Blindsided (12 page)

“Thank you.” I smile sweetly. “Did I tell you I’m paying for mine?”

“No, and you’re not.”

“I am.”

“You’re not. Stop being fuckin’ difficult.”

“I’m not. But if you pay for it, that makes this a date.” I grab my glass and follow him into his front room. A sixty-inch TV sits in the corner, and a PS4 and Xbox one sit on a shelf in the media center. “Really? You need both?”

“Yep. And I don’t give a shit if me paying for dinner makes this a date. I’m payin’ for it and that’s the damn end of it.”

“So your idea of a first date is Chinese in front of the TV?”

He snaps his head around and looks at me. “You’re the one who won’t be seen in public with me for whatever reason. Take it or leave it.”

“Usually, I’d leave it, but I’m so hungry that it isn’t an option.” I sigh and sit on the sofa next to him.

Corey gets up and grabs two Playstation controllers. Then he drops one in my lap. “Here.”

“What is this?”

“It’s a controller,” he replies with a smirk. “If you win, you can buy your own dinner. If I win, I pay.”

I blink at it and put my wine glass on the coffee table. “I’m at a serious disadvantage here, you understand? I don’t own a PS4.”

He says nothing. Just lets his lips tug up and starts the game.

“Look, I wasn’t lying. I said that
I
don’t own a PS4. It’s my mom’s.”

Corey stares at me in disbelief over the table. “Your mom owns a PS4?”

I hold my hands up. “Hey, I asked her, and she said she needs it to shoot people because people piss her off, and if she shot them in real life, she’d be in jail. It’s hard to argue with that kind of logic, you know?”

“Shit, man. I can’t believe I just got my ass kicked at Call of Duty by a girl.”

“A one-in-a-million girl,” I correct him, shoving noodles in my mouth.

“Yeah, I think you just went up to one in ten million. Fuck.”

I smile and chew. The look on his face was priceless. I wish I’d had a camera because I’m pretty sure he’s never had his ass handed to him that way before.

“Look, it isn’t hard to play. You just aim and shoot.”

He stares at me blankly. “What about the guys aiming and shooting at you?”

“Well, that’s simple.” I put my fork down. “You shoot them before they get you.”

“And if you don’t know they’re coming?”

“Then you die.”

“Oh, simple.” He shakes his head slightly. “Just when I think I’m starting to understand you a little bit.”

I grin and get up. “Don’t kid yourself, cowboy.” I drop onto the sofa. “You’ll never understand me. I’m way more complex than the fuck-and-go girls you’re accustomed to.”

“Now
that
I know. I knew that the night I met you.” He sits next to me.

“I really can’t believe you haven’t given up yet.”

“I told you I don’t give up. Besides, I have a whole week, remember?” His eyes flick over my face. “There isn’t a chance I’m giving up when you can shoot better than me and make a hobby of screaming my name every game day.”

I raise my eyebrows. “Is that opposed to hearing a different person scream it every night of the week?”

“Believe me, Leah. No one says my name the way you do.” He leans back against the sofa and rests one arm along the back of it. His fingers tickle my bare shoulder, just ghosting across my skin. “I wouldn’t want anyone to say it the way you do.”

“I would hope not.”

“Besides, no one else could get away with calling me cowboy.”

My lips twitch and I grab my glass from the coffee table. I finish the wine, put the glass back down, and then stretch upward. My jersey rides up with the movement, and Corey’s eyes drop to my exposed stomach, lingering there before climbing up my body.

“What?”

“Nothing,” he replies, meeting my eyes, a fire burning in his.

I poke his thigh. “Don’t look at me like I’m a chocolate chip cookie then say, ‘Nothing.’”

“If I’m only looking at you like that, then I’m worried, because in my head, you’re way sexier than a fucking cookie.”

“God, you say all the right things, don’t you?” I shake my head.

“You compared yourself to a cookie.”

“Yeah, and that’s where you were supposed to say, ‘You’re not a cookie. You’re more like a chocolate fucking sundae, sprinkles and all.’”

“And that’s opposed to saying you’re sexy?”

“There are other ways to compliment a girl on her looks, you know.”

“I know.” He leans over me, his eyes fixed on mine. “But when you’re wearing my team jersey with
my
name on the back, you bet your tight little ass you’re fucking sexy.”

“How do you know it has your name on it?” I murmur.

He lowers his face to mine. “I notice everything about you, Leah. Like how your cheeks flush when I call you sexy and how your lips part when mine are close. I also notice that I’m very, very close to starting to wear you down.”

“And how have you worked that out?”

“You’re here.”

Smartass.

His lips brush down my cheek to my jaw. “I can see it in your eyes, babe.” He presses his lips to my neck.

I draw in a sharp breath. Shit.

“I can hear it when your breath hitches like that.” His fingers trail down my arm, drawing an easy path on the underside, until they finally meet mine. Then he links our fingers and whispers, “And I can feel it in the clenching of your fist.”

“That’s so I can punch you later.”

