Page 4 of Can't Help Falling

“Popcorn?” Via asked, smiling at him and digging in her pocket for cash.

He waved away the money. “On me.” He had to fight with his face not to frown at her. She really thought he’d make her pay for her own popcorn? “Anyone else?”

“Ice cream?” Matty requested, blinking innocently, as if this was everyone’s first rodeo.

“Ix-nay,” Tyler said with the ease of someone completely accustomed to discipline. Some honorary uncles took pleasure in spoiling their honorary nephews. Tyler took pleasure in adding normalcy and boundaries to Matty’s life. “You’re already getting a snow cone in the seventh-inning stretch. Anyone else?”

He let his eyes cast around the group and was thrilled when Sebastian held up his cup and jangled it around, indicating he wanted another Budweiser. They generally had a two-beer limit when spending time with Matty, but recently Sebastian rarely met the quota.

“Me too,” Serafine said, jangling her own empty beer cup in the same way Sebastian had.

“Right,” Tyler said, which was apparently the only thing he knew how to say to this woman today.

Without another word, he scooted down the aisle and jogged up the cement stairs, taking them two at a time. He was relieved to see that even though internally he felt as clumsy as an elephant in ice skates, his natural grace and dexterity kept him from falling on his face. He ducked into the bathroom first and was both relieved and annoyed to see himself looking perfectly normal in the mirror. It was a strange thing to be the kind of person whose internal life never, ever showed on their exterior. Tyler knew, from experience, that his heart could be shredded like taco meat and he could still manage to look unbothered and pleasant on the outside. Perhaps it was partly due to his scrupulous attention to his outward appearance, his neatly cuffed shirts and permafresh haircuts ensuring he always looked put-together. Normally, he was grateful for that particular attribute, but today it bothered him.

When he emerged from the bathroom he walked up to the nearest concession stand. Taller than most of the other patrons at the game, he had a bird’s-eye view of the crowd. The first thing he noticed was that every single male head—and some of the female heads—within twenty feet were all surreptitiously glancing in one direction. He sighed, already knowing the reason for it, and looked around until he spotted Serafine.

“What’s up?” he asked, sidling up next to her.

She immediately stopped her peering circle through the crowd. “I was looking for you.”

“Why?”

“Three beers and a popcorn is a lot to carry. Besides, Joy decided she wanted a water and I started feeling hungry myself.”

He cleared his throat. “Okay.”

They filed into the concessions line and stood side by side, a good sixteen inches of distance between them. He was conscious of the looks he was receiving, simply for daring to stand next to this exquisite creature.

In a different world, he would have already dated and broken up with Serafine St. Romain. If she’d been just a skosh less attractive, or less spooky. If she’d made his palms sweat just a bit less. If there had been just a tiny bit less smoke in her voice, he’d have had no problem asking her on a date, texting her, sexting her, charming her, hopping into bed if and when she was into it.

The problem was, he happened to live in this particular world, where she was a perfectly beautiful, spooky, smoky-voiced vixen who gave him heart palpitations and made him feel like a preteen who’d never even check-yes-or-no-ed a girl before.

He shifted on his feet as they shuffled up the line, trying to ignore her and at the same time memorize every second of standing next to her. He frowned at himself, wishing he could pour a gallon of ice water over his head. Snap out of it, Ty!

Tyler Leshuski was no inexperienced lad when it came to women, he reminded himself. When he wanted company, thanks to his extensive contacts list and the internet, it was the rare occasion that he couldn’t find it. He was good-looking and smart and funny.

He watched a man bobble his beers as he double-taked on Serafine, almost breaking his own neck like a chicken.

Tyler shook his head at the poor fool, knowing exactly how he felt. There was just something about Serafine St. Romain that made Tyler feel like his heart was wearing clown shoes.

They finally made it to the front of the line.

“What’ll you have?” asked the bored sixteen-year-old girl with a hairnet on. She was the only person in a twenty-foot radius who didn’t look entranced by Serafine or mystified by Tyler’s place in her life.

“Ah, three Buds, two bottles of water, a large popcorn, a hot pretzel—no salt. And whatever she wants.” He pointed one thumb at Serafine and didn’t chance a glance over at her.

“Mmm, chili cheese fries, please, and is there any hot sauce back there?”

The girl pointed listlessly at the condiments stand and plugged the rest of the order into the register, holding her hand out for cash. Tyler wordlessly handed over a fifty.

They went to the side to wait for their food.

“What?” Serafine eventually asked him, turning to him with her arms crossed and those bright eyes burning a hole in the side of his head.

“What what?” he asked back, his eyes stubbornly on the kid slapping their order together behind the counter.

“I can feel your question for me. Just ask it.”

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