First and Tension

by Tara Sivec

  Quinn whistles with wide, impressed eyes, clapping for a few seconds before he gets serious once more. “I dare you to take off all of your clothes and go streaking around the track.”

  I throw my head back and laugh before trailing off with a sigh.

  “That’s not how it works.”

  “Why not? A dare is a dare,” Quinn questions, making me wonder where all of this fun has been all my life.

  “No, you only take a dare if it’s something you really want to do, deep down inside. I don’t want to take my clothes off and go streaking around the track, so that’s a no from me.”

  “Interesting,” he muses, crossing his arms in front of him and tapping his lips with one finger. “So you really did want to kiss me, and you really do want to date me.”

  Dammit.

  “Fake date you,” I remind him, when he drops his arms and shoves his hands back into his pockets.

  “Right, right, of course. Lots of technicalities in these dares.”

  Wanting to both smack and kiss that smirk off his face, I start walking backward away from him this time before I do something stupid. A smack would probably put me in jail, and a kiss would probably put me in a grave… from making my head explode.

  “I have to go now. As you can see, I need to hose down some teenagers,” I tell Quinn, pointing over my shoulder to the still screaming group of girls before I turn my back on that maddening smile and walk away.

  “You don’t even want to give me a goodbye kiss?” Quinn shouts after me, the girls now breaking the sound barrier as I sigh and continue walking toward them.

  “Payback is a bitch, Bagley!” I shout back over my shoulder, ignoring the sound of his laughter, which my ears somehow instantly zone in on through the ruckus.

  Why did this have to happen in front of a bunch of cheerleaders whose job it is to literally scream the loudest? It couldn’t have happened in front of a bunch of nuns who took a vow of silence?

  Fucking Quinn Bagley….

  CHAPTER 10

  Quinn

  “I am shooketh!”

  Quinn: Should I wear the blue shirt or the white shirt to lunch on Saturday? *photo attachment*

  Emily: Who is this?

  Quinn: Exactly how many men are you going to lunch with on Saturday who text you a picture of clothing options?

  Emily: You’d be surprised. I had to settle an argument last week between Palmer and Shepherd about what they were going to wear to Palmer’s bachelor party in a few months.

  Quinn: Who won?

  Emily: The point had to go to Palmer. I agreed with him that matching glittery shirts that say Palmer’s Farewell Tour is a bit much.

  Quinn: They sound fun. I want to hang out with them.

  Emily: No, they aren’t, and no, you don’t. Wear the blue shirt; it matches your eyes.

  Emily: Don’t you dare say one word about me noticing your eyes. Yes, I noticed them. Yes, they’re nice. Don’t make a big thing out of it.

  Quinn: Wouldn’t dream of it. Signed, Nice Eyes.

  Emily: What if your boss asks me personal questions about you?

  Quinn: Good morning to you too. Nice to know you’re thinking about me.

  Emily: Oh, I sure was. I was bored to death at work, thinking about shoving these scissors right into my brain to end my misery, and BOOM! There you were.

  Quinn: You’re really going to ace this lunch and make my boss believe you can actually stand me. I should probably clean up my resume.

  Emily: Oh, calm down. I can pretend to not be annoyed by the sight of you for a few hours. Which brings me back to my original question. What if your boss asks me something personal about you? We’ve technically been “dating” for five months. I should probably know more about you than what’s readily available on the internet.

  Quinn: My favorite color is blue, my favorite city to visit is New Orleans, my favorite movie is Varsity Blues, my favorite snack is Nutter Butters, and my first word when I was a baby was “ball.” Your turn.

  Emily: My favorite color is red, my favorite city to visit is Nashville, my favorite movie is Bring it On—the original of course, because all the remakes are TRASH, and I will fight anyone who says otherwise—my favorite snack is Oreos, and my first word when I was baby was “touchdown.”

  Quinn: You’re lying.

  Emily: Seriously. Every remake of Bring it On, including part 2, was TRASH.

  Quinn: You know damn well that’s not what I was referring to. Your first word was NOT “touchdown.”

