Page 83 of Playing for Keeps
I turn, and suddenly, I forget how to speak.
“Sorry I wasn’t ready when you got here,” she says, tucking a loose curl behind her ear.
She’s wearing a short floral dress, her hair curled down her back with a few strands pinned away from her face. My gaze drops to the delicate diamond pendant resting against her collarbone, the one I gave her. The one she keeps wearing. I don’t even try to hide the smile that pulls at my lips.
“You look beautiful, Ivy,” I whisper.
Her cheeks flush with warmth, and for a second, she looks almost shy. It makes my pulse quicken. She has no idea what she does to me. And tonight, it’s going to be even harder to hide it.
“Thank you,” she says quietly. “You look good too.”
I smile. “Ready to go?”
She nods, and I trail after her to the front door, stepping outside while she locks up behind us.
I walk her to the car, holding the door open as she slides inside, then jog around to the driver’s side.
As I reverse out of the driveway, something tugs at my mind.
“That photo, the one with all of us on the wall. When was that taken?”
She glances over at me, smiling. “Ash’s birthday. You’d just been drafted, remember? It turned into a double celebration.”
The memory hits me all at once. The laughter, the noise, and the far too many tequilas I drank. “Oh, man, yes! No wonder it’s a blur. I was completely wasted that night.”
She lets out a laugh. “Pretty sure I was too. I think I sang karaoke in your garden. I must’ve been drunk to do that.”
My eyes widen as I chuckle. “Oh, Idefinitelyremember that. You butchered some Beyoncé song. Even Ash looked like she wanted to strangle you.”
“Hey!” she says, whipping her head toward me. “I wasn’tthatbad!”
I flash her a grin. “Ivy, you wereterrible.”
She sticks out her tongue, making me laugh. “Well, I was still better than you,” she shoots back.
“I didn’t even sing.”
“Exactly! You were boring. At least I gave it a shot.”
“We still have that karaoke machine, you know,” I say with a mischievous glint. “And I’ve got tequila. Maybe I’ll get you drunk enough for an encore.”
She scoffs. “Not happening, Brookes.”
I smirk. “Okay, fine. No singing. But you’d be up for some tequila, right?”
She moves in her seat, narrowing her eyes at me. “Only if you're ready to spend the night holding my hair while I throw up.”
I wave her off. “Please. You won’t get sick.”
“I did that night,” she reminds me.
I glance over at her. “Yeah, but you were, what, nineteen?”
“Almost,” she says. “Still eighteen, actually.”
I let my gaze stay on her a little longer than I should. “Well, you’re not eighteen anymore,” I mutter, the words catching in my throat. “I bet you can handle alcohol now.”
She laughs, but there’s a flush creeping into her cheeks, and I’m pretty sure she knows I haven’t stopped glancing over at her.
