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“Are you asking me out after I’ve already asked you out, just to make sure we go out, Remington Winslow?” I tease, using his earlier words, and it’s no surprise to me that he takes it in confident stride.
“Maria, I am most definitely asking you out after you’ve asked me out to make sure we go out. Soon.”
Holy moly. He’s asking me out! Remington Winslow wants to go out with me! My inner cheerleader does three flips in the air. Although, I’m certain she actually manages to stick the landing.
“You have a deal.” I hand him the marker.
He grins at me from beneath his lashes as he takes the Sharpie from my hand and writes his name on my cast. His handwriting looks exactly how a boy’s handwriting should look. A combination of messy and sharp, and I don’t know why I like it so much.
Once he dots his “i’s” and crosses his “t,” he gives the marker back to me and holds out the palm of his right hand.
“Your number please, milady.”
I giggle, thinking he’s joking, but when he doesn’t move his palm from its outstretched position, my jaw nearly hits the tops of my thighs. “But…but this is a permanent marker?”
“Exactly,” he says. “No way I’m going to risk losing Maria Baros’s number.”
He says my name like I’m someone special, and it makes my belly feel all fluttery inside.
I want to let out the giddiest squeal, but I hold it back, acting as laid-back and chill as I possibly can, and simply write my number on the palm of his hand.
“Thank you.” He stares down at the numbers like they mean something to him, and I stare at him like he’s the type of guy who could quickly mean something to me.
When he looks up at me from beneath his lashes, I can’t find the power to look away.
The stereo clicks off from the engine being idle for too long, and a hush fills the car. The air around us is so quiet that my ears feel like there’s a radio inside them, trying to find the right frequency.
Remy searches my eyes, and I can’t look away from him. Don’t want to look away from him.
He shifts his body closer to mine, the only thing between us the center console of his Mustang. He lifts his hand and uses his fingers to brush loose strands of hair that have fallen from my ponytail and slide them behind my ear.
His touch. It feels magical. Otherworldly.
For the briefest of moments, I flicker my eyes down to his lips and wonder again what they feel like.
“So, when I use this number…” His voice is the first thing to break the silence. “You’re going to answer my call, right?”
I nod, look at his lips again, then find myself licking my own lips.
His gaze catches sight of my tongue’s movement, and he’s back to searching my eyes again.
I wish I could see inside his head. I wish I could know what he’s thinking right now. I wish I could find out if he’s thinking about kissing me like I’m thinking about kissing him.
I’ve never felt the urge to kiss a boy before. Not like this. It feels strange and good and crazy all at the same time.
I bet he’s a good kisser. You can’t have lips like that and not be a good kisser.
His face moves closer to mine, and my heart kicks into overdrive inside my chest.
Oh my gosh, is it happening? Is he going to kiss me?
And then…his lips are on my face, pressed softly against…my cheek.
I’m almost disappointed, but he doesn’t give the emotion time to form a pit in my belly.
“I wish I could stay here with you all night like this, Maria,” he whispers into my ear. “But I know I need to let you go inside.” And he presses one more soft kiss to my cheek before moving his body back into the driver’s seat.
“I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“And I’ll answer.”
“Good night, Maria.”
“Good night, Remy.”
Holy shit. Remington Winslow is going to call me! Tomorrow! It’s all my mind can think about as I climb out of his car. Once I make my way inside my building, I lose every ounce of cool and dance in the lobby like a fool.
Sure, I’m about to get yelled at by my mom.
And I have six weeks of healing ahead of me. Which means I’ll have to sit out cheering at some football games and competitions.
But Remington Winslow holds my number inside the palm of his hand.
If he keeps this up, soon, he’ll have your heart there too.
Saturday, August 24th
Remy
The sky is a dusky denim color from the light of the sun, the ball of fire just barely starting to make its way above the horizon, and the normally bustling city streets are filled by a few lingering delivery trucks and the scent of fresh bakery flour. Only the weary are up at this hour, preparing for the rush of the rest. They are the backbone of the community—the holders of the coffee and the start of so many’s days.
