Page 32 of How to Score Off Field
Sure.
The better answer would have been: Yes, of course! Yeah.
Yup = all better replies than “Sure.”
I’m an idiot, but she’s making me nervous. Her intense stare has me fidgeting with the putter in my hand.
“Do you even want to play?”
“Sure.”
Ugh.
“Of course I want to play ball. I wouldn’t be doin’ it if I didn’t want to.”
Tess doesn’t look convinced, but she shrugs and goes to put her little green ball toward the next hole. Technically, it should’ve been an easy dunk, but she misses because she’s swinging too hard, and it bounces off the back wall. She’s not that great at miniature golf, but I reckon it’s because she isn’t competitive and, therefore, isn’t concentrating or trying to beat me.
Seems like she’d rather make conversation than play this game.
My eyes stray to the backs of her skirt and those ass cheeks that seem to want to flirt.
When it’s my turn again, I miraculously sink the ball in one stroke—as if mini Putt-Putt were my second skill.
I fist pump for no reason, peacocking around the fake grass to irritate Tess.
She doesn’t bite.
Only smiles.
I realize then that she’s not shy. She’s simply good-natured and a genuinely nice person—unlike her brother, who can be a massive asshole. One who has occasionally given my asshole brothers a run for their money.
“So you like football well enough, but you’re not passionate about it. You enjoy science.” Tess taps her ball toward the hole. “Are you dating anyone?” She laughs. “Is that too personal?”
I laugh because it’s not personal at all. In fact, it’s a question I get asked a lot, especially by the media. People are curious about my personal life, Dallas’s personal life, and Drake’s personal life. You name it, we’ve been asked it.
“It’s not too personal, and no, I’m not.” Still single as a goddamn pringle.
It drove me nuts not having a girlfriend last semester. Don’t know why it bothered me so damn bad, but here we are. I’m jerking off alone in my bedroom at night, sometimes in the morning, sometimes on the toilet, and occasionally in the shower.
I see movies alone. I eat out alone.
And the last person on earth who wanted a girlfriend—i.e my twin—now has one, and he did it right under my nose.
“What about you?” I ask in kind, though I am curious about her relationship status. I wouldn’t have been able to picture the younger version of Tess having a boyfriend or a girlfriend, but I can visualize this one.
Tall. Sexy.
Sweet.
She seems like a real catch.
“Not currently. Last year, I was seeing someone, but he was in a fraternity, and well, you know how those guys can be—not to stereotype.”
“I cannot see you with a frat brother.”
This makes her giggle. “You can’t see me with a frat guy? You barely know me. How do you know I’m not a wild party girl? Or a heavy drinker? Or a sorority girl who only dates Kappas?”
My brows rise. “Are you?”
