“When was that?” I ask softly.
He studies my face. “Four years ago.”
Compassion fills me. “My parents passed four years ago as well. I’m sorry you lost him. There’s not much else people can say to make it better, is there?”
“No,” he says. “Most don’t get it. Your parents…what happened?” He pauses. “Sorry. Is that rude? I never quite know. I don’t talk about my brother much so…”
“No. It reminds me that they were real.” I dip my head, thinking of another loss I dealt with, a baby’s fragile heartbeat that faded away before it even had a chance. “They went for a ride on their motorcycle, and just never came back.” A long exhalation comes from my chest, emotion clawing at me. “It was a Saturday in September, and my mom made breakfast for all of us that morning. She spilled coffee on her shirt and Dad called her a klutz and kissed her on the nose. I remember how hot it still was when they rode off…” I swallow thickly. “Then, a state trooper showed up at the door, and the solemn expression on his face… I just knew. My life was never the same again.”
His throat bobs and he looks away, then back. “My brother died in June at a party with my friends at the lake. It was a beautiful day, sunshine and low humidity, not a cloud in sight. He wore these bright yellow swimming trunks with pink flamingos on them. Some of us were diving off a cliff, and he wanted to try.” He blinks rapidly. “He jumped before I could stop him.”
My heart clenches. “That wish. You’d want to go back in time to save him?”
“I never would have gone to that party with him.”
“Same. I’d save my parents.”
“There’s another thing I’d wish for…” His voice trails off, a guarded look flashing on his chiseled face.
“What?”
He shakes his head. “Nah, never mind.”
“Tell me.” I cross my heart. “I promise I won’t tell anyone.”
He chews on his lush bottom lip and shrugs as he stares at the floor. “Alright. I’d wish for someone in my life who’s real, you know, not just some hanger-on, but someone who gets me.”
His head rises and our gazes lock as butterflies take off in my stomach.
Is this the real Dillon McQueen?
My heart pounds as the intimacy between us deepens, a sense of connection growing in the air. I decide that eye contact with him is a rollercoaster ride. One moment you’re at the top, about to lose your breath, and the next you’re soaring down a hill and clenching the railing.
“What else?” I ask softly.
He inhales a deep breath and glances away from me. I picture walls going up around him. “What does it matter? Wishes aren’t real.”
I study him as he avoids my eyes, taking in the sharp jawline, the straight nose, the proud stance of his shoulders.
I keep coming back to the fact that we lost loved ones the same year.
Is that why I feel this attraction to him? This kinship?
No, girl, you’d like to kiss him, admit it. It’s been eighteen months!
“I’d like to write a story about you. Everyone already knows your stats and how good you are, but I want to focus on who you really are, what makes you tick. Would you want to talk about your brother?”
He lets out a heavy breath. “No. It’s too…” He shakes his head and lifts his hands in an expression of I don’t know.
“Painful?”
“Yeah.” He scrubs his face as he takes a step back from me. Several moments tick by as we stare at each other. I can feel him retreating from the topic of his brother.
He smirks. “I’ve got something interesting. You believe in legends?”
“People find them fascinating. ‘Bigfoot Marries Coed in Mississippi’—I wrote that short story for the World Enquirer, freelance, and it paid for last year’s tuition.” It also helped with a small portion of my sister’s private school. I danced around my apartment with that check in my hands for an hour. It was my first real success.
“Jesus, and now you’re doing sports?”
“Scary, right? In 2014, a study showed that more people believe in Bigfoot than the Big Bang theory.”
“Bigfoot is a myth, Serena.”
“Maybe he’s just a really tall, hairy guy who’s forsaken society for the forest. It could happen.”
“Weird.” He huffs out a laugh and walks away, tucking the first aid kit inside the cabinet as I slip my boots back on. Returning to me, he takes my hand and helps me off the table. “Give me your number.”
My breath hitches. “For?”
He gives me that lazy grin from the Pig, the one he gave his posse and the checkout girl. “You’ll need to talk to me if you want a story. Do you want to stop by the house? Practice is done and the night is mine, sweetheart.” His voice has deepened, his gaze lowering as he rakes it over me, lingering on my chest before coming back to my face.
I sigh. I prefer the other Dillon, the melancholy one who wishes for his brother.
“Real subtle. Phone is fine.” Which sucks. Normally, I would like to sit across from him, get a feel for him, but he’s more than I can handle.
I recite my digits and he adds them to his phone.
“When will you call?” I say. “I’m usually free after seven at night.”
“Looking forward to it, sweetheart?”
And here we go…
“Egotistical jock. You aren’t used to girls not being into you, are you?”
“Ah, if you only remembered… You are into me.” His eyes glitter like jewels.
“You don’t even like me,” I say, putting my hands on my hips. “Wouldn’t I be just another notch on your bedpost?”
“I notch my belt.”
“Classy. I won’t be on it.”
“You sure?”
“Positive.”
“Too bad.”
“Yeah, too bad, Dominick.” I really suck at comebacks.
He smiles and a tingle dances over my skin.
Ugh. What is it with him and my body? Must resist! (Alexa, play
