Page 13 of Play Maker

I tapped my phone to the white square while holding Blue back with one hand. The cashier slapped two large paper cups in front of us before moving on to the next people in line. I used to have a running bet with myself to get her to laugh, but tonight I had another grumpy lady to deal with.

Blue tried to juke around me, but I wrapped an arm around her middle and hauled her away from the counter.

“Should have taken you to Whataburger,” I muttered.

Her dress rode up, and I got a delicious glimpse of toned thigh before I tugged it down for her. I may have let my thumb linger against her warm skin a little longer than necessary. Blue finally realized she wasn’t going to overpower me and huffed in my direction.

“What’s the matter, Sunshine? Forget your pepper spray?” The tiny clutch she’d carried might have changed the power dynamic—I wasn’t going to discount the possibility of being pepper sprayed—but she’d left it in my Jeep.

Blue glared at me as I filled the cups at the water station. “I don’t appreciate you deciding what I want here.”

“Trust me, you don’t want a margarita here. Besides, I just drove two hours to pick up your sloshed ass, and I didn’t hear a thank you.”

“I’m not sloshed anymore,” she insisted, then quietly added, “I’d like to be before starting this conversation.”

I shot a glance at her, but she wouldn’t meet my eyes. “What conversation?”

She snatched her cup out of my hand and chugged half of it on the way to a table. “Thank you.”

I pinched the bridge of my nose, unsure if she was grateful for the drink or the ride. Maybe both? Blue was hard enough to follow when she was sober and relaxed. In that dress, keeping up was a lost cause. I couldn’t stop staring at her legs long enough to pay attention.

For a stupid second, I considered dumping the cold water over my shorts to send Big Mac a clear message. Off. Limits. Instead, I joined her at the spot she’d chosen, grateful she hadn’t bothered to look down.

“What conversation?”

She sat up in the squeaky chair and squared her shoulders. “I want you to teach me how to get a date.”

Suddenly, I wishedIhad a margarita—or at least a double shot of tequila. She held my gaze while a million scenarios flew through my mind, the tropical color tempting me to dive right into a bad decision.

When I didn’t answer, she plowed on. “You wanted something to keep you busy this summer, and I need to find an appropriate escort. I’m not willing to ask my mom or Rob for help—”

I held up a hand to stop the flow of words. “This has to do with the wedding?”

She nodded, nearly strangling her cup. It was on the tip of my tongue to offer myself up as tribute, but a broken part of me deep inside kept the words from escaping. She hadn’t asked me to escort her—she’d asked me to teach her. I couldn’t handle another friend deciding I wasn’t good enough to date.

That didn’t mean I was going to let anyone else tutor Blue.

“What exactly are you asking for? A little help with a meet cute? Ways to keep a conversation going? Blow job pointers?”

Pink tinted her cheeks. “Everything. I thought you could tutor me, maybe practice flirting, and you could help me figure out what I’m doing wrong when I go out.”

“How?”

She tilted her head and her brow furrowed as if she was confused by my question. “By coming with me?”

I frowned. “That’s a lot of expectations for a couple of dates and a wedding. Are you sure you want to let these people dictate how you feel about yourself? I like you the way you are, awkward hottie and all.”

Her lips pursed at the words, and I reminded myself I wasn’t repeating past mistakes. I could be friends with a woman without getting my dick involved.

Blue echoed my thoughts. “No offense, but you don’t count. Friends without benefits, remember?” She released her death grip on the cup and flattened her hands on the table. “Honestly, the wedding ultimatum was only the catalyst. I don’t want to disappoint my mom, true, but I also want to prove to myself I don’thaveto be a social outcast. I may not want a relationship now, but I don’t want to be alone forever.”

The way she said it—like stating a fact but with a determined tip of her chin—pulled me all the way in. My mom used to threaten to tattooI can do it myselfon my forehead. I was intimately familiar with the concept. And with the loneliness.

I tapped my thumb on the table. “If I agree, I have a few demands.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Like what?”

I held up a finger. “Tutoring only. We’re not doing some bullshit fake dating thing. I’m not going to pretend to be your boyfriend if you get embarrassed about this.” She opened her mouth to interrupt, but I powered through. “I’m done being someone’s dirty little secret.”

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