Page 54 of The Fake Out

“No roses. Got it.”

I cleared my throat and changed the subject. “Ready for round three?”

With a grunt, he eyed the red bottle. “I think this might kill me. If it does, make sure to delete the history on my laptop before my parents see it, okay? For no real reason.”

“Searching up baby animal pictures again?”

He nodded sadly. “I knew you’d understand.”

Both of us loaded up a chip with three careful drops of hot sauce. Chris counted us down and then there was no turning back. I swallowed quickly and then schooled my face, so it showed as little reaction as possible. Was this mean? Eh, maybe. But I was still going to enjoy every minute.

Chris took his time chewing, which was a real mistake. His expression moved from hesitant and thoughtful to alarmed and pained in under fifteen seconds. His eyes widened and he made the mistake of sucking in a deep breath. The heat was always worse on an inhalation. He beat a hand against the picnic table.

“Why is your face like that?” he demanded, and then poured the rest of his water down his throat with shaky hands. I almost felt bad. But it wasn’t permanent. Eventually, it would pass. Eventually.

“Why is my face like what?” I asked, holding back a cough, and calmly taking a sip of water. The heat had bypassed my mouth and gone directly for my throat. My eyes began to water, and I blinked to staunch that.

“Y-you’re not…” His accusation hung there as he began to sweat. “I need more water.”

He lifted the bottom of his shirt to swipe at his forehead. My gaze snagged on the swatch of abs it revealed. His face was covered so I could look and not feel (too much) like a perv. I had to imagine it took hours and hours of hard work, training, and dedication to have abs like that. Hours in the gym, running, doing crunches, lifting weights getting all sweaty and…

Okay, now I sounded like a perv.

I averted my eyes and uncapped my water bottle. Chris snatched it from my hand.

“Hey!” I tried to grab it back, but he was much faster.

He emptied it in two gulps. With narrowed eyes, he swiped the back of his hand across his mouth. “How many times have you done this?”

I crossed my arms, but it was hard to keep the smile in check. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

With a grunt, he got up and stalked to the Taco Truck window. When he returned, it was with four more bottles of water which he clutched to his chest like they were bags of gold. Instead of sitting across from me, he pulled out the chair next to me and sat. He was close, close enough that his leg brushed mine. Close enough his arm, warm from the sun (and probably the hot sauce), nudged my shoulder as he ripped the cap off the first bottle and downed it in seconds.

The look he gave me was so disgruntled and grumpy, so unlike the Chris I knew, I couldn’t stop the laughter. He pressed his lips together and glared at me for a couple of beats. His lips began to twitch, and a hint of a smile touched the corners. Slowly, he leaned closer until his mouth was next to my ear, his breath warm on the side of my face.

“You have made a grave mistake,” he said in a low voice.

“Oh, yeah?”

“I have a motto.”

“What’s that? Smile and the world falls at your feet? Or no, wait! Don’t drop the sportsball?”

His chuckle was evil. “I don’t get mad, I get even. Now it’s on.”

This time I winked at him. “Bring it.”

I think for a first date, it went pretty well.

By the time Chris drove me back home, a half-moon was nestled in the bruised purple sky. Suddenly, he banged his palm on the steering wheel. “I didn’t ask my third question.”

“Why was that again?” I asked, grinning.

He shot me a dirty look. “You got a mean streak, book lady.”

“Ask your question then.”

The driveway to the house was dark and the tires crunched on the gravel. He parked near my car. “What do you want to do when you grow up?”