Kiss Me Like This Read online

  And when they finally did come together...

  Hell, even letting himself think about it right now was a dangerous road to go down.

  Forcing himself back on task, he asked, "Are you ready for another totally normal Friday night on campus?"

  For a moment, she looked a little surprised by the way he'd deliberately tried to bank the heat between them. But then she nodded as if she was determined to pull off the same shift in herself.

  "I am." She looked down at the bag he'd just picked up off the floor. "Did you come from working out?"

  "Nope, these are our outfits."

  She raised an eyebrow. "Outfits?"

  Of course, he could read her mind--and her newly flushed cheeks--enough to know that she'd immediately assumed he must have brought something sexy for her to change into.

  "I'd be lying if I said I didn't like your dirty mind," he said with a grin. "Probably comes from reading all those books, doesn't it? They give you more ideas, more possibilities, than other people."

  He expected her to protest, to say she didn't have a dirty mind. Instead, she shrugged and said, "I have read about quite a few things over the years. Really interesting things. In fact, those ebooks you suggested I start downloading make it pretty easy to read all kinds of books without anyone ever knowing what's on my screen."

  He barely held back a groan. Jesus, she was sexy. Not just her face and body, which were enough to scramble him up every time he looked at her, but the way her mind worked. All those brains. All those thoughts.

  Sean tried like hell to shake the vision out of his head, but it was pretty much impossible. Fortunately, she took pity on him by asking, "Can I see what the outfits are?"

  He walked over to the table in the corner where she'd been working and put the bag on it, then unzipped it and pulled out a Cardinal red Stanford Football long-sleeved T-shirt and a pair of matching sweatpants with the word Stanford running up the left leg. There were two of everything and he hoped she'd be laughing by the time he laid it all out, but instead she was biting her lip.

  "It's not that I don't like the idea of going to a football game tonight. My roommate Abi said they're lots of fun, and I'd love to experience it, but--"

  "No one is going to recognize us, I promise. No more pictures of us are getting out. Not unless we want them to."

  "Even if we both wear all of this--" She gestured to the big pile of Stanford themed clothes he'd taken out of the bag. "--I can't see how people won't be able to figure out who we are."

  He unzipped a side pocket and pulled out a small, thin container. He flipped the top open to show her the palette of red, white, and green face paint.

  "Face paint?"

  He grinned at her incredulous expression. "And don't forget these." He held up a set of Cardinal red Stanford hats and sunglasses that had a sideways "S" curving around the frame.

  There wasn't another girl on the planet he would have done this with. No one but Serena.

  She wasn't just the girl he wanted the most...she was also the one he liked the best.

  But she was still shaking her head. "You don't actually plan on both of us dressing up like over-the-top Stanford Football fans and painting our faces with their colors, too, do you, while wearing these sunglasses?"

  "It's going to be great."

  That was when she started to laugh. "People would never guess it from looking at you, but you're kind of weird."

  "Funny," he said with a grin, "my sister Olivia was telling me that just the other day."

  *

  Thirty minutes later they were ready. And he'd be lying if he didn't admit to enjoying the hell out of painting up Serena's face in greens and reds when they'd locked themselves in the bathroom for their transformation. It was another excuse to touch her. And to be closer.

  "Wow," she said as she looked at their reflections in the mirror. They'd both done such a thorough job with the face paint that even Sean could barely recognize either of them now that they both looked like Stanford Football obsessed kooks. "We look..." She started laughing too hard to finish her sentence.

  "You wanted normal," he said around his own laughter. "And it's my pleasure to give it to you."

  Again she laughed, shaking her head as they walked out of the bathroom. "I asked my roommate if she knew there was a Frisbee Golf course on campus and she looked at me as if I'd lost my mind. I hope it's okay with you that I told her we went out last week."

  "Why wouldn't it be okay?" He'd shout it from the rooftops, if he could.

  "I don't know. I've never done anything like this before."

  "Neither have I, Serena."

  "It's just...I don't know what the rules are."

  He reached for her hand and tugged her closer. "There aren't any rules. The only thing that matters is that you feel good about what we're doing." But when he could see that she was still conflicted over the whole thing, he added, "And just for the record, the only reason I'm not going to kiss you again right now is because it will seriously screw up your face paint. Especially the green lipstick."

  Again, laughter transformed her wildly painted face and he nearly messed it up by kissing her anyway. But they had a Friday night football game to get to and he didn't want her to miss a second of the normal college experiences he was giving her, so he stuffed her bag into his empty one, slung it over his shoulder, then headed down the stairs with her hand in his.

  Janice looked up from the information desk as they walked by and gave them a thumbs-up. "Go Cardinal!"

  "Have a great weekend," he said to the only person on campus who knew who was behind the crazy outfits and face paint.

