Faith.
Sinjin may orchestrate my next downfall. Am I willing to risk the peace I’ve found here? My hands go numb. I squeeze and release my fingers to get the blood flowing. The way he handled our conversation made me want to text him right away. He didn’t care that anyone paying attention to our exchange in class would see his prayer hands. Such a geek move. Sexiest damn dork at this school.
But still.
He’s a jock. A popular one. What if this leads to another trap? I’d be snared, stuck chewing off an appendage for the required getaway, while he focused on the next girl on his to-do list.
Indecision duels against fear and self-protection. My brain screams, Ignore him and delete the contact. My traitorous body chants, Waste no time… Have you paid attention to that butt?
I draw air deep into my lungs and count to ten to block the onset of hiccups. Do I really want to meet Sinjin off-campus somewhere? Hanging out with someone is like a trust fall. They either play along and catch you, or step back and let you land on your ass. I won’t know until I know. Screw it. I open my phone to send a message to him and read his entry in my contacts. SinGen.
Flirty. I tell the voice in my head to STFU and text him before I lose my nerve.
Sinjin. Iguana’s @7 tonight.
My palm goes slick, and I bobble the device before managing to slide the phone into the front pocket of my hoodie. I use both hands to press it against my stomach through the cloth. I haven’t paid one bit of attention in this class. If I flunk, Dad will kill me, and I won’t need to worry about the societal mores and downfalls of going out with another popular jock.
I withhold this meetup from Kirsty. I’m doing my best to convince myself my omission stems from a need to protect her from worry. But I suspect the real motive involves my attempt to avoid her input. I imagine she’d ask me if I’ve lost my effing mind.
Web searches netted me advice on what to talk about on a first date. One site suggested a discussion involving untouchable topics, recommending a lively conversation about abortion in particular. Not. Another noted mirroring each other was a sign of attraction, but not so much you look like a creepy stalker. Good to know. The most common advice offered was to dress up. I look down at my Lucky Charms hoodie. It’s a winner for a reason.
The sun paints the sky with sherbet tones. I push through the door at Iguana’s. Booths line the walls, and four-seater tables pack the middle of the restaurant. It’s half-full and noisy and layered with the smell of grilled meat. I arrive ten minutes early to pick our spot but notice Sinjin seated toward the back. I’m surprised. My foot knocks into a chair, and the scrape of metal on tile sounds loud, like the blare of a horn on a quiet street.
Sinjin smiles and motions me to join him. My body responds to his summons—the pull hits low in my belly and throws off my stride. He’s wearing jeans and a short-sleeved Henley T-shirt in dark green, making his eyes impossibly blue. He walks around the table and pulls out a chair for me. His biceps bulge.
The back of my neck heats. He tucks the chair toward the table as I sit. “You’re early. I like it. Are you going to make me stick to a single hour?”
The moisture in my mouth evaporates, but I manage to say, “I’ll let you know in about fifty minutes.”
His sly grin tugs something dormant inside me.
“Fair enough. What can I get you to eat?”
His intense focus scatters my thoughts, but I regroup. “Let’s split the Burritozilla. Carne asada.” Part of my plan. An icebreaker. We’ll either laugh or go home after an awkward hour. If he has a sense of humor, we’ll probably hang out longer.
“Five pounds of edible perfection,” he says. When he stands, his athletic grace overpowers me. “I knew you’d be a girl I need to spend time with—what would you like to drink?”
His Prince Charming act makes me want to lie down and allow him free rein to break the spell, but rational thoughts return. “Only two things matter: carbonated and sugar free.”
“Coming right up.” He leaves the table to go wait in line.
I wipe my damp palms on my cargos. Three huge guys walk up behind Sinjin and thump him on the back, hard enough to knock him forward. He spins around and grins at the gigantic wall of flesh standing behind him. I can’t hear their conversation, but I watch them all execute a series of complicated handshakes. Sinjin points at me. Three heads turn in my direction.
