush her, scooping her off the chair to join me in my victory.
And her face is right there. Without thinking, I capture the back of her head and bring her lips to mine.
I’ve nearly kissed her a couple of times, my lips so close to hers it would look real from anyone else’s perspective.
But this first touch of our lips is electric, sending a shock through my whole nervous system like the time I visited my friend’s horse ranch and touched the electric fence on accident.
It’s a zap. Not enough to injure, but enough to get your attention for sure.