  Emily: Swear on everyone I love’s life. You can ask my family. My brothers had this handheld football game they were constantly playing when I was a baby. A little jingle would play when you’d score, and the robotic voice would say “TOUCHDOWN!” One time, the little robotic voice didn’t say it, so I did. True story.

  Quinn: Marry me.

  Emily: No.

  Quinn: I really don’t like how quickly you replied to that. What if I was serious? You wouldn’t even want to think on it for a minute?

  Emily: *thinking*

  Emily: No.

  Quinn: Wow. WOW. You’re lucky you noticed my nice eyes otherwise I’d be really offended right now.

  Quinn: Emily Flanagan, I am shooketh!

  Emily: Am I supposed to do a cheer about this or something? Help me out here.

  Quinn: You made poor Brett Crawford walk through the dorm halls naked, squawking like a chicken, while he tossed out pieces of Colonel Sanders like rose petals at a wedding, after he pissed the bed when he woke up to find the two live snakes you put in there while he was sleeping!

  Emily: Fucking Bodhi! How did he even get to you when you’re on the mainland?

  Quinn: Oh, he gave me his number that first night I stayed at the hotel in case of an emergency. Finding out what happened to naked Brett was an emergency. It was keeping me up at night, man. And don’t be too hard on Bodhi. I honestly think he forgot he was speaking to the enemy. That guy smokes A LOT of weed. He’s fun.

  Emily: Whatever. And I don’t want to hear “poor Brett” out of your mouth again. I overheard him talking about slipping something in a girl’s drink at a party in college, and when I called home to tell the girls and ask for advice, Tess dared me to make him rethink his life choices.

  Quinn: What a piece of shit.

  Emily: Don’t worry. He rethought his life choices. He actually became president of our college’s rape prevention group.

  Quinn: I am equally amazed by you and scared of you. Keep that shit up.

  Quinn: I’m picking you up on the island.

  Emily: For the last time, you are NOT coming all the way out here to the island, just to take me right back to the mainland a block from your hotel. That’s a complete waste of time. I’ll meet you at the restaurant like we agreed.

  Quinn: I never agreed to that. I just let you have the last word this afternoon, because I felt like being a giver.

  Emily: I will meet you at The Varsity Club, right across from Sharks Stadium, at 12:30. Be a giver again and shut your yap.

  Quinn: Fine. I’ll let you have your way this time, but only because I’m going to be coming right from a workout, and I’m only going to have time for a quick shower before I get dressed and leave.

  Emily: All of that arguing with me, when you wouldn’t even have had time to pick me up anyway???

  Quinn: I like being difficult. It keeps you on your toes. Remember, the car service will drive you around to the private back entrance of the restaurant, because my boss’s brother owns it, and he’s opening it early just for us. I’ll meet you back there, where you will be overjoyed and not at all argumentative AGAIN that I’m sending a car for you.

  Quinn: Oh, and Emily? I dare you to have a good time with me tomorrow.

  Emily: Yeah, I don’t want to.

  Quinn: You’re cute. Sweet dreams.

  CHAPTER 11

  Quinn

  “Game on, lover.”

  “Your mimosa, my dear…” I trail off with a
little smirk as I hand the glass of orange juice and champagne to Emily that the bartender just gave me.

  The same little sound comes out of her when she takes the crystal flute from my hand that I’ve heard multiple times since she got out of the car. Part sigh, part huff, and completely annoyed with me. It’s so quiet and subtle that most people wouldn’t notice. But I’m not most people when it comes to this woman, and I’m quickly finding out I notice everything about her. She did it when I opened the back door of the black SUV she arrived in, when I offered her my hand to help her step out of the vehicle, when I gave her my elbow to hold onto as I walked her across the parking lot, when I opened the door of the restaurant for her, when I asked her what she’d like to drink and ordered it for her. Every time I’ve done whatever I typically do on a date for a woman, she seems flustered.

