Caleb.
Faith’s eyes sparkle in the restaurant’s lighting. I should feel bad for accepting her bet when I know I can finish before the hour is up. She set me up to fail her food challenge. But instead of being mad at me for conning her about my ability to shove five pounds of food down my throat, she grins at me. “Well played.”
She’s more relaxed than when she first walked in and knocked into the chair. Her trust issues are harder to maneuver than the legendary ’85 Chicago Bears defensive line. But she chose to stay and let this thing play out.
She points at what’s left of the burrito on my side of the table. “You’re sneaky.”
“I prefer to think of it as seizing an opportunity.” I pick up my fork, take a bite of my burrito. I’ll have to finish what’s left of the five pounds of food in front of me. “Thinking on my feet. Reading the line of scrimmage, making the play. You thought you had me.”
“True. I might keep you talking to see if I can pull off the win.” She grins at me.
My body reacts when the sizzle between us skims along my ribs. I scoop another bite. “You play dirty. Tell me why you picked Fortis?”
While we eat, she gives me the lowdown about life outside of Boston. Faith applied to Fortis because her dad accepted a job with the gaming company he’d been consulting with in the Valley. A school on the opposite coast seemed unthinkable to her. They seem close. I work my way through the burrito enjoying the chow and our conversation. She takes bites of food while we talk. Faith doesn’t mention her mom, and I don’t want to ask in case of issues or worse, she’s dead.
“How about you? Why Fortis?” Faith asks.
“That’s easy. I grew up in Palo Alto, so I’m local. It’s Division I football, and they recruited me to play for them. They have the best criminology department in the state. I’ll major in criminology, and minor in sociology and chemistry.”
“Interesting. I declared sociology, concentration in community change.”
“Nonimpacted,” we say in unison. I grin and make eye contact.
Faith looks down at the table, takes a sip of her soda then asks, “Have you ever played two truths and a lie?”
“Remind me.”
“We each make three statements about ourselves. Two truths and one lie. It’s a get-to-know-you thing.”
I can get lost in her inky and mysterious gaze. I wrap my brain around how I might play her game. “Go ahead.”
She pauses for a moment. I wonder if she’s considering which two truths she wants to tell me about or whether the lie will fool me.
“I’m trilingual. My mother is a pseudo-celebrity. I can change a tire without help from the opposite sex.”
Serious wow factor. The lack of emotion when she mentions her mom makes me wonder about their relationship. “I’m impressed.”
She lifts her chin. “Which of my talents merits that distinction?”
Why her sass grabs me by the throat remains a mystery. “All of them. But having a semi-famous mom isn’t a talent.”
“True. But she’s my cross to bear.”
Interesting. Mom sounds like a sore subject. I’m glad I didn’t ask. “Damn, girl. You can change a tire?”
She snorts. “Are you crazy? That’s why smart girls invest in a membership to an auto club.”
I scoop the next to last bite. I can’t believe this girl can speak three languages. What am I going to say? I can run a forty in four point six seconds. Shit. Now I’m regretting this game. “I’m an Eagle Scout. I didn’t miss a single math question on the SAT. I got into an accident while taking the road test for my driver’s license.”
She looks down at my plate and shakes her head.
“Well?” I’m interested in her opinion.
“I’m trying to decide if you’re super smart or patently good.”
“You believe I got in an accident during my driver’s exam?”
“Without a doubt.”
Her sparkiness cracks me up. “It’s not what you think. I was rear-ended by an old lady who could barely see over the steering wheel.”
Her grin spreads. “You’re smart, but not an Eagle Scout.”
“Ennnnh.” I imitate a buzzer sound. “Get real. Who gets a perfect math score on the SAT?”
“You defy logic. A football player with the highest rank attainable in the Boy Scouts.”
Ouch. “You don’t have a high opinion of my kind.”
“I haven’t met a football player who doesn’t live up to type.”
Convicted without evidence. “Not all athletes are douchebags, Faith.”
“Sorry. Knee jerk.” Her face flushes with color. “Next subject. Are you living in the dorms?”
“I’m off campus.”
“You grew up in the TMZ.”
“The what?”
“Thirty-mile-zone. The distance that effectively negates the freshman dorm mandate. Dad didn’t establish residency in time for me to avoid it. I share a room with someone who routinely paws through my things.” Faith grimaces. “We trade insults whenever we’re together, and her snark is almost as clever as mine. Plus, sharing a bathroom with many people sucks.”
“Try showering with an entire team.”
“You just described my living nightmare. This is the first time I’ve ever had to share. The dorm bathrooms devolve into a fungal pit by Friday.”
“Fungal pit sounds like the name of a nineties grunge band.” I can’t remember the last time I’ve been relaxed while talking to a girl. I had to compliment Dana nonstop. If not, I got tears and tantrums for my lapse.
