Falling for Dante Page 2

  I was sure my cheeks were as bright as my hair. With a chuckle, Dante returned the bottle to its original location and sauntered to the couch. An apology was on the tip of my tongue when he pointed to the book on the end table.

  "Is this what you're reading right now?" he asked. I rushed forward and tried to snatch it out of his hands, but he held it above his head, teasing me with his height. "Ah, The Hunger Games. How young adult of you."

  "What's wrong with that?"

  "Nothing. It's a great read. And very fitting, given that it's about the haves and the have-nots."

  He pressed the book into my outstretched hand.

  "It's also about the plight of a young woman in a dystopian society who overcomes great odds while outsmarting the men trying to control her," I said.

  "Isn't that the predicament of every woman in every society? Dystopian or otherwise?" he asked.

  My heart had whiplash. I had gone from infatuation to annoyance back to infatuation in a matter of seconds. The man had me in a crazy loop-the-loop of emotion.

  "True. But it's not really about feminist ideology. It's about good overcoming evil. It's an underdog story, with a protagonist who doesn't know her strengths until she's forced to use them. And I'm not talking about her bow and arrow."

  He nodded, regarding me with interest. "Nice synopsis," he said with the most positive tone he'd used since he walked in. I practically glowed under his praise until his next words slipped out. "You're pretty smart... for a kid."

  I almost stumbled back from the verbal slap. I would have rather been called ugly. Before I could manage a comeback, Damian and Crissy walked in. Damian and Dante settled onto the couch and started talking football, while Crissy feigned interest.

  Still too unsettled to do much of anything, I gawked at the back of Dante's head. When he glanced over his shoulder and smiled at me, I was a goner. No matter what it took, I vowed that one day Dante would see me as more than a silly kid.

  "Oh, Damian... yes!"

  Thump.

  Thump.

  The noise coming from under the thin, plywood door was impossible to ignore, even with the television blaring a Lord of the Rings battle sequence. I glanced over at Erica, whose face was as red as the crabs we'd boiled for dinner.

  "Yes... there! Oh, yes!"

  Erica shifted on the couch, tucking one of her long legs under the other, keeping her face as impassive as possible.

  "Yes! Yes!"

  "Fuck. No," I said, exploding off the couch. "I can't take it anymore."

  I strode to the kitchen, pulled a beer out of the refrigerator and screwed off the top. Sitting beside Erica for the last hour, listening to her brother and his new girlfriend Amelia go at it, had been an exercise in restraint. The little cabin Damian had rented on the shores of Lake Champlain in South Hero, Vermont had become my personal version of Hell.

  "I'm sorry," Erica shouted over her shoulder.

  "Why are you apologizing?"

  "Because he's my brother and they're super annoying."

  When Damian had invited me on this week-long trip, he had touted it as the perfect guys' getaway before the start of summer football camp. We were going to relax on the beach, drink beers, maybe fuck a few lucky, local girls. But then Damian met Amelia and conveniently forgot the plan faster than it took to get into her pants.

  I had tried to bail on the trip, but Damian had insisted that I still come. So far, he was the only one coming. To top it all off, he'd invited his little sister along, so I didn't feel like a third wheel.

  His gorgeous.

  Virginal.

  Jailbait little sister.

  If he hadn't been my best friend and the best tight end on our football team, I would have killed the motherfucker.

  Not that Erica's presence could be classified as a hardship. In two short years, she had morphed from an awkward kid into one hot chick. I'd been forced to hide the hard part of my ship for days.

  "Do you want to go for a ride?" Erica asked, her husky voice stroking my dick from across the room.

  The question was entirely innocent. My thoughts were not. I gulped down my beer and started a second.

  "You want to bike the causeway again?" I asked.

  "It will get us out of here," she said with a shrug, flipping her long, auburn hair over one shoulder.

  I wasn't sure being mounted to a banana seat was in my best interest. "Maybe later. The beach?"

  "Sure. I'll get changed."

