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"I'm not assuming anything. I'm aware of my capabilities."
"Is this a challenge?" he asks.
"Shave your beard, and I'll consider it," I tell him.
"Not a chance," he responds.
"That's too bad," I tell him.
"You haven't changed a bit," he says.
I raise my brow. "Neither have you."
He pulls me in against him a little harder and kisses me with a sense of desire. "This isn't over," he says against my lips.
"Prove it," I tell him.
Brody's hand slips down against my back pants pocket, where he snags my phone. "Lucky for me, you don't lock your phone," he says. Brody turns around, so it's not within my reach.
"What are you doing?"
"Making it so I can send you texts and photos," he says.
"Photos …"
He turns to look at me over his shoulder. "Photos," he says again. "We have technology in our favor this time around."
I hear his phone buzz from wherever it is on his body. "I have your number, and you have mine. Don't be a stranger, Journey."
Brody's side door whips open, and we jump apart from each other as he hands me my phone back. "Dad, what are you doing? Can we please go home?" Hannah shouts at him.
"Close the door. I'll be there in a second," he snaps back.
Hannah slams the door.
"Goodnight, Brody," I tell him.
"Tell me you haven't thought about me over the years," he says.
I stare at him for a long second. "I can't tell you that," I respond.
"I might call you," he says.
"I might not answer," I reply, grinning.
"Then, you might wonder what you're missing out on."
"You know we would still be a bad idea," I remind him. He was always in trouble, and I was not much better.
"And if I shave?" he questions.
I bite down on my bottom lip and shrug. I hate the sparks running through my body. I hate that he's making me feel alive when I have felt dead for so long. Worst of all, I hate that I want him to text me. I tried to forget him. I tried to forget he existed, but now our families are being pulled together, and I don't see how we can avoid each other for much longer. "Maybe I'll want to play with you again."
"Maybe we can have our own bake sale," he says, lifting his brows. "You can bring cookies, and I'll bring the milk."
"Until then, keep it in your pants, Brody Pearson," I respond.
Brody adjusts his pants as if responding to my comment. "Yeah, thanks. It's been a memorable evening."
