Page 31 of Hard to Score

But if he was interested, how come he never acted on it? How come . . . But I know why. It was the last night of our trip and teenage crushes fall to the wayside when your family life falls apart.

He takes another step back and looks at me with astonishment. “That ball-busting bitch thing? I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. I just needed something to get mad at you for so I wouldn’t want to kiss you.”

“Obviously,” I say as Drew goes from angry to sweet in a matter of seconds.

“Because I like that about you. I like that you’re not afraid to go after what you want. I like that you stand up for yourself.”

“And how exactly would you know that?”

“Because I asked around.” He shrugs like a little boy, odd given the person who just kissed me was all man. “I wanted to know more about you. In fact, I kind of needed to know.”

“Okay.” I fight my smile as he bites his lip, as if he’s trying to make sure he just said what he needed to say.

But the two of us stand there in the early fall evening, staring at each other, and trying to figure out what just happened.

Or maybe not so much what happened, but more like, what to do about it.

“Fuck,” he barks out and laughs crazily.

“What?”

“Why does it have to be you?”

“Excuse me?”

“Of all fucking people, Brexton Kincade, why is it you,” he shouts, pointing both hands at me, “that I can’t seem to get out of my head?”

“I—uh . . .” I’m at a loss of what to say, because he’s shouting but he’s not angry. He looks bemused and perplexed and astonished simultaneously, and there is something about it that makes him even more endearing to me.

Before I can answer him, he jogs a few steps away from me before turning back around and laughing.

“Where are you going?” I ask.

“I’ve been drinking.”

“Clearly.”

“And since I’ve been drinking”—he points a finger up as if he’s just had the best idea ever—“I need to go home.”

“Okay, then.” I draw the words out. He’s definitely cute when he’s drunk.

“Oh, and I have a game too. On an airplane.” He holds his arms out and mock flies in a circle like a little kid.

“You’re playing on airplanes now?”

“I have to take one to get there, silly.” He waves a hand at me and rolls his eyes, then his face suddenly turns serious. “So this can’t happen yet.”

“This? What exactly would this be?” I ask.

“Me wanting you.”

He says it so matter-of-factly that I stumble for words.

“Brexton Kincade,” he shouts.

“Yes?”

“The next time we kiss . . .”