  Luckily the television drowned out my groan. I couldn't handle another one of Erica's flirty sundresses or tiny bikinis without losing it. "You know what? A bike ride sounds great," I called out.

  Twenty minutes later we were on beach-cruiser bikes, winding our way along the edge of the lake to the causeway that would take us from South Hero to Colchester. Riding bikes had never been my thing. Until now. Watching Erica pump those long legs, her hair riding the wind under her sun hat, was my new favorite activity.

  The lake spread out on either side of us, the waves slapping the limestone boulders lining the trail, the scent of algae heavy in the humid air. Even with the cool breeze lifting off the lake, it was sweltering and sweat trickled down my back. After using the small ferry that bridged the gap in the causeway, we raced toward land, hoping to escape the heat.

  We found a small, unoccupied beach with tall cottonwoods to shield us from the late afternoon sun. I slumped to the ground and pulled a bottle of beer from the backpack, watching Erica search the shoreline for treasures. Waves lapped against the rocky shore as she hunted for shells and brightly-colored rocks to add to the collection she'd been working on over the last few days.

  "Come, sit down," I ordered, my words coming out gruffer than I'd intended. But, fuck it all, I couldn't handle her heart-shaped ass tempting me every time she bent over. "You want one?" I asked, holding out a bottle. She was underage, but what kid hadn't experimented with alcohol by the time they were sixteen?

  "Um..." She hesitated. "Okay."

  Brushing her hair from her brow, she turned the bottle around and admired it like it was a rare artifact. I almost passed out when she wrapped those rose-petal lips around the tip, knocking back a gulp like a pro.

  "Ugh. That is disgusting," Erica said, yanking the bottle from her mouth. Foam flowed up and over the top of the bottle, spilling onto the sand.

  "You'll get used to it."

  She stared me down with one eyebrow cocked, pulling off her floppy hat and tossing it onto the ground. Genuine laughter bubbled up my chest, which was a rarity these days. I patted the spot next to me and she slumped down.

  "What happened to your face?" she asked, taking slow sips of her beer.

  "Football practice," I said, the lie slipping off my tongue with ease after so many years of practice. Damian knew not to ask anymore. The pain had disappeared days ago, but the bluish-black marks still lingered. It was what I deserved for going home to see my mother.

  "I thought practice hadn't started yet."

  I gazed out at the lake, pretending to watch two sailboats catch a ride on the wind, hoping she'd catch the hint and let it go. "What're you reading right now?"

  "You really want to discuss books?" she asked.

  "Yeah. I'm dying for some intellectual stimulation. Besides your brother, I'm surrounded by guys who care more about the size of their muscles than the size of their brains."

  "You poor thing," she said with a wry grin. "I think you're the nerdiest jock I've ever met."

  "Do you know many jocks?"

  "Thanks to my all-girls' high school, you're pretty much the only jock I know."

  Let's keep it that way.

  The thought sprang out of nowhere and was ridiculous. I had no right to this girl, even if I wanted to claim her body in every way imaginable.

  "What's it like going to an all-girls' school?"

  "There can be a lot of drama."

  "I bet."

  "But I like it," she said. "Even though it's a secular school, they pr
omote social conscience and philanthropy. We do all kinds of donation drives and fundraising events for local charities."

  Was she for real? The kind of girls I attracted wouldn't even know the definition of most of those words, let alone what they meant. She glanced away, toying with the tips of her hair with her free hand.

  "That's great," I murmured, nudging her shoulder.

  "And it keeps me away from home. Not that my parents' house is bad or anything," she added.

  "Hey, I get it. I'd rather be anywhere than at my mom's place."

  "Why?"

  "She's a drunk," I said, surprised by my admission. How did this girl manage to drag something out of me that so few had before? Erica didn't look shocked, more pensive than anything.

  "I'm sorry. That sucks. I'm pretty sure my dad is an alcoholic. Of course, he would never admit it."

  I cracked open two more beers, ignoring the irony, and handed one to Erica. The silence, broken only by the trill of birds and the dull hum of a boat motoring by, held us captive. Our moods had dipped like the sun in the sky.