“Mhmm…” He dusts kisses up my neck, making me swallow because he’s right. He does affect me—crazily. “But until that happens, I’m definitely wearing you down.”

“You’re a dick, Corey.”

He smiles against my skin. “I know, but that doesn’t change the fact that I’m going to fuck you by the end of the week.”

“You’re still so sure, aren’t you?”

“If I don’t have my certainty, I don’t have much of anythin’, babe. Don’t shatter my dreams.” He hovers his lips in front of mine.

“Fine—you stay in your delusional little bubble, and I’ll stay in the real world.”

His lips curl. “What happens when they collide?”

I rest my hand on his cheek. “Then you’re going to be very, very disappointed.”

He laughs and sits back down but doesn’t let go of my hand. “What are you doing tomorrow?”

“Nothing.”

“Good. I’m taking you on a date.”

“Not outside, you’re not.”

“Hey.” He runs his thumb across my bottom lip. “Trust me. Okay?”

“That’s what I’m afraid of doing.”

What the hell was I thinking? Agreeing to go in public with him?
Sure, let’s keep a low profile, Leah. Let’s do that by going on a date with the hottest fucking guy in the city. Let’s do that!

Ugh. He’s a master manipulator, kissing my neck and making my heart pound then touching my mouth so softly. He made me go gooey. Fucking gooey.

Leg-tremblingly, heart-stutteringly, stomach-flutteringly gooey.

What the hell did I do that for?

He’s dangerous, I know that, but he needs a sign or a tattoo or something to remind me. Unfortunately, my mind wasn’t in control yesterday. My hormones were. And hormones control my body, and they’re impulsive little bastards.

Impulsive little bastards who need to keep themselves under control today. The only reason I agreed to this week is because he agreed to leave me alone. Jesus. How dumb was that? He won’t leave me alone.

The brown wig on my head is evidence of this.

“This is dumb.”

Corey grins. “But you don’t look like you, so it’s okay.”

“Great. I’ll get to see myself in the papers tomorrow referred to as a mystery woman. I love that.”

“Better than your name being associated with mine, huh?”

There’s a little bitterness in his tone, and I wince a little. “It’s not like that, and you know it.”

“No, I don’t know that.”

I grab his hand and stop him before we get the tickets. “Well, it isn’t. I just… I can’t tell you, okay? It’s complicated.”

Complicated because I’m the only person in this city who won’t take the easy way into one of the toughest industries in the world.

Corey nods. “All right. Come on.” He gets our tickets and we step in. “Disneyland. I can’t fucking believe I’m taking you to Disneyland.”

“It’s my favorite!” I nudge his elbow. “
I
can’t believe you asked my mom where to take me!”

His mouth spreads into a beaming grin. “Smooth, huh?”

“Yeah, if you like your smooth crunchy.”

“Excuse me, are you Corey Jackson?” A little boy looks up at him.

“Sure am,” Corey replies.

“Can I get an autograph?” The little boy shoves a pad at Corey.

“Sure, buddy.” He leans down and scribbles on the autograph book. The little boy’s mom asks for a picture, and Corey agrees, putting his arm around the boy’s shoulders.

I smile, putting my hands in the pockets of my shorts. He’s a jackass almost all of the time, but he has another side. That’s clear to see, because he now has a small crowd of kids around him clamoring for an autograph and a picture.

But he doesn’t complain. He doesn’t ask for peace or to be left alone. He signs every book, smiles for every picture, and hugs every kid.

And it’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.

When the kids disperse, he grabs my hand and tugs me into the park. I laugh as it hits me: he’s trying to escape the madness.

Disneyland: the happiest place on Earth. Unless you are Corey Jackson. Then it’s apparently your own personal slice of hell.

“Smile. You’re scaring all the kids away.” I knock our hands into his hip. “It’s the happiest place on Earth!”

He looks at me flatly. “I’ve signed ten autographs and we haven’t even been here for fifteen minutes. I’m not a Disney character.”

“But isn’t that what makes you so appealing? Your fame?” I throw a sassy glance over my shoulder as I skip off toward a candy store.

“All right, all right. You win.”

“Smart guy.” I wink. “Is it really that bad here?”

“Yes. No. I don’t know. I feel like I don’t belong here.”

The temptation to grab a pair of Mickey Mouse ears and put them on his head is almost too much. Damn that almost. I giggle to myself. He does look a little out of place—the famous quarterback in a kids’ resort. I feel a little bad. I mean, he clearly hates it here, but this is my favorite place ever, so he’s just gonna have to deal with it.

Besides, he’s the one who asked my mom where to bring me.

“Look, we’re in Frontierland. Let’s do the shooting.” I pause, glancing at him. “You can shoot, right?”

“Leah, I grew up in Texas. My granddaddy owned a ranch. Of course I can shoot. The question is whether you can.”

“Only on COD.” I grin, pretending to look at the rifle in a bit of confusion.

He hands over two tickets for twenty-five shots each. Then he rolls his eyes.