End Game (Bellevue Bullies 4)

“But it’s also the way to my special place that is not my bedroom,” I say when her face scrunches up. “Promise. Scout’s honor,” I say, holding up three fingers while holding down my pinkie with my thumb. When I realize I remember the sign, I laugh. “Ha, I didn’t forget that.”

She snorts before shaking her head. “You’re a dork.”

“Yup,” I agree, walking backward up the stairs. “And I’m pretty sure you won’t be impressed by my special spot.”

She lifts her brows as she asks, “You think?”

“Yeah, I’m actually unsure why I’m bringing you up here.” She looks excited, her lips curving as I turn, taking the stairs one at a time as she follows. Her hand feels warm in mine, and I’m worried if I let her go, she won’t be there anymore. Thankfully, we reach the ladder, and I start to climb to push the door open. When I do, I look down at her to find her gawking at me.

“Is that the roof?”

I nod eagerly. “Yeah, we did this my freshman year. Took four months to get it approved. Come on.”

She doesn’t move. “Is it safe?”

“Ish,” I answer, and I think that might almost be the deal-breaker. She just laughs before she starts to climb up.

“Thank God I wore tennis shoes.”

“Yeah, or you’d be climbing up barefoot,” I say before taking her hand again and helping her up. “But I have to say, I’m digging the outfit.”

“I thought you’d want me in a dress like Amelia’s.”

“It’s not you.”

She looks away shyly, but then she’s looking around. “Holy crap.”

I nod as I take in the city lights and hills of Tennessee.

“This is beautiful.”

“I thought you might like it.”

She eyes me. “Why? Did you think I would think you were dorky?”

I turn, holding out my hand to the spot where two lawn chairs sit with a table between them. On the table are two cups of coffee and a tray of Oreos. “Because when you agree to sit down, I might do a little jig.”

She fights back a grin. “Will it be like what you did downstairs?”

I shake my head. “No way. My jig is more of a wiggle.”

She giggles then, shaking her head as she looks back at the spot I set up for us. “So you tricked me into a date?”

I shrug. “That’s one way of looking at it.”

“What way are you looking at it?”

“Two people drinking coffee, eating some Oreos, and getting to know each other.”

Her gaze meets mine, and I turn on my flashy grin, to which she just shakes her head. The struggle is all over her face, but after a few moments that feel like hours, she is moving. She walks past me, and her stride is like a tornado. Her walk has so much sass it has the power to knock me on my ass, but then it pulls me in, making me dizzy. I want to grab on to her, hold her, kiss her, but before I know it, she is sitting back in one of the lawn chairs. Crossing her legs, she reaches for a cookie and then takes a coffee cup in her hand. Looking up at me, she tips her chin at me. “Jig time, please.”

I can’t contain my grin.

I wiggle with no cares in the world, and her laughter fills the little spot we’re in. “That is a mighty fine jig.”

“It is,” I agree as I come to sit beside her, grabbing my coffee and cookie. “I was going to have beer up here, but I don’t think you drink.”

She nods. “You’re right, I don’t.”

“Figured,” I say, taking a bite. “So I went with coffee, though it may keep us up all night.”

When she glances over at me, I waggle my brows at her. I’m rewarded with her snorting laughter that lights up her whole face. “You’d love that.”

“I would.”

Her cheeks fill with color as she takes a bite of her cookie.

“I don’t know how I feel about your hair.”

She leans back, bouncing her toe up and down as she looks over to me. “No?”

“I like it, it’s shiny as hell, but I wanted to see the curls down.”

She scoffs. “They’re a mess, I can promise you that.”

“I want to see them.”

Her eyes darken, and I didn’t realize talking about her hair could make me so hot. “Maybe I’ll wear it down Wednesday.”

I lick my lips. “I think I might like that a lot.”

“Well, I wouldn’t be doing it for you.”

“Well, duh, but just saying.”

“Yeah, just saying.”

“Passing time.”

“Yeah, ’cause the party is lame,” she says, and when she looks up to me, pressing a cookie to her lips, I grin.

“It is, which is why I brought you up here.”

She rolls her eyes and then turns her gaze to the horizon. “So hockey is your dream?”

I nod. “It is. NHL is what I want. Do you follow hockey?”