Faith snickers. “I realized I’m a bathroom germaphobe. I spend weekends with Dad at his place. He picks me up after work each Friday. I find it ironic you live at The Row, too. I mean, who doesn’t live there? It’s strange.”
“It’s ‘THE’ place to live in San Jose. My mom calls it the Melrose Place of Silicon Valley.”
I wonder why I haven’t run into Faith there. Forty-two acres of retail and residential space isn’t all that large considering—hell our campus sits on one hundred and ten acres and I’ve seen Faith cross campus a few times. Odd.
I dig up the last bite, shovel it in my mouth, and swallow it down. “Ha! Done. You owe me.”
She turns over her phone, checks the time. Shows me the screen. The time flashes seven fifty. “Not completely fair, but you did win. I’ll think of something truly diabolical for next time.”
Anticipation winds around my spine. “About that. We have two more home games before the team hits the road. I’d like to collect this bet-win and take you out Sunday, if you’re available?”
She places her phone in the front pocket of her hoodie. “Since your last away game will be played at the University of Hawaii, I’d better not hear you complain. I’m guessing you’ll get some down time on the beach.”
“That’s not until mid-November, and the coaching staff will have us on total lockdown. If I’m lucky, I’ll see the ocean from my hotel room.” I wink at her. “But I like the fact you know my schedule.”
Faith rolls her eyes. “The game schedule was printed on a freebie bookmark the campus bookstore shoved inside my psychology textbook like a caution sign—warning me to stay away.”
I inhale instead of swallow my drink and cough-choke. She winks back at me when she passes me a napkin. I wipe my mouth and try to breathe without wheezing. Epic. Flirt. Fail.
“I read, pay attention, fall victim to envy. I’ve never been to Hawaii,” she admits.
I smile, then hope jalapeño slices don’t bracket my teeth like parenthesis and lean toward her. “I might not make it this season either. It all depends on whether I make the travel team.”
She tilts her head to the left, and says without any trace of snark, “You won’t have to worry about making the travel team.”
“A compliment, Ms. Lacerna. I’m flattered.” And I am. I hold her gaze. “Have you been to the beach?”
She glances away. “Not yet. I’ve been meaning to dip my feet in the Pacific Ocean.”
I drum my fingers on the table then stop because it’s a nervous tic of mine. Dana straight-up nagged me about the habit. “I’ll take you Sunday. And for your information, your feet will freeze in the Pacific. The average water temp for this time of year is below sixty degrees.”
“I’m from Newford, Massachusetts.” She pokes my arm to drill her point. “Your water is warmer than we get this time of year.”
“Why don’t you sound like you’re from Boston?”
“Oh I can drop my r’s with the best of them. I can pack the cah like anyone else from Newfud.”
I laugh. That’s exactly the kind of accent I’d expect from her. The sound of her voice makes my pulse climb.
“I lived in New York until I was eight. Then we moved to Massachusetts. My grandparents mostly speak Italian to me. Growing up, they made sure I learned the language.”
“That reminds me, what’s the third language?”
“Portuguese. Huge Portuguese population in my hometown. It was an elective at my high school and near enough to Italian to give me a leg up.”
Leg up? The mental image of Faith wearing some fifties pin-up girl costume forms in my mind and won’t shake loose. One of my classmates back in high school used to draw pin-up girls with a modern flair—tatted-up ass-kickers. Sexy as fuck. Realistic. You almost expected them to step off the page and grab you by the belt.
“Hello?” She taps my hand to get my attention. “Earth to Sinjin.”
I force my thoughts away from the fantasy I’ve built in my head. She doesn’t strike me as the type to appreciate my mental road trip. “There’s one more question I want to ask you.”
She motions with her index and middle finger in the come-ahead sign. “Bring it.”
“You habitually wear hoodies on hot days. Care to explain?”
Her face goes blank. She stands. “No. Thanks for dinner though. I’ve got to get back.”
Evasive maneuver, like being juked on the field. The bond that built between us over dinner dissipates. I must have fucked up.
“You’re welcome,” I say as we gather our trash. “If I pick you up at eleven Sunday morning, we can make a full day of it. Explore Santa Cruz and Capitola. Okay?”
“Fine.”
Her body language screams regret. Shit. We both nod at my teammates as we pass their table on our way to the exit.
Timber calls out, “Yo, CW. Come on over.”
“If we don’t stop, I’ll never hear the end of it.” We step up to the trio. “Faith, this is Timber.”
“Let me guess. He got the nickname because when he tackles someone y’all cry out, Timber?”
Timber chuckles. “Sometimes a name’s just a name.” He taps two fingers against his heart. “Timothy Burr.”
Faith asks, “What’s your dad’s name?”
