Date Me Read Online Free Page A

for another day, Boots. I don’t want to overwhelm you with all my talents at once.”
    “Everyone says you have great hands,” I blurt out.
    “These?” he asks, holding them in front of my face.
    I look at his hands.
    Really look at them.
    They’re beautiful.
    Seriously, is there any part of him that's not complete perfection? I run my hand across them, searching for something. Then I find a scar that runs across his pinkie and middle finger. “What happened here?”
    He laughs. “Knife attack. In the war.”
    “Very funny.”
    “Fine. Cleat attack.”
    “Now I know why you’re such a good goalie,” I say, further examining his hands.
    “Because I'm fast.” He quickly slaps the top of my hands. Like the game Damian and I could play for hours when we were kids.
    I slap his hands back quickly before he can pull them away. “Not fast enough,” I say with a smirk. I grab his hands again and hold them up, scrutinizing them. “They’re too big for your body.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “Proportionately. They’re off. They’re too big.” I tilt my head and look at him. Size up his six-foot-two-inch frame. “That, or you’re not done growing yet.”
    “I’m probably not done growing yet,” he shrugs, then starts doing the robot to the music.
    It makes me laugh. “You so know how to dance.”
    “Naw, you’re just a really good teacher. I couldn’t do this until today.”
    “You’re such a liar. How do you know how to dance like this? You dance alone in your room to music videos or something?”
    “No. I have a bossy older sister.”
    “So?”
    “So, instead of wanting to play school or Barbies, she wanted to play dance instructor. If I played nice, she snuck me cookies.”
    “So everyone at school knows you can dance like this but me, right? Very funny. Ha. Ha. You tricked me.”
    He takes a step closer to me, wraps his arm around my waist, and pulls me in. His leg moves between mine. Our lower halves have never been entwined like this except for in my daydream. His leg feels even warmer than it did in the dream. Like it's radiating energy into my thighs.
    “You’re the only one at school who knows I can dance like this. Well, besides my sister.”
    “Why?”
    “Because it's embarrassing. You asked me if I was in a boy band witness protection program or something.”
    “Ohmigawd, did your mom video tape it? I'm so asking your sister.”
    He tries not to laugh. “You are not. Or you'll be in trouble.”
    “Oh, really?” I sass, putting my face right in front of his. “What kind of trouble?”
    He grabs my butt cheeks firmly in each hand, squeezes them, and raises an eyebrow at me in challenge.
    Oh, two can play this game.
    I grab the back of his jeans.
    Jeans I hardly ever see him wear. Jeans that sit low on his hips. The Cougars soccer T-shirt that he’s wearing just barely meets the thick band of his underwear.
    I pull his shirt up over his head and toss it on the floor.
    As he slides his hands down my sides, I take a moment to touch those hips. Touch the edge of the deep-V that is now visible.
    I try not to think about what isn’t visible.
    “You gonna do that at the dance?”
    “Maybe.” I place my palms firmly on his pecs. Close my eyes and dance with him.
    I run my hands over his chest, grind on his leg, move to the beat.
    We dance well together.
    I seem to know what he’s going to do before he does it.
     
    Another one of my favorite songs comes on, so I push off his chest, jump up and down, then turn around and give him a booty shake. He spins me around and puts his knee back between my legs.
    Which means he likes it there.
    I grab his shoulders and run my hands across the muscles I have only admired.
    He starts a very fast, exaggerated version of a waltz. He pulls me toward him. Spins me out, then spins me so that my back is now pulled tightly against his chest, our arms intertwining.
    His hand glides across my bare stomach. I’m still in my dance clothes, and this bra