Would I ever stop being such a weirdo? Here he was, fresh out of practice and no doubt exhausted, and I was like an exuberant puppy with a chew toy. Way to be hot and fun, Peyton!
Justin touched my hand and I lifted my eyes. “I like enthusiasm.”
For once, his wicked grin was gone, replaced with something softer, sweeter. Sincere. Then he linked our fingers together. My heart stopped in my chest. It was the first time a boy had ever held my hand. “How do you play?”
Blink. Blink. “Hmm?”
“The game?” he asked with a small laugh. “How do you play it?”
“Oh! It’s simple.” Don’t let go of my hand, please don’t let go of my hand. “Uh, I pretty much ask you any three questions I want and then you get to do the same. No judgment, no worries, we just say the first thing that comes to our minds.”
The warmth from his skin spread up my arm and into my chest, leaving me breathless, rambling, and giddy as heck. I swallowed and attempted to tone down the crazy. “Are you in?”
For the length of three passing cars, he just looked at me. No words, no face change, and I’d never wanted to be a mind reader more than I did in those moments. It wasn’t fair that he held all the secret powers in this… friendship? Relationship? Gah, whatever this was.
Justin’s firm lips twitched. “Sure. Why not?”
Victory!
“Great!” Too late, I remembered my goal of tempering my puppy-like enthusiasm, and I fiddled with my school skirt. “Um, want me to go first?”
He nodded, once, and said, “Remember, you promised to be gentle.”
Oh, dear heavens above. “You never stop, do you?”
He chuckled. “Nope.”
As Justin glanced up front, presumably to make sure Rosalyn wasn’t paying attention, I forced my mind onto the game. I was on a mission, after all, and while I doubted his housekeeper could hear a thing anyway, threat of a potential audience wasn’t about to stop me. Who knew when I’d get another chance to be alone with him—if I’d get another chance?
Lolling my head casually against the seat, I asked, “What’s your favorite book?”
Justin laughed. “Seriously? You know there’s a huge divide between being gentle and a softball-question like, ‘what’s your favorite book,’ right?”
“Yeah, well, maybe I’m working up to the hard stuff,” I suggested. “Ever thought about that?” Really, I was just a huge book nerd who loved raiding people’s bookshelves. But he need not know that.
“All right,” he replied. “Moneyball.”
Challenge rang from his tone and from his craned eyebrow, it was obvious he expected me to tease him for his choice. But that’s not how this game worked. Plus, Dad had read that thing like a gazillion times, too. And I was fluent in Brad Pitt movies.
I gave an approving nod. “Good one. Now it’s your turn.”
“That’s it?” When I nodded, he seemed surprised. “That was easy enough.”
I stayed quiet, simply smiling, as a sudden case of nerves ping-ponged in my gut. Would his question be easy, too?
How did I not think this through? What if he asked about my occasional slight limp? What if he’d caught me staring at him in the hallways and wanted to know why I was such a stalker?
Why on earth had I thought this would be a good idea?
Justin’s left eye closed slightly more than his right as he pondered his first question, and I was certain that I was toast. “Biggest pet peeve?”
I released a grateful sigh, thanking my lucky stars, and replied easily. “Entitlement.”
“What do you mean?”
I shrugged. “I’m just tired of people taking things for granted. Thinking they’re owed something. Throwing a fit or acting a fool when they don’t get their way. Nothing in life is a guarantee, you know? Every day that we wake up and get to throw off our covers is a freaking gift, and we can either appreciate that, be grateful for what we have and work hard for what we don’t, or we can choose to wallow and complain and expect someone to just hand it to us.”
The last bit was punctuated with a smack as my free hand slapped my thigh, and the noise jolted me off my soap box.
‘Fun and hot’ was slipping further and further away.
Taking a breath, I snorted at my own dorkiness and concluded, “I guess I just think we could all stand to be a little more grateful, is all.”
Smothering a sigh, I mumbled an apology, and Justin gave me a crooked grin. “Don’t be sorry. I like seeing you get all feisty like that.” He leaned close and whispered, “Who knew Sunshine had a hidden edge?”
Ha! The words, of course, were typical Justin flirtation, but when he leaned back, the look in his eyes said he meant it. They’d gone soft, like melted chocolate, and the combined effect of the expression, his words, and his proximity turned me into a sticky puddle of Peyton goo. Mentally, I doodled our names together in linked hearts and fantasized about him giving me his letterman jacket in front of the entire school.
I frowned. Or did that only happen in old movies?