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“Why do you keep coming to the café asking me out every week? You have to know that I’m never going to say yes.”
“That’s where you’re wrong,” I argue. “You want to say yes. I don’t know why you keep saying no, but I know I’m not wrong about the attraction between us being mutual.”
“And you’re what? Hoping to wear me down by buying coffee?”
“Winners want the ball.”
“You heard me.”
“I don’t understand how that fits this scenario. Am I the ball?”
Reaching out, I let my fingertips graze her arm – elbow to wrist. Goosebumps meet my touch, but she doesn’t pull back. “It means that I’m willing to risk you turning me down every week because there’s always a chance you’ll say yes. I might fail ninety-nine times before I succeed, but I’m going to keep trying because I want you. You’re not the ball, Kitty, you’re the goal.”
She scrunches up her nose. “The goal? You can ‘score,’” —she air quotes the word— “with any girl you want. So, I’m not sure I buy it. If I’m just a goal…”
“Don’t twist my words. You’re not just anything.”
Our eyes lock and the air shifts. I don’t dare move even though I’m dying to taste her, to show her how good we can be together.
She lets out a long breath and shakes her head. “Can I have a drink of that?”
I hand over the bottle and watch as she tips it back and proceeds to grimace as the liquor meets her tongue. She hands it back with a cough. “Thanks.”
“Lo que tu quieras hermosa.”
Her eyes widen. “You speak Spanish?”
Damn. I haven’t pulled out the Spanish on her? In all my attempts to get her to go out with me, I’d forgotten Blair’s advice that tossing out my ability to speak Spanish was the ultimate panty dropper. Admittedly it doesn’t usually come to that. My handsome mug and the body that comes with the workouts and practices of being a college athlete do practically all the work for me.
“My parents wanted us to be able to communicate with our extended family in Mexico.”
She shifts so she’s sitting fully on the bed. “Did your parents grow up here or in Mexico?”
“Both. My father’s family moved here when he was a baby. My mother came over with her sister after high school.”
Whatever hesitation and block she’d been throwing up is down as she leans forward and asks the next question. “How’d they meet?”
I shake my head and click my tongue against the roof of my mouth twice. “Oh no, you’ve used up your seven questions. It’s my turn.”
She holds her hand out for the bottle.
I pass it over, watching mesmerized as she takes another small drink and hands it back. “I’m ready. Shoot.”
“Admit you’re attracted to me.”
“That’s not a question.”
“Fine. Are you attracted to me?”
Her face pinks. If I’d been doubting it, which I haven’t, I’d be certain now. Katrina is attracted to me, but I need to hear her say it. I need her to admit it to herself.
Rebecca Jenshak is a self-proclaimed margarita addict, college basketball fanatic, and lover of the Hallmark channel. A Midwest native transplanted to the desert, she likes being outdoors (drinking on patios) and singing (in the shower) when she isn’t writing books about hot guys and the girls who love them.
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