“I don’t want any,” he starts, but Lauren practically leaps on him, she’s such a rabid Yo Town fan.
“Oh, but you really, really should. It’s so delicious and besides, you need to celebrate your team’s win tonight. And your own win. Our win,” she tells him with a dazzling smile. “Come on. Pick something out.”
He glances at me and without missing a beat he asks, “What flavor do you recommend?”
My mouth drops open. Is he seriously drawing me into their conversation right now? What the hell? “Um…what flavors do you usually like?”
Tuttle shrugs those impossibly broad shoulders, his gaze never wavering from mine. It’s like everything else in the room fades away, and it’s just me and him. “I like lots of flavors.”
“Okay,” I say slowly, my brain scrambling for a better answer. “Such as?”
“I like fruit flavors, like peachy skin and cherry lips. Oh, and dark chocolate eyes.” His gaze slowly sweeps over me and I’ve never felt so self-conscious in my life. I look like hell in my battered jeans and Yo Town T-shirt smeared with frozen yogurt and melted candy, my hair a haphazard mess despite being in a bun. All while he looks like a god. Figures. “I also like pretty girls who bust my balls and make me feel like a jackass every time I so much as look at them.”
My cheeks are on fire because he is so talking about me. He’s with Lauren-the-most-popular-girl-in-high-school-Mancini yet he’s flirting with me.
“Sounds like you need to leave those types alone,” I say, my voice firm. Lauren is watching us, her head swiveling from Tuttle to me and back to Tuttle again. Like we’re playing some sort of game, volleying the ball back and forth to each other.
But someone calls her name, one of her friends, one of the princesses of the homecoming court, and Lauren darts off to see what she wants.
So it’s just me and Tuttle.
“Maybe I don’t want to leave her alone.” He stops directly in front of me with only the counter separating us, and presses his hands against the counter. “Maybe I just need to work a little harder to get her to believe we’re meant to be together,” he murmurs in that low, rumbly voice that makes my stomach twist and turn.
Meant to be together. He shouldn’t say such romantic, swoony things. He doesn’t believe that, and neither do I. I’m not sure why he continues to bother with it.
“Stop,” I whisper, flicking my head in Lauren’s direction. I rest my palms against the counter and lean over it a little, my face practically in Tuttle’s. “Go be with your girlfriend.”
“She’s not my girlfriend,” he whispers back, his hands coming dangerously close to mine.
“She’s your queen.” I snatch my hands away from the counter and point at his crown. “Congrats on winning.”
His face betrays nothing and he doesn’t bother acknowledging my statement. “When did you start working here?”
I lift my chin, trying for determined and cool and collected. Most likely failing miserably. “A few days ago.”
“You like it?”
I shrug. “It’s a job. I need the money.”
Tuttle studies me closely, like he can see right through me, and I want to take my words back. Somehow, he knows I’m lying. Well, I’m not really lying, but I am sad I wasn’t able to go to the game tonight. I love football. I love watching our boys play, and they’ve gotten so much better this year. They have a real chance to make it to the playoffs, and that’s incredible.
But I won’t get to experience any of it. I’ll be too busy working every Friday night, making approximately fifty dollars for my time served.
“You’ll be missed,” he finally says, his voice still low. Intimate. Like we’re sharing a deep, dark secret. “I liked seeing you in the stands at every game.”
I raise a brow, in full on skepticism mode. I can’t help it. He says things like that and I don’t believe him. Yet some part of me deep down inside does believe him. It’s incredibly confusing.
“You didn’t even notice me.”
“I always noticed you, even when you were in band.” He pauses. “I’ve told you that before. Why don’t you believe me?”
The sincerity in his tone almost makes me want to laugh. Or throw myself at him. I’m not sure which option is worse.
I brace my hands on the counter once more, mimicking his position. “I always feel like you’re yanking my chain, Tuttle.”
He smirks, and it’s adorable. Sexy. “Right back at you, Winters.” And then he does the most incredible thing. Without saying a word, without any indication of what he was about to do, he scoots his hand closer to mine, reaching out to graze the top of my hand with just his pinky finger.
I feel that touch all the way down to my toes. It’s like he electrified me. Reminded me that I’m alive. And he’s the only one who can make me feel like that.
The only one.