“No,” Marco said lightly. “I met her at an athletic department event and asked for her number.” He paused. “You really think I’m an asshole, don’t you?”
I shrugged. “More of a dickhead.”
“What’s the difference?”
“Assholes are aware they’re jerks,” I said. “Dickheads mostly have no idea how they come off; they’re dumb.”
Marco chuckled. “Okay, I’ll accept the title.”
“You might aspire to rid yourself of it,” I mumbled.
It went silent between us for a few moments before Marco spoke. “We’re not together anymore. Things ended during exams. Shelly wanted to be more than what we were, but I’m not in the right headspace for a serious girlfriend.”
All I did was nod, heart quickening.
“She ultimatum-ed me,” he added.
“Ultimatum-edis not a verb,” I said. “It’s not even a word.”
“Well, I think it should be,” he replied, but slowly—like he was focused on something else. He wasn’t looking me in the eye anymore, his gaze traveling from my head to my toes. The beads of sweat on my upper lip began to sting.
“Do you want to play?” I asked, my body humming—telling me I needed to move; I needed to play. “I’ll grab my extra stick?”
Five minutes later, Marco had kicked off his flip-flops and pulled off his T-shirt so he didn’t sweat through it. Two years ago, my high school field hockey team rolled our eyes at the girls who’d hang out in the bleachers after school, all to catch a glimpse of Marco’s invincible abs at soccer practice.
It should’ve been a ticketed event, I thought, blood thickening in my veins.
Marco’s stickwork wasn’t disastrous by any means, but by the time I’d scored my fifth goal in a row, he abandoned any semblance of rules entirely. “Obstruction!” I called when he stopped and stood in my path, blatantly preventing me from dribbling farther down the field. “Major obstruction!”
“I didn’t hear a whistle. The refs think it’s fair.” He gestured to the porch, where Arthur and Francine were once again passed out asleep.
I couldn’t help but let out a laugh. “Move.”
He didn’t, standing as strong and steady as a stone statue, so I backed up a bit and swerved to dodge him…
But before I could, his arm swung out and wrapped itself around my waist. It was sticky with sweat, but warm from the sun. I wanted to protest when he hoisted me up over his shoulder, but any and all words stayed on the tip of my tongue. I clung to him, feeling his back muscles flex under his smooth skin. Afraid of falling, my heart bounced with my body as he attempted to runtoward the goal, knocking the ball forward with his free hand. “This…doesn’t…count,” I managed to say right before he scored, but he took me on a victory lap anyway.
“Field hockey,” he declared once he’d slowed to a stop, “is anamazingsport.”
“That,” I said, my limbs entirely entwined around his upper body, holding on for dear life, “wasnotfield hockey.”
Marco laughed, his heartbeat hammering against my thigh. Despite the heat, a sharp shiver shot through me. “Then I guess we’ve developed some sort of hybrid,” he said breathlessly. “We can workshop names later.”
“Sure.” I sighed, eyes closed and my cheek resting against his back. “May I please be released now?”
“You were never being held captive,” Marco said, but when he started to flip me over his back, I yelped and clung to him like a koala all over again. He didn’t say anything, but I could almost see the corners of his mouth tip up in a smile.
“Put me down,” I commanded. “Or you can forget about being offered lemonade.”
“Lemonade?” he asked as he worked on ungluing my forearm from his collarbone. “Are we talking Minute Maid? Or homemade?”
I snorted. “Do you even know my parents?”
Da made thebestfreshly squeezed lemonade, usually for Dad’s signature blackberry whiskey lemonade cocktail.
In response, Marco promptly placed me back on the ground,but I still felt the heat radiating between us. “Would you like to stay for dinner?” I blurted. “Da’s doing shish kebabs on the grill, and Samira is in town.” I gestured toward the McCallisters’ house, obscured by acreage and tall pine trees. “Connor and his family are coming over too…” I trailed off, shifting from one foot to the other. “I mean, no pressure. I get it if you already have plans.”
Marco smiled and shook his head. “I have no plans.” He took a step closer and teasingly zapped my waist.