The tallest guy of the trio must be six five and probably weighs more than a Fiat. His size and ginger-colored hair evoke an image of him wearing a kilt and carrying a broadsword. The dude says something to Sinjin, who shakes his head hard.
The guy pats him on the head and walks over to me, points at the seat across from mine and asks, “May I?”
He sits before I make up my mind and smiles sweetly at me. “I’m Eric McBride. People call me Everest. I play football with CW and told him I’d keep you company while he places your order.”
“CW?”
Everest nods his head. “If he didn’t play football, he’d be on The CW.”
Makes sense. “And you wanted to meet me?”
“CW got twitchy, and that’s rare. I told him I planned to tell you about all his faults so you’d dump him and hang out with me.”
I still can’t tell if this guy is joking. “You joined me to annoy him?”
He nods. “Initially, but now I want to get to know you. Solve this riddle for me.”
“Is this a test? And do I get a prize if I give you the correct answer?”
“My company.”
I laugh. I can’t help myself. It’s such an over-the-top thing to say. “You’re like a box of Cracker Jacks.”
He stacks his hands on the table in front of him. “How so?”
“You promise a prize, but I’m only getting a riddle.”
His eyes light with humor. “Solve this for me. You throw away the outside and cook the inside. Then you eat the outside and throw away the inside. What did you just eat?”
The answer is obvious to me. “An ear of corn, farm boy.”
His lips quirk. “What’s your name?”
“Faith Lacerna.”
“That’s pretty, but you look like a Lola. Fall in love with Lola, and you never forget her. Lola Lacerna.”
Funny guy. First riddles. Now flattery. “Sounds fake to me, like a porn star’s stage name.”
His laugh breaks free, loud and unpredicted. “I’m never wrong about people. My gut insisted you were someone I’d enjoy knowing.”
“You have conversations with your stomach?”
“Nonverbal but always on point.”
Adorable. And for the second time in my life I’m attracted to a guy based solely on friendship potential. Weird. “Now tell me CW’s faults.”
“Get lost, Everest.” Sinjin sets our drinks down and passes Eric an order slip. “I ordered for you. Go find your own girl.”
Everest stuffs the receipt into his pocket and walks around the table. “I like this one. She didn’t need a hint to solve the riddle.”
He bends down and picks me up, chair and all. I fist my hands in his T-shirt and hold on for dear life. I don’t want to be dumped to the floor four feet off the ground. Everest hoists the chair higher. I squeal. He laughs. I nearly smack him for making me sound like a wuss, but I’m afraid to let go.
He sets me down with care and kisses my cheek. I open my fists and try to smooth out the wrinkles I made in his shirt. “For the record, that move would be much more impressive if I were sitting on a couch.”
His smile lights up his face. “We’ll try that next time. Give me your phone. We need to stay in touch.”
I pass him my unlocked cell. He adds himself as a contact, presses send. He passes my phone back to me while he grabs his own to end the call. I now have a mountain in my contacts. Literally. He used the mountain emoji as his contact, nothing else.
“The second he doesn’t treat you right, tag me. I’ll flatten him into roadkill. Bye, Lola.”
“Nice meeting you.” I pity the girls who must fall for him daily.
He turns toward Sinjin. “She’s smart, funny and hot. Don’t fumble, CW.”
His comment about my being hot is a first. I don’t know if it was meant as a joke, but it’s nice to hear. I watch Everest cross the restaurant to join his teammates at their table. “I like your friend. He’s sweet.”
“Everest threatened to turn me into roadkill. That’s not friendly or sweet.”
“Trust me, he’s priceless.”
Sinjin grunts.
I roll my lips inward to stop my smile. “How many girls does he call Lola?”
“Just you, I think.” His gaze tracks over to Everest and shakes his head. “What’s up with that anyway?”
“A sweet compliment.” I focus on the neon Iguana’s sign that hangs behind him because I can’t stare at him in the face while I ask the question I’ve obsessed over. “Why did you ask me out?”
