Cora Carmack: All Lined Up

Normally that might have given me a little hope.

But considering the university’s new coach was the one to coach Levi to those two state championships in high school, I figure I’m shit out of luck.

I’m sure one of the reasons he was hired was to get Levi back on his game.

Which is why I give myself a break and let myself step a little closer to Dallas. I can afford to get distracted for one night . How much could it hurt?

“So what did that guy do to piss you off? You know . . . just so I don’t make the same mistake.”

“Unless you’re lying to me and trying to trick me into sleeping with you . . . you should be good.”

“So what if I’m up-front about trying to get you to sleep with me . . . Does that still get me yelled at?”

I expected a blush, but I don’t get one. Her face is carefully blank.

“I thought you weren’t trying to hook up with me.”

“Just keeping my options open. I like to be prepared for all possibilities.”

She rolls her eyes. “You can be as up-front as you want. I can promise I will be, too.”

There’s a devilish glint in her eye, and I wonder how many hearts this girl has broken with her honesty. Not that I’m worried about my heart. I’m more concerned with the hard-on I can’t get to subside with her so close to me.

“Then in the interests of honesty, I should say I’m trying really hard not to kiss you.”

She straightens, and the strand of hair she was lazily twirling drops from her grasp.

“Why would you tell me that?”

“So that when I slip up and break my promise, you’ll at least know I tried.”

I roll my eyes, not because I’m annoyed, but because it gives me time to think.

And I desperately need time to think.

I wouldn’t say I’d been entirely sheltered growing up. I did have Stella, after all. But being the coach’s daughter affected the way people treated me. Sure, guys made sexual jokes, but never to my face, and never with a devastatingly handsome grin to back it up.

I stare down at our feet—mine have fallen into third position of their own accord and his boots are scuffed and muddy. I wouldn’t have pegged him for country, not with his university sweatshirt and stylishly ripped jeans, but the boots don’t lie.

“Stop thinking so hard,” he says. “You’re giving me a headache.”

“I can’t just turn it off.”

“I could distract you.” He lifts one side of his mouth in a lazy smirk, and I want to say that I am already distracted by him. No, distracted is not the word. Bulldozed seems more appropriate.

When he takes my wrist and pulls me down to sit at the base of the oak tree beside him, I’m pretty much putty in his hands. Which is annoying as all get out.

His thumb teases at my pulse point for a few seconds, and I wonder if he feels it pick up under his touch. His shoulder brushes against mine, and the shiver that runs down my spine speeds through my limbs, drawing my toes to a point.

I keep my eyes on my feet as he asks, “So, Daredevil, besides jumping off balconies, what other crazy things do you spend your time doing?”

“Hanging out in backyards with complete strangers, obviously.”

His blue eyes are practically twinkling when he nudges my shoulder and says, “I’ve had my hands up your skirt, Daredevil. I think that qualifies me as an acquaintance at least.”

I shove him away, and when he comes back laughing, his shoulder doesn’t just brush mine, but presses against me to stay.

I pull on a scowl, but it’s getting harder and harder not to smile at him. Not to mention my heart is beating so hard, it might be leaving dents in my rib cage. “Feel free to ease back on the honesty any time now.”

He leans his head back against the tree, and swivels his face toward me. “Too late. I’m addicted. It’s your fault, really.”

I turn my head toward him, and he’s closer than I expect him to be. His eyes are this incredible electric blue, and a shock wave ripples through me like his gaze carries a voltage.

It’s my eyes that drop to his lips first, just for half a second, but when I look back up his sight is trained on my mouth. There’s a drum line in my ears, and my skin feels too tight for me to properly breathe. It’s been so very long since I’ve felt like this that I’d forgotten how consuming it is. How physical attraction really is. All my relationships began in my head first, or at least after Levi they did. I dated guys because it made sense, because they ticked all the boxes, and the attraction came later. Sometimes.

This is different. I don’t know anything about this guy except that his eyes make my mind fuzzy, and his muscled arms make my mouth water, and the things he keeps saying . . . they burn—beginning in my flushed cheeks, blazing through my blood, and curling between my legs until I feel like I have to squeeze them together just to keep from combusting on the spot.

I lean into him before I can change my mind, my whole arm lined up against his. Then our knees bump, followed by our pinkies.

His head dips down, the scruff on his chin grazing my shoulder, setting off a shiver that should be measured on the Richter scale.

I tilt my chin up, and his breath skims over my lips in a ghost of a kiss.

And that’s all I get, a phantom touch, because he pulls back with a wry grin. I try to school my expression into something detached or annoyed or bored or anything—anything other than the disappointment churning in my gut.

He’s just playing with me. Clearly. And the humiliation drowns out everything else.

I turn away, pulling up my knees in preparation to stand. I open my mouth to make an excuse, that I need to find Stella, that I need a drink, that I need electroshock therapy to jolt the stupid out of me. God, when will I learn?

I don’t even get out a word before he grips my elbow, pulling me toward him, and slams his lips against mine.

I am not the kiss-a-stranger type. I’m not even the kiss-an- acquaintance type. But I keep hearing Levi calling me an icebox. And I keep remembering the one and only time we had sex, and the horrible day after when it hadn’t saved our relationship like I’d thought it would. I’d had very little interest in physical contact since then, and I hate that Levi still controls a part of my life even all these years later.

But this . . . Levi doesn’t have control of this because I’m not sure even I have control of this.

Carson’s hand smooths up from my elbow and curls around the back of my neck, pulling me even closer. He tilts my head back, positioning me just how he wants me. And though my body is a big fan of jumping on that bandwagon (and I totally plan to), my brain feels the need to remind him, “I’m still not sleeping with you.”

He huffs out a laugh, his head dropping down until I can feel the breath from his laughter singe my collarbone.

“Oh, Daredevil,” he murmurs. “I like you.”

I like it when he calls me that. My stomach swoops low in my belly in approval and anticipation.

This time, I kiss him, and his lips press back against mine so hard that a jolt of something coils down my spine. The hand at the back of my neck tightens, and his other hand rests lightly against my knee. I know he must feel it shaking.

I can’t decide if him being a virtual stranger makes this kind of intimacy more or less terrifying.

His lips open against mine, his breath fanning over my skin, and I think more terrifying, definitely.

But also so much . . . hotter .

He brushes his open mouth against mine, softly, once and then twice, like we have all the time in the world, and I expect myself to be grateful for his slowness, but instead it’s killing me. I want to dive into him headfirst, submerge myself in the way he makes me feel, and not come up for air until I have no other choice.