Page 56 of The Best Friend and the Shortstop

“Go on. Let me have it,” Alex says again.

I reach up and grab the strings on his hoodie and wrap them around my palms while I look him in the eyes, my tongue poking the inside of my cheek.

“How can I let you have it when you hit me with a speech like that? Gah! Fine.” I shake the strings against him and look to the side, where a few people are peeking through the Patty’s door. “You really just told all those people you were about to take me to bed.”

“I did,” he says.

“Welp”—I let the P pop. I shift my eyes back to him—“Wouldn’t want to let them down.”

His fucking dimple appears. I step into him, lifting on my toes, and his hands clutch the sides of my head as his mouth crashes into mine. It’s a hungry kiss, and it’s possessive. A public declaration that borders on an R rating by the time he pulls away. A whistle in the distance draws our attention, and Cole cups his mouth and shouts, “Yeah, buddy!”

My palm nudges Alex’s focus back to me.

“I assume he meant that for me,” I say, and his raspy laugh is the sexiest sound I’ve heard, maybe ever.

“I love you, too, by the way,” I say, dropping into the passenger seat. He gives me a crooked smile as he hangs on the door.

“Yeah? You saying I was right?”

“Tsssk, always so cocky,” I tease. “I loved you first, so no. I’m not saying that at all.”

His head waggles side to side.

“Kinda feels like I called it, though,” he says, one eye squinted, a playful arrogance in his expression.

I reach toward him and cup his hard-on, which seems to get his attention.

“I mean, you were first. And right. You ready?” He closes my door without waiting for my answer, and when he slips into the driver’s seat, I put my hand right back where it was. And Alex, he blows through his first red light and gets pulled over about twenty seconds from home.

I bite my thumb while he fumbles through his glove box under the beam of the officer’s mega flashlight.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, knowing this is my fault.

“It’s fine. I just need my, oh . . . yeah . . . there it is,” he says, pulling a pile of papers out and sifting through them in my lap. I start to giggle, and he hushes me, but there’s a smirk on his face. I’m glad he’s finding the humor in this too.

He finds his registration finally and hands it to the officer.

“I’ll be right back,” she says, and heads back to her car to run his ID.

“Oh, my God!” I break out in a whisper once we’re in the clear. Alex leans his elbow on the window sill and covers his face while he laughs.

“I swear to God, Nikki, if this lady makes me get out and walk a straight line, I am screwed.”

I bunch my brow at him but then realize what he means. His workout pants are sporting an enormous bulge. I’m a little impressed that the panic of being pulled over didn’t ruin things for him.

“Shh! Shh! She’s coming back,” I say as I stare out the back window.

“Mr. Mendoza?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

The officer leans in, a move I assume is partly a smell test to see if he’s been drinking. Her eyes meet mine and I freeze, offering what I hope looks like a guilty smile. A few long seconds pass, and I’m not one hundred percent on this, but I think she got the picture.

“Here’s your license. Put this back in the glove box. Maybe clean that out, too,” she says, shining her light on the pile of papers strewn around the console.

“Yes, ma’am,” Alex says, his hands shaking while he puts his license back in place.

“Pay attention. I know there aren’t a lot of people on the street right now, but people aren’t always easy to see. Red lights are there for a reason.” She pats the top of the car and moves on.

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