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“So this boyfriend of yours, he’s the real deal, huh? You’re absolutely a hundred percent sure? Like algorithm-sure?”
I know I’m pushing it, but I need to hear it from her lips that she’s taken.
Heart-body-and-soul kind of taken.
Anything less than that will only fuck with my head more than it already is.
She turns to look at me, opening her mouth to reply but nothing comes out. She just stays like that, with her mouth agape, staring at me, and continues not to move when another baseball flies straight to her head.
And this is when it dawns on me that she’s not wearing a helmet.
I don’t think.
I just act.
I run towards her and wrap my arms around her, turning my back to the ball coming at us at lightning speed. It hits me square in the back, making me grunt out in pain.
With my arms still hugging her tightly to me, I walk us off the pitch, and only when I know she’s safe do I release my grip and cup her face with my palms instead.
“Are you okay? Lottie? Are you hurt?” I rush to ask, inspecting her face to see if she’s in pain.
“Me?” she asks, her eyes wide like saucers. “You’re the one who got hurt. I should be asking you that question. Are you alright?” she asks worriedly.
“Yeah. I’m fine. It’s nothing.”
“Let me see,” she insists, slowly pulling my hands off her cheeks so she can check my back. The minute she lifts my shirt, I feel the cold November chill prickling on my skin. Her gentle fingertips graze over my sensitive flesh, and I groan at the contact.
“Are you sure you’re okay? It looks awfully red. Maybe we should go to the hospital to have you checked out.”
“It’s nothing. I’ve suffered worse hits than that.”
“From playing hockey?” she asks, still running her fingers over my bruised back, oblivious that now I’m hurting for a whole other reason.
“Sure,” I reply, not wanting to get into how my father used to fill a pillowcase with oranges just to beat me black and blue whenever I talked back to him.
“I’m sorry. This is all my fault. I should have been paying attention to the ball.”
“It’s okay, Lottie. I’m okay,” I try to console, pulling my shirt down to end my real agony.
“You’re a terrible liar, Nathan Wilder.”
“Guess you can add that to my list of flaws,” I try to joke.
“Oh, I don’t know about that. You have your moments.” She winks.
God, I wish she’d stop winking at me all the time.
It messes with my head.
Don’t you mean your heart?
I clear my throat and shake that thought away.
“From here on out, maybe we should stay clear of any activities that may get us hurt. How about I set up our next date?”
“You think you’re ready for the challenge?” She smiles sweetly at me.
Ready?
