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“Try something new, huh?” The corner of his mouth twitched, like he was really asking something else.
“Anyways,” she said, dragging the word out.
“I’m Drew, by the way. Sorry, I should’ve led with that.”
He held out his hand. The guy was hot as fuck. She was this close to writing her phone number on the back of her Waldenbooks receipt and shoving it into the pocket of his jeans.
Instead, she settled for taking his hand. His palm was warm and callused, his long fingers closing around hers, and for one ridiculous second, she forgot he’d been kissing another girl five minutes ago. He didn’t let go right away, and neither did she.
“I know who you are. You’re sort of popular, you know. With football and all.”
“Comes with the territory, I guess.” He reached up and pulled off his cap, which gave her another excuse to look at him, like she needed one. He dragged a hand through his hair. It was flat from the hat, not a drop of gel in it, and she’d bet it was soft enough to run her fingers through. Not that she was going to.
“Mm-hmm.”
“You a football fan?” he asked, settling his cap back on, backward this time.
“I mean . . .” She rocked her hand from side to side.
He clutched his chest. “Ouch. And here I thought you were perfect.”
Basketball had always been her favorite, but the Wrights watched sports all year, and college football got plenty of love in their house. She kept that part to herself, though. She’d already slipped up once with the Boston thing, and she wasn’t about to give him another reason to think she was some kind of groupie—because she was so not.
“Nothing against football. I just never got what all the fuss was about.”
“I’ll teach you,” Drew said, his voice dropping lower than it had any business going. “You’ll fucking love it.”
“I’m good. But thanks, though.”
“Don’t knock it till you try it, Nicole.”
She cut her eyes at him. “And what exactly are we talking about, Drew?”
Now why had she gone and asked him that? She knew exactly what he meant. Plus, she’d handed him the perfect opening, and Drew was damn sure going to use it. He probably already had some slick line ready, something that would make her laugh—or worse, turn her on.
She shook her head before he could respond. “Never mind. Don’t answer that.”
“Are you coming to my game on Saturday?” he asked instead.
“Isn’t everyone in this town?” No one missed Homecoming.
“Probably. But I’m more interested in whether you’ll be there.”
She arched a brow at him. “Are you always this smooth with girls in parking lots?”
“Only when she’s making me work harder than I’m used to.”
“You’re very confident.”
“I’m a quarterback. It’s practically required.”
“Well, don’t flatter yourself, Drew. You ain’t all that.”
Lies. And he knew it, too, judging by the cocky look he gave her.
“My frat’s having a party at the house after the game,” he said. “You should come. Bring your friends. Especially if they look like you.”
“Look like me, meaning . . . ?”