  She does it again when I hold my arm out in front of me, indicating she should lead the way to our table. It’s so goddamn adorable when she purses those full, gorgeous lips and then quickly tries to hide it with a smile before walking away from me, but I’m clearly doing something wrong here. When Jeanie sent me a text to let me know she was running a few minutes late, and we should relax and grab a drink at the bar, I thought it would be the perfect opportunity for both of us to calm our nerves and get our shit together before the show begins.

  Except she seems to be completely cool and calm, and I’m the one losing my shit. I know it’s a fake date, but I want to impress her. I want her to see I’m not an asshole professional football player with a bigger ego than a heart. I want her to think that maybe real dating me wouldn’t be so bad.

  Fine… so she doesn’t like chivalry.

  The chair I was in the process of pulling out for Emily when we got to the only set table in the middle of the empty restaurant makes a loud, screeching scrape across the hardwood floor when I quickly thrust it back into place.

  “You can sit, or not. Whatever,” I mutter, flopping down into the chair next to the one I just aggressively shoved back to the table like a disgruntled toddler.

  Yeah, this is so much better.

  “Are you okay?” Emily asks as she sets her champagne glass on the table, and I have a mini nervous breakdown watching her pull her own chair out and sit down, expecting my dad to come up behind me and smack me upside the head for not being a gentleman. “You’re acting weird. Are you sure you’re going to be able to pull this off? Maybe you’re the one who’s going to have a problem acting like you can tolerate me.”

  My only problem is going to be acting like I don’t want to drag you into the coat check room and fuck you against the first available wall.

  When she stepped down out of the SUV wearing a short-sleeved, green dress that clung to her mouthwatering curves and her red hair long and flowing all around her shoulders, with a pair of sexy, sky-high nude heels, I almost dropped to my knees on the pavement and wept like a baby. She took my breath away, and I couldn’t believe she was mine.

  You know… for the afternoon.

  “I’m fine,” I reassure her as she places her cloth napkin in her lap and takes a sip of her drink. “Just completely distracted by how beautiful you are.”

  Emily lets out a quiet laugh as she sets her champagne glass back on the linen-covered table.

  “You can cool it with the compliments,” she tells me, since I said something similar as soon as she stepped down out of the SUV.

  Although I believe once I remembered how to breathe again, I whispered, “Jesus… you are fucking stunning.”

  “Your boss isn’t here yet, and there’s no one to impress,” Emily finishes, making me bristle at her words that she thinks I’m only complimenting her as part of this fake date.

  But I did this to myself, didn’t I? Instead of asking her out on a real date, where she could really accept my compliments, I acted like a pussy and made her think any interest I had in her was just because of this insane situation I’ve gotten myself into.

  Fuck!

  “Why don’t we make it interesting, so we can both make it through this lunch without dying?” I smile at her, leaning forward in my chair to rest my elbows on the table right next to hers.

  “What did you have in mind?”

  Her green eyes sparkle mischievously at me, and I know I can’t tell her what’s actually on my mind, because it involves being kicked out of a restaurant for public indecency.

  “Let’s make it a game. Whoever impresses Jeanie the most today wins the bragging rights of being the ultimate champion of the world.”

  “Still trying to beat me at something, I see.” Emily smirks, making me want to kiss that confident smile right off her face. “Of course you think you can win at something you have an advantage at. You’re so cute and innocent.”

  Closing the couple of inches between our faces, I bring my mouth right by her ear, breathing in her soft, beachy smell, with her silky hair brushing against the tip of my nose, before I speak.

  “The thoughts I’ve been having about you since you stepped down out of that SUV are far from innocent, sweetheart.”

  Pulling back, I quickly grab my own mimosa and take a healthy swallow, mentally patting myself on the back when I hear not a sound coming out of Emily, and I can see her staring at me with her sexy mouth dropped open out of the corner of my eye.

  Ten points go to me.

  “Sweetheart isn’t going to work either,” Emily finally mutters, letting out another one of those quiet sigh/huffs as she fidgets in her chair, straightening and re-straightening the napkin in her lap.

