He wrote,Will you go out with me?on the page in tight neat letters, much neater than I would have expected from a guy, with three check boxes beneath the question labeled,Yes. No.AndMaybe.
My shoulders shake as I struggle to contain a snicker. This guy, is he for real? What are we, five?
I reach for my pen and check the No box before adding a thank you beside it and discreetly passing it back to him.
He opens the note and scowls, his expression a split between genuine surprise and confusion, before he writes something else, his strokes almost aggressive before he folds in the paper in half and passes it back.
Why not?
I chew on my bottom lip. Because you manhandled me. Because there is something about you that screams danger: proceed with caution. And even if none of those things were true, he probably plays football for Suncrest U, which adds two more strikes against him. The first because he’s most likely a total player, and the second because that makes him teammates with Roman, Emilio, and Dominique and yeah, that is just a disaster waiting to happen. Aaron’s my big brother, but those three can take overprotective to the extreme.
Somehow writing any of that down seems like a bad idea, so instead I write,I don't know you. What if you're a crazy stalker?
I pass the note back to him and he makes quick work of his response.
No stalker tendencies present. I'm a nice guy. Promise.I give him a dubious look and he raises his little finger in the universal gesture for a pinkie swear.
“I’m not sure I believe you,” I whisper while making sure our teacher isn’t looking my way.
His brows pull together. “That I’m a nice guy or that I’m not a stalker?”
I shrug. I mean, really, it could go either way.
He huffs out a breath and snatches the paper off my desk, writing furiously before handing it back, but instead of slipping it on my desk he holds it out between us, his entire attention on me as he waits for me to take it.
A few of our classmates are giving us interested looks, but I ignore them and focus on the boy beside me. He raises his brows and waves the paper in his hand.
Urgh, fine. I hold my hand out and he slowly places it in the palm of my hand, his fingers trailing across my skin before he withdraws. I shiver.
Give me a chance. I can see I made a shitty first impression. Let me fix that.
I fight back an eye roll before scribbling across the paper and handing it back.
What sort of date?I ask.
The corner of his mouth quirks.Pizza and a movie at my place?he answers.
Pass. I just met the guy and he expects me to go back to his place with him on the first date? Do I have booty call stamped on my forehead somewhere or something?
Netflix and chill? Not really my thing.I write and toss the note back to him. We’re running out of space to write so hopefully this will end soon because his date suggestion only confirms that he is a total player who wants an easy lay.Sorry, buddy. That isn't me.Then again, what did I expect? He probably has his own personal fan club of jersey chasers who are happy to throw their panties at him.
The note lands on my desk again.Not what I meant. I figured we could do something low key. Get to know each other.When he puts it like that, it doesn't soundso bad,but it's still bad and I’m not naive enough to fall for it.
Dominique's face flashes through my mind. His lips pressed into a disapproving frown, a silent warning that I better fucking not. My stomach flips flops which only serves to annoy me more. I shake the image of him from my head.What the hell is wrong with me? I shouldn’t care whether or not Dominique would approve. Actually, I don’t care. Not one bit.This is just a side effect of sleep deprivation. I barely slept last night. Whoever is in the room over mine decided to have company over, and let’s just say they stayed up into the wee morning hours doing some extracurricular activities, and had zero problem letting the entire house know about it. Yeah, that's all it is. I just need to catch up on sleep.
I give Deacon another look through my peripheral. He gives me a small smile and a tilt of his head as if to sayplease.
I’m not really looking to get into a relationship.I write, and return the paper to him, somewhat frustrated at my unwillingness to give the guy a shot. I know Dominique is factoring into that decision, even if he isn’t the only reason, and I hate it. Hate that he has this invisible pull over me when I know nothing will ever happen between us, and that’s a good thing. We can hardly stand one another.
Deacon’s mouth dips down as he writes out his response.
Not asking for your hand in marriage or to be your boyfriend. Just a chance to get to know you. Maybe be friends?
Friends wouldn’t be a horrible idea, but … I mentally shake myself. I might regret this, but I refuse to let Dominique’s imaginary disapproval decide for me.Okay. Friends.
His smile grows when he sees my answer.Any suggestions for our first friend date?
Not a date. But how about coffee?