  "What are you going to do when you graduate from high school next year?" I asked.

  "I'm sure I'll apply to Yale and Harvard and any other Ivy League school my parents deem worthy."

  "What do you want to study?"

  "Psychology? Or maybe social work...," she said, her voice trailing off. "But I'm pretty sure neither is in the cards."

  "Why not?"

  "Because my father said they're huge wastes of my time and his money."

  We really had grown up on opposite sides of the continent and opposite sides of the coin.

  "You should do what you want," I said.

  "Is that why you play football?"

  The question was valid and one I struggled with every day. My mom had seen me as a meal ticket the second I showed skill as an eight-year-old kid playing Little League football. Her obsession worsened when I got a full-ride scholarship to Stanford. I just wanted to play ball.

  "Yeah, I love it."

  "Well, you are fantastic at it. That game against Oregon State was mind-blowing."

  "You watched it?"

  "Most of it. Until the girls in my dorm made me change it to Project Runway."

  She threw back the rest of her beer in a few gulps, motioning for a third.

  "Are you sure you can handle another?" I asked.

  "Yeah, pass it over, mister."

  "Oh, okay, bossy-pants," I said.

  If I could have captured the youthful part of the giggle that erupted from her chest, bottled it up and sold it, I would have been a rich man.

  After we had finished our third beers, we decided to head back.

  "I'm not sure I can ride my bike," Erica said. She slung her leg clumsily over the bike, catching her foot on the top metal bar. The bike tipped over. With her on it.

  "Are you okay?" I said, rushing over and lifting the bike off of her. More dazed than hurt, she sat up and dragged her leg against her chest with a moan.

  Blood trickled a path down her leg.

  "Shit," I said, rifling through the backpack. When I found nothing besides empty beer bottles, I pulled my t-shirt up and over my shoulders and started blotting Erica's knee.

  "Oh, you don't need to do that," she said, trying to push my hands away.

  "Don't worry about it. I can't have you bleeding out on me."

  The giggle died on her lips as her eyes came into contact with my bare chest. She blinked several times, and then her eyes traveled lower, consuming every inch of my bare skin.

  "Wow, okay. Yeah. There you are, all eight-pack of you," she rambled, red-faced.

  "Are you drunk?"

  She held up two fingers and pinched them together. "Maybe a little."

  "Oh, fuck," I said. "Damian is going to kill me."

  "I'll be all right," she said, waving her arm. Her hiccup-giggle was not reassuring.

  "We'll walk back. It will give you a chance to sober up."

  "Good idea. See. You're so, so... hot. I mean smart. Like the smartest."

  I pulled her to her feet, keeping my laughter in check. After hiding the bikes behind a tree, I fell in line beside her, the goofy smile on her face contagious. Every so often she'd veer to the right, but then she'd correct herself with a giggle. The causeway was deserted, except for a few stragglers who were heading in the opposite direction.

  "You ever wonder if you're going to end up ten years from now regretting the choices you made today?" Erica asked, breaking the silence.

  "Oh, God, are you a philosophical drunk? 'Cause if you are, I'm gonna have to throw you overboard."

  "I don't know. I've never been drunk before."

  I was responsible for getting her drunk for the first time? I felt like an asshole and somehow prideful all at the same time. But hell, tipsy was a good look on her.

  "I'm dead. Damian is going to murder me," I said, scrubbing a hand through my hair.

  "Psh. You could take him."

  "Have you seen your brother? He's got me by like thirty pounds. And in answer to your question, every day."

  "Every day, what?" she asked.

  "Focus, babe," I said with mock seriousness. She chortled. Fucking chortled. "Every day I wonder if I'm going to regret the decisions I'm making today."

  She seemed content to ponder my response in silence while she focused on walking.

  "Oh, shit," I yelled, when we neared the gap in the causeway.

  "Where's the ferry?" Erica asked.

  "Oh, come on," I said lacing my hands on top of my head. "They're gone. They must have left at six."

