My smile faded. “What?”
“You know what I’m talking about,” he promised. “Like I said, you’re one of the smartest people I know.”
“And what if I don’t know?” I didn’t. Not really. Not officially. Not wholeheartedly.
Unofficially, I knew David was far less despicable to be around the older we got. I knew his defiance was hot, and his refusal to lie down and let me barrel forward without an obstacle was what I wanted in a partner. I knew the way his hair fell in his face was less annoying and more endearing these days. And my fingers running through them were, in some weird way, my sworn destiny.
“Yara!” Rissa’s voice snapped me out of my David fog. The next step of the plan came back to me in a blink.
She was lateral to me, with a couple of yards in between us.
“David!” someone yelled. I think it was Weston. But it was too late. David moved closer, reaching for a flag. His hand made contact the second after I launched the ball over to Rissa. She took off as soon as the ball hit her hands. With her head start, there was no way anyone could catch her, but that didn’t mean they didn’t try.
David couldn’t stop the momentum of his lunge toward me. He did his best to minimize the contact, though. Hishands lightly gripped my hips, holding me away from him like he was the danger.
“See what I mean. Cooties,” I teased, even though this swift removal of his hand made my stomach twist. Now, I was considering what was so wrong with me, other than my obviously smart-mouthed, argumentative speaking style. If I could look past his glum, surely he’d be able to accept how often I ran my mouth.
David laughed under his breath, watching as Rissa passed the touchdown line and did a celebratory dance.
“Fine,” he said. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe you’re radioactive.”
“Maybe you should get over it.”
“I’m going to have to, aren’t I?” He started backing away toward his team to regroup.
“Yeah?”
“Tonight especially,” he said. “I am your boyfriend. Kind of need not to have an aversion to touching my girlfriend.”
My forehead wrinkled. “Tonight?”
He stopped backing away. Our teams were arguing in the background. Someone was complaining about a flag, Hart was defending the house rules, and Weston looked like an exhausted dad who just wanted to go home.
“Afterparty,” David said as if this wasn’t news to me. “We’re going. We need practice being a couple. And I figured if we could convince my friends, we have a decent shot at convincing your family.”
I tilted my head to the side when I realized this was what they’d meant by “David’s Yara.”
“Wait… did you tell your friends we’re dating?” I whispered to him. “Likeactuallydating?”
He shrugged. “Figured if we could trick the people who know me best, we had a pretty good shot of tricking the people who know you best.”
I laughed a little. “Whoa… you do know Hart invited me here, right?”
“Sure,” David said, unbothered.
“Sure?” I scoffed. “So you’re okay with one of your closest friends asking your supposed girlfriend out?”
“I don’t mind the competition, and neither does Hart,” David said. “We hashed it out. I told him we were new and if he wanted a chance and you were willing to give it, who was I to stand in the way?”
My lips parted, but nothing but an exhale came out.
“What do you say?” He asked, moving on from the tar pit I was still stuck in. “Trial run?”
“I think… I’d appreciate that.”
“I’m sure you will.” He turned to go back to his team.
With him gone, I finally had a moment to catch my breath, relax my shoulders, and stop thinking so hard about what was going on with my hormones.
