Page 22 of Just Playin'
I laugh. My mom and dad aren’t much better. . . except when football is on.
I shadow Willow as she makes her way around Dalton and Becca’s house like she’s familiar with the floorplan. She shuts all the windows on the lower floor before moving upstairs to partially crack the window Becca keeps open every night for natural filtration. Once she has everything locked up as Becca and Dalton do each evening, she moves to the kitchen to gather her backpack and keys from the kitchen counter.
She punches a six-digit code into their security system while I say, “You’ve certainly made yourself at home.”
She smiles, loving the snippet of envy in my tone. I’ve been friends with Dalton for over a decade, but I don’t know his security code.
Traitorous bastard!
My eyes stray from my clenched face to Willow when she asks, “Jealous?”
When I nod, she winks before heading for the main entrance. Once again, I follow her like a lost puppy. The low hang of my jaw triples when she places a freshly cut key into the deadlock to secure Dalton’s front door.
“You got a key too?”
Acting like I didn’t whine like a bitch, Willow gallops down the stairs of Dalton’s house. She adjusts her backpack before pivoting to face me. The late afternoon sun bounces orange hues off her springy locks, making them look more auburn than they are.
“It was nice seeing you again, Elvis.”
With that, she spins on her heels and heads down the sidewalk.
“Where are you going?” Curiosity rings in my tone. There’s nothing but a bus stop and a few vacant plots of land in the direction she’s heading.
When reality smacks into me, so do my back molars. “You’re not catching the bus. It will be dark before you get home.”
Like I need any more reminding I shouldn’t be gawking at her ass like I am, Willow says, “It’s okay, old man, I know how to handle myself.”
My look shows my disdain for her nickname. “Even if you can, let me give you a ride.”
Not looking back, she continues down the path. “Once bitten, twice shy. I’m good.”
“Come on, Will.” I purposely use her nickname, hoping she’ll believe I’m her friend and not a creep looking to be gassed for the second time in my life. “It’s a ride, not a wedding proposal. It’s on my way anyhow.”
That stops her.
She fiddles with the straps on her backpack while connecting her eyes to mine. It’s the fight of my life to force my eyes to follow her eyes’ lead. It isn’t my fault; I’m a man and her backpack straps are displaying her impressive rack in the most brilliant light. If I were a cartoon, my tongue would be hanging on the ground, and my eyes would be bulging out of my head. Her body. . .schwing!When you combine her sexy curves with her beautiful face, what do you get . . .? Me continuously adjusting my crotch.
When my eyes finally find Willow’s, she asks, “It’s on your way?”
I angle my head to the side so my head bob could be misconstrued as a shake.
She doesn’t buy my half-hearted response. Snarling, she pivots on her heels and keeps walking.
“Fine! It’s not on my way, but I’m hungry, and there’s a pizzeria near your college I’m dying to grab a slice at.”
My heart stops beating when her feet stop pounding the pavement. “Which pizzeria?”
She doesn’t spin around to face me. She keeps her eyes front and center, confident she doesn’t need to look at me to know I’m lying. She’ll hear it in my tone.
I shouldn’t like that shethinksshe can read me so easily, but I do.
“Mickey’s.”
She cranks her neck back to peer at me. “On West 37?”
Smiling, I nod. “Best pizza on this side of the country.”
“More like best pizza on the planet.” While bridging the small gap between us, she asks, “And you’re going there tonight?”
