Page 52 of Some Like It Hott

She’s grinning at me. “Okay, dude,” she says. “If you say so.” And she makes a fake and a jab and cuts past me with the basketball, racing down the “court” and sinking her shot.

“Try to keep up, Hott,” she taunts.

I scowl at her…but it’s hard.

My smile keeps wanting to break through.

After bouncy basketball,we do some straight-up trampolining, which will soon be forbidden by the Geneva Conventions as a form of torture because the whole time, I’m trying not to watch Natalie’s gorgeous natural jiggle.

She knows it, too. She gives a shimmy of her shoulders, treats me to a few sexy dance moves and hip swivels that make me more light-headed than I want to admit.

Fine. Two can play.

I can’t dance. But I did play football in high school, and the coach believed that every football player should learn some tumbling, so we had an optional workout with the gymnastics coach on Saturday mornings. Plus, you know, we did all those box jumps. So I can get quite a bit of air—and do several different flips.

Without warning her, I demonstrate my skills.

When I finish running through my repertoire of flips and twists, she stares at me wide-eyed.

“What?” I ask, shrugging. “No biggie.” And I do a few more, for good measure.

She claps and laughs, delighted.

“Preston!” she cries. “You’re amazing!”

There are smile lines at the bridge of her nose and the corners of her eyes and a dimple in the sweet curve of her cheek. I feel like I’ve won Olympic gold, like her delight is the biggest and best prize of all. It’s a rush of pure pleasure that floods my chest and wraps around the base of my spine. I want to reach out to her?—

You did that once. And then realized it wasn’t fair to her. Remember?

“I need water,” I say abruptly.

Her smile fades, like a light going out.

We find a water fountain near the edge of the laser tag arena. A big party of kids is playing there, and we watch while we drink. Or Natalie watches them. I watch Natalie. The play of smiles and laughs across her face, the way she bounces on her toes when she’s excited about something.

When did I start to crave her joy?

How can I stop?

What if I don’t want to stop?

She nudges my arm. “Do you think we could have laser tag at Hott Springs Eternal?”

“I don’t see why not.”

“Preston,” she says, eyes dramatically huge, “did you say something supportive and positive instead of telling me how expensive and dangerous an activity is?”

“Damn,” I say. “You’re right. I take it back.”

Her cheeks are flushed, her eyes bright. I want to put my hands in her hair and pull her face to mine.

Maybe making sex jokes about Bouncy Town wasn’t so far off.

“I could use a snack,” I say instead of doing something I’ll almost definitely regret.

We wander to the cafeteria, which is packed with kids on summer vacation. I look at my watch. Almost three forty-five. Suddenly the day doesn’t feel long enough. But I don’t say that; I cross my arms and tell Natalie, “There’s nothing healthy on this menu.”

“That’s right,” she says cheerfully. “Suck it up, Hott.”

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