Page 473

Three weeks after the championship, Kane takes me to the beach.

“Why are we here?”

“Date.”

“We had dinner yesterday.”

“People can date more than once a week.”

“Suspicious.”

He opens my door.

Two years and he still does it.

I climb out.

The evening is warm enough for a sweater but cool enough that the breeze raises goosebumps along my legs.

Cars are lined up on the sand facing a giant temporary screen.

String lights mark the entrance.

Food trucks sit farther down the beach.

I stare.

“A drive-in?”

“Beach edition.”

“You planned this?”

“I have skills.”

“Debatable.”

His hand finds mine.

I squeeze it.

Our truck is backed toward the screen.

Blankets fill the bed.

Pillows.

A cooler.

And—

I stop.

“Kane.”

He looks innocent.

“What?”