His smile stretches across his face, the gold-capped incisor is now on display. Faith entertains him. The only time I see that tooth is when he spits out his mouthpiece.
“Aaron.”
“I love it,” she snickers. “Aaron Burr?”
Timber gestures palms up like he had no say in the matter. Interest sparks in his eyes as he checks her out. I see a flash of that gold tooth again.
My final teammate stands, and I introduce him. “Chrysler weighs as much as a muscle car and has more power and speed than a four-twenty-six Hemi.”
Chrysler takes Faith’s hand in his. “Faith, you can do better than CW.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” she murmurs.
“You already met the mountain.”
Everest smiles at Faith and mimes a thumping heart on his chest. Faith makes a heart shape with her hands. I shoot Everest a dirty look, hoping it will derail any thoughts he might entertain about Faith. He blows me a kiss—offensive lineman humor. I’m strong, but Everest? He’s capable of hurting me bad enough to still feel the pain while I’m in the coffin and the choir’s singing “Amazing Grace.”
Faith says, “Bye, gentlemen.”
I hold the door for her, and we step outside. Mid-October holds hotter temps through the day, but they drop as soon as the sun sets. “I’ll walk you back to your dorm.”
She scoots past me and calls over her shoulder, “That’s not necessary.”
I hurry to catch up. This girl moves. “My mom would disagree, and if I want to continue to walk upright without a limp, I listen and do what she taught me.”
“That’s sweet.”
“Should I be worried that you think people who threaten me with bodily harm are sweet?”
She smacks my belly with the back of her hand. “Violence isn’t the answer. Unfortunate, really, since many people would benefit from a proper ass-kicking.”
I rub my stomach. I’d hate to feel her violent backhand. We walk toward the college dorms. “Do you carry a list of people who need their asses kicked?”
She turns right at the corner. “Oh. I like that idea, but no.” She shrugs. “Most times, you have to pick yourself up after someone blindsides you.” Her hands orchestrate her words. Visual punctuation.
We reach the corner. “Honesty is vital to me.” She stops and makes eye contact. “But, there’s a time and a place for it. This isn’t it, Caleb.”
The hairs on my forearms ripple. It’s the first time she uses my name instead of Sinjin. It makes the moment more important. I want to wipe the expression from her face. Whatever happened, it hurt her. Now I feel like a dick for asking.
“Likewise. Lies are a deal breaker for me.” All the lies Dad and Dana built between them makes my jaw clench. I force myself to relax because Faith has nothing to do with that part of my life. Instead, I reach for her hand, lace her fingers through mine, let the current thrum between us, and start walking again. I want to lighten the mood I created by my stupid damn question. “How do you feel about PDA?”
She scans the immediate area, her gaze searching for God knows what. Full alert mode.
The tree-lined street and business offices that have closed for the day hold no secrets that I can see. She pulls her hand from mine. Her voice is sharp. “Why do you ask?”
Whoa. I rewind and review what I said to put her on the defensive. I can’t imagine why a question about making out in public would cause the mood swing. “My lame attempt to gauge your interest.”
“My interest?” she repeats in a monotone while taking a minute step back.
Complete trigger. “About kissing you right here, right now.” I soften my voice because I like this girl and I want her hand holding mine. “Talk to me, Faith. Which emotional land mine did I stomp on?”
Her face goes pale, and she glances away from me.
Shit. “Please tell me what I’ve said or done to hit your panic button.”
Her gaze meets mine, then she turns away from me. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
I shouldn’t push her right now. But the implication she might not find me trustworthy makes me crazy. I can’t stop, like during practice when I’m hitting the sleds. I won’t ram against her will, but I don’t want to give up either.
My voice drops. “Faith, you were hurt.”
“What?”
I take her hand in mine. “Be honest.”
She threads her fingers through mine. “Yes, but not the way you mean.”
Thank God. Just knowing someone hurt her pisses me off and makes me feel helpless at the same time. I reel her in slow by our joined hands and lean toward her. I’m taking my time, to give her a chance to step back in case she changes her mind. She fascinates me with her duality. Equal parts fearless and fearful. Desire slams into me at her nearness. When she doesn’t pull away, I ask, “Can I kiss you?”
She waits a beat, and exhales softly. “Yes.”
I move closer and press my lips against hers. She leans into me, and I gently sweep my tongue across her bottom lip. She parts her lips and her tongue touches mine. My abdomen tightens like a fist as her fingers brush the back of my neck, and I deepen the kiss. Nerve endings spark with electricity. It won’t hurt until she’s no longer grounding me and I let go. Her body damn near melts into mine, her curves a puzzle piece that fits me perfectly.
She pulls away from me. The heat between us dissipates, leaving a cold spot in the absence of her warmth.
Faith says, “I can’t do this with you.”
I’m at a loss. I don’t know how to prove I’m not an asshole.