Page 79 of An Introvert's Guide to Life and Love
He leans back at the faint surprise in my voice, scrutinizing my face as though I might be making fun of him.
“Not that you don’t seem like you went to college,” I add, “but I got the sense that you grew up here and never left.”
“Nah.” He relaxes and looks up at the stars instead. “I was up in Gainesville for four years. Four wild years.”
“Florida State?” I hazard a guess.
He lets out a low whistle. “Don’t let people hear you say that. University of Florida. Gators.”
“Gators. Not Seminoles. Got it.”
He shakes his head in amazement, like I’ve had a close brush with danger.
“What did you study?” I ask.
He adjusts his posture and gazes evenly at me, silently telling me to go ahead and assess him, give it my best guess.
“Hmm, okay.” I feign deep thought, but really I’m using the moment as an excuse to drink him in. His dusky-red hair—I can’t tell if it would feel soft or prickly—and the faint freckles across his face that somehow seem more pronounced in the moonlight. The dimple in his chin, the slight smirk creasing the corner of his mouth. He has a freckle right in the center of his bottom lip. I really shouldnot be noticing these things, not if I want to keep myself together. Nothing can happen with this person. This man sitting so close to me that I can feel the warmth of his body and smell his woodsy soap.
Keep your pants on, my brain hisses at me.
“Business,” I say decisively.
He drops his head back and howls with laughter. “You sure got my number.”
“I bet you were in a fraternity, too.”
“I am offended. And yes, I was.”
Now it’s my turn to laugh.
“You were not in a sorority, I take it. Up there at…”
“University of Washington.”
“Huskies.”
I nod, impressed.
“I know my college football,” he says. “I can see you up there, pretending to study in the library but really just reading your American Girl doll catalogs.”
“Hey!” I swat at him, but really I’m tickled that he remembers that detail from our first conversation. And here we are again, referencing that night.
“Look.” His tone is serious all of a sudden. Here it comes: He’s going to say something about that kiss and about how we can’t let it happen again. “I’ve been meaning to ask you.” I swallow and nod, bracing myself. “How do you react to getting pushed into a pool?”
“What?” I barely have time to say the word before his hand is on my waist and he nudges me—gently, really, but hard enough to do the job—and I feel my bottom slipping over the edge. A guttural shriek escapes me right before I crash, fully clothed, into the water.
“You—” I sputter once I’ve come back up for air. “You pushed me in! I can’t believe you just did that.” I push tangles of wet hairout of my face. It’s not cold, but it’s still shocking to be suddenly submerged. Daniel roars with laughter.
“You should’ve seen your face.”
“I hope it was worth it,” I say, and then I grab hold of both of his legs and drag him in with me.
He’s still laughing as he goes under and then pops back up, spitting out a fountain of water.
“You know, I could have had my phone in my pocket,” I say.
“Idohave my phone in my pocket,” he says, and I gasp in horror. He pulls it out and places it on the pool deck. “It’s okay, it’s waterproof. And I knew you didn’t have yours on you.”