“Why wouldn’t I ask?”
I still can’t look at him. I hope he just answers the question without my having to decipher his expression. Sinjin taps on the table in front of me to get my attention.
Crap. I force myself to make eye contact. “You can’t answer my question with one of your own.”
He moves his finger to tap the top of my hand while maintaining eye contact.
Nerves under my skin tingle at his touch.
“I mean it,” he asks. “Why not you? Everest pinned it. You’re interesting, sarcastic in a funny way, and hot. And you solved his riddle without charming him for a clue. I’ll add smart to your growing list of why.”
While I pick apart his answer, weighing his words to determine if they reflect honesty or deception, he takes a sip of his drink.
He sets his drink on the table. “Why do you call me Sinjin?”
I answer this question by rote. “I’m a fan of Regency romance—stories set in England, around Jane Austen’s era. One of my favorites has a main character named Thomas St. John. He’s called Sinjin throughout the book.”
I won’t tell him about my huge crush on this fictional character. A book boyfriend. I’ve read the book at least fifteen times. Sometimes I reread the sex scenes. Those page numbers are burned into my memory.
He leans toward me to ask, “Are those the books with half-naked men on the cover?”
I must be telegraphing my thoughts. I sit up straighter in my chair and stare at a spot about four inches above his left shoulder, avoiding eye contact. “You force me to sound clichéd by pointing out that you cannot judge a book by its cover,” I manage to say without any hint of awkwardness.
“True, but I bet I’d find a mostly naked pirate on the cover of your book.”
“He’s not a pirate. He’s a duke.” By accident, I use my outdoor voice, and several people in the restaurant turn and stare. My cheeks burn. I sound defensive about a man who doesn’t exist.
He snorts out a laugh. “What’s the title of your Sinjin book? I might read it.”
Shit. First-date advice gleaned from the internet promoted the avoidance of mundane topics. I raise my chin. “Eight Nights of Sin by Annette Malloy.”
“Only eight? Damn. I’ll be sure to download it to my iPad.”
I don’t know whether he’s being serious or mocking me. Someone behind the counter shouts, “Number seventy-two.” Sinjin reaches into his pocket and pulls out the receipt. “That’s our food. Do you want me to grab salsa or anything else?”
“Everything. Thanks.”
“Be right back.”
I remind myself to stay in the moment. I take a sip of my soda and admire the way his jeans stretch across his ass while he walks across the restaurant. I defy anyone not to stare. His shoulders are broad, tapered down to a narrow waist, and then powerful thighs. He’s wider than me, a definite must.
Since we’re never having sex, his size doesn’t matter. Except in principle.
Sinjin returns to the table with our five-pound Burritozilla centered on a tray filled with various salsas, jalapeños, cilantro, two paper plates, and plastic cutlery. He sets the tray between us and grabs a knife.
I pick up my phone and show him the time. It’s seven twenty. Forty minutes remain of the allotted hour, not counting the extra ten from my early arrival.
“I’ll take a portion of this monster.” I cut myself less than a quarter section off the end. “I challenge you to finish the rest. If your plate is empty by eight, you get more time.”
His eyebrows rise. He tilts his head and asks, “How much more time?”
Just to be difficult, I answer, “Ten minutes.”
He shakes his head. “I need more incentive to bust my gut with this much food.”
“Fine. Thirty.”
“Done, but if I finish with more than five minutes to spare, I get another night out with you. My choice of venue and no time limit, Cinderella.”
He’s so damn sexy. My heart flutters, followed by the burning wish: Don’t be a liar.
Stop. Stay in the moment. He’s trying to win more time with me by stuffing more than four pounds of food down his throat, a food challenge worthy of a competitive-eating champion. I take a breath. “You’re on.”
Someone shouts from across the room, “Hey, CW, she must be special. You never share your Burritozilla.”
“Yo, Timber. There’s a first time for everything.”
Sinjin smiles at me, and I know I’ve been had.