  “You didn’t like babe, honey, or pumpkin either,” I complain, smiling to myself when I remember the look of death she gave me with each new endearment I’ve tested out on her since we got here. “I need some kind of cute nickname for you if we want this to be believable. Oooh, what about lover.”

  “Eeew, gross. Sure, go ahead and call me that if you want me to stab you with my butter knife,” Emily informs me with a gorgeous smile, right when the front door to the restaurant flies open.

  I quickly reach over without thinking and grab Emily’s hand from her lap. Flipping it over and lacing my fingers through hers, I give her a gentle, reassuring squeeze.

  “You ready for this?” I whisper as Jeanie Bidwell breezes into the room, pulling her dark sunglasses off her face when she greets her brother, the owner of the restaurant, with a kiss on the cheek and a few shared words.

  “The question is, are you ready to lose to me?” Emily asks boldly.

  “Let the games begin, sweet cheeks.”

  With a chuckle when Emily squeezes my hand back so hard I hear one of my knuckles crack, I get ready to play the most exciting game of my life.

  That hopefully won’t end up with me being fired.

  “Well, you’ve certainly sold me. I will definitely be convincing my husband that we need a weekend getaway to this magical Summersweet Island.” Jeanie smiles at Emily as the waiter clears away our main dishes, when Emily finishes telling her all about the island she grew up on and where our supposed “secret relationship” has been taking place.

  Just like I knew she would, Emily completely won over my boss from the moment she stood up from her chair with me to politely greet her with a handshake, waiting until Jeanie sat down to retake her seat. After a few-minute discussion with me about the team and how everyone is getting along, Jeanie turned her attention to Emily, and it hasn’t left since. All through the appetizer, salad, and main course, Emily charmed Jeanie with stories of growing up on a small island with everyone knowing your business. She made this no-nonsense woman who has never cracked a smile or made a joke since the day I met her throw her head back and laugh several times throughout lunch. Emily is a born entertainer, and her ability to make even the hardest of people smile, and make a tense situation fun, is just one of the many reasons she has completely captivated me.

  Twenty points go to Emily.

  “Well, I’m just happy to see you two seemed to have fared quite well after al
l that nasty business in the media. Sometimes, a little adversity strengthens a bond,” Jeanie says, turning her attention away from us momentarily to ask the waiter to refill our waters.

  “Stop touching my hair,” Emily whispers to me out the corner of her mouth.

  My fingers continue twirling a lock of her soft, shiny hair, just like I’ve been doing since we finished eating. I leaned back in my chair to rest my arm across the back of Emily’s, while she finished up a story about her and her friends having too much to drink one night and riding all their bicycles right off the dock and into the Summersweet Island Pond.

  “My fingers are bored. What else should I do with them?” I tease back under my breath, thoroughly fascinated by the little shiver she makes whenever I twirl a lock of her hair, the tips of my fingers grazing the soft, exposed skin on the back of her shoulder.

  “Stick them up your a—”

  “What I’m really interested in discussing with you,” Jeanie begins again when the waiter walks away, making Emily cut off her whispered threat, “is what actually happened when you were fired from cheering for the Vipers.”

  A smile is pasted on Emily’s face, but I know by the tension in her shoulders as she sits forward in her chair to fold her hands together tightly on the table that talking about this isn’t something that makes her very happy. And now I feel like a dick for teasing her about being fired, when I was chasing her around the island, trying to get her to accept my dare.

  Since Tyler’s family is friends with Ellen Westwood’s family, he got all the details about Emily’s firing when the rumors started circulating, and he wanted to know who the hell she was. He called me last night at the hotel, still trying to get me to end this ridiculous charade, since according to him, Emily was still a loose cannon who could go off at any minute and embarrass me. I thought he was a dumbass when he said that to me last night, and I still think it right now, especially after witnessing with my own two eyes just how amazing Emily is. It doesn’t matter if she lost it for whatever reason and got fired. Everyone has done something stupid they regret at least once in their life, and there is no way I’m going to hold it against her.