  Glancing from side to side, she scanned the horizon, disbelief etched on her face. "We'll have to go the other way, through Colchester and then back up."

  "That's like twenty miles. Your knee is messed up and you're too drunk to ride your bike."

  "We could swim across," she said, eyes lighting up.

  "You want to swim two-hundred feet through cold, choppy water when you can't even walk a straight line?"

  "I'm an excellent swimmer," she said, a silly grin lighting up her face.

  "Oh, hell no. I'm going to call Damian and see if he can pick us up in Colchester," I said, yanking my phone out of my pocket.

  "Good idea."

  "Of course, he doesn't answer," I yelled, after receiving Damian's voicemail greeting. "Listen, asshole. Pull your dick out of Amelia, and fucking call me back."

  Erica slumped to the ground, lying flat on the gravel, while I raged. A giggle slipped out of her mouth as I cursed and kicked at the dirt.

  "What are you doing?" I asked.

  "Enjoying the sunset. Come on, join me. It feels nice down here."

  I flopped down beside her, surprised that the ground was still warm. Red-tinged clouds filled the entire sky, painting our faces pink and turning her hair to burnished copper. Even though I was preoccupied, I couldn't help but admire her profile.

  "Maybe we could walk the five or six miles back to Colchester and get a cab? Do you have any money?" I asked.

  "Nope," she said, turning her head to the side to look at me with glazed eyes. "Isn't it beautiful? All those colors mixed together."

  The sunset had nothing on her. "Sure."

  "Hey, relax. We'll figure something out. What's the worst that could happen?" She laced her fingers through mine and gave my hand a reassuring squeeze, her big, blue eyes searching mine.

  I kiss you, rip down those shorts, and take what isn't mine to take.

  She didn't seem to sense the imminent danger and sighed contentedly. I could smell the beer on her tongue and the citrus scent of her shampoo. Her eyes fluttered shut as I drew closer. My mind screamed at me to stop, while my dick cheered me on.

  Go, team! Go, team!

  Ring. Ring.

  The sound and vibration of my phone startled her eyes open, and I yanked my hand from hers. I hopped up and walked away, glad for the growing darkness. I took my frustration out on her brother, hoping she didn't notic
e how badly my voice shook.

  "Your brother is going to meet us in Colchester," I said, turning around to face her.

  "See. It all worked out." She brushed dirt from her butt and gave me a lopsided grin. When she almost tripped on the gravel, I slung my arm around her shoulders, tugging her tight against my body.

  "Yeah, you were right. Let's get out of here, you little lush."

  -Hey, Pip! How was the rest of your summer?-

  -Who is this?-

  -Dante-

  -Dante Williams?-

  -The OAO.-

  -WTH is OAO??-

  -I thought kids these days were hip on the acronyming. It means the one and only.-

  -Acronyming is not a real word.-

  -And I'm pretty sure OAO is not an approved text message shorthand.-

  -You watch, it's going to catch on.-

  -My brother gave you my phone number?-

  -Not exactly. I hacked his phone one night after he passed out.-

  -He has this protective big brother complex going on.-

  -I don't know whether to be flattered or afraid.-

  -You know what they say about fear, don't you?-

  -That it's a mind-killer?-

  -Holy SHIT!! You did not just say that?!?! You've read Dune?? I'm impressed and borderline turned on right now.-

  -Number one, yes. And two, totally GROSS!!-

  -Sorry, but this illustrates my point perfectly. What sixteen-year-old girl knows Frank Herbert? I'll tell you how many. NONE. Cuz I've been looking for one.-

  -Okay, now I'm afraid.-

  -NO, NO, NO! I haven't been looking for a sixteen-year-old girl. I've been looking for someone who likes to read the same stuff I do. We are kindred book spirits, you and I.-

  -You are such a dork. So what do you propose?-

  -A sexting book club.-

  -What?!?!-

  -Stupid auto-correct. I meant a texting book club.-

  -I'm pretty sure sexting is not an auto-correct word, but I'm going to leave that one alone. Does that mean I get to pick what you read?-