  "Oh, Serena," Janice called out when they were almost out the door, "I almost forgot to tell you that the transfer for the Ansel Adams books you requested should be coming in tomorrow morning. I'll send you an email once I've got them."

  He swore he could see Serena flush even through the thick layer of dark makeup. "Thanks, Janice." She waited until they were outside before telling him, "When I looked at his pictures with you, it made me wonder about the man behind the camera."

  "I always did, too. Ansel Adams is a very interesting man."

  She didn't say anything for a moment. "It didn't just make me wonder about him, though. It made me wonder about you, too." She turned to meet his gaze. "About your photos. Because you take them, don't you?"

  He knew she was waiting for his answer, but he didn't have a good one to give her. "Yeah, I used to be pretty into photography." Knowing that his used to stuck out like a sore thumb, he added, "But my photos weren't anything special."

  "I wish I could just request a book of them so that I could see for myself," she said softly. "But since I can't, I guess I'll have to wait for you to want to show them to me, won't I?"

  He hated disappointing her, especially when she was putting her trust in him each Friday night. Sure, playing Frisbee Golf and dressing up like crazies to see a football game wouldn't normally be huge things, but if he were to slip the information to a tabloid or photographer--if he called up a journalist and told them about how all Serena Britten wanted was to be normal--these little things they were doing together would become huge stories in an instant.

  So since she was trusting him with so much, it wasn't fair for it to only go one way. But he hadn't even talked much with his brothers and sisters about his feelings over losing their mother.

  Then again, maybe answering Serena's question about his photography didn't have to be about his mom. Maybe he could just tell her about himself and that would be enough. For now, at least.

  "My sister Olivia had one of those little toy Barbie cameras as a kid. I stole it from her and wouldn't give it back." He liked hearing Serena's laughter. It made it feel easier to talk to her about things. "At first I mostly took pictures of the sky. Trees. Water. Bugs. People came last, and only because when I was a kid they reminded me of bugs."

  "They did?"

  "Sure. Some are social. Some are solitary. But ever
yone's just trying to stay alive. And when you get a good up-close shot, they all look pretty funny."

  "What kind of pictures do you like taking now?"

  "I haven't taken any in a while."

  She was quiet for a few moments, but he could practically hear the gears in her head working. Finally, she said, "You know, if you ever want..." She paused, clearly uncertain about what she was about to say. "I know bugs are a much better subject than I could ever be, but if you--" She paused to swallow hard again. "--if you ever want to use me to practice working with light or shadows or whatever, I'd be happy to help."

  The thing was, by that point he'd started to get a pretty clear picture of the fact that after nearly two straight decades of modeling, she didn't much care for being photographed. But before he could reply, a stranger walked up to them with his phone out.

  "Hey, any chance I could get a pic of the two of you for my Stanford Football blog?"

  With everything in this section of the campus close together, they'd quickly gotten close enough to the stadium to be surrounded by other football fans. Tailgates were wrapping up in the parking lots all around them and the smell of barbecues and beer permeated the air. Fortunately, until now, no one had so much as looked over at them with any recognition whatsoever, given that there were just enough other crazy football fans in similar getups that they barely stood out.

  But even though he doubted the guy with the blog had a clue who he was talking to, when Serena immediately flinched and turned away from the camera, Sean told him, "Actually, there's a group of about ten guys over there who would be way better for your blog. One has even painted his entire body like a tree."

  The blogger bounded off, but Sean could see that Serena was still tense. She'd actually cringed at the thought of the guy taking her picture. That was how much she hated it.

  And yet she'd offered to model for him?

  "Hey," he said, reeling from the knowledge of just how huge her offer had been--and how tempting the thought of photographing her was even though he never thought he'd want to pick up a camera again, "it's okay. He didn't know who we were."

  She stepped out of the way of a couple of girls who were taking a selfie. "Thanks for throwing that guy off our scent."

  He knew she was trying to change the subject, but first he had to know, "If you didn't like your job, why did you do it for so long?"

  "I liked it at first, or at least I thought I did because everyone was so nice to me when the pictures were good. But by the time I realized I didn't want to spend the rest of my life standing in front of a camera..." She paused. "So many girls dream of being on magazine covers and in Paris fashion shows that I always felt like a snot when I wanted out, so I tried to stop wanting it. But then I realized I couldn't keep ignoring my own dreams forever. I just couldn't. So that was when I made the decision to apply to college."

  "Sometimes baseball feels like that for me."

  "It does?"

  He could see that he'd surprised her. Hell, he'd surprised himself, too, not only by admitting that, but also by saying it out loud.

  "I'm good at it. Really good." It wasn't bragging when it was the truth. "And when we're winning and everything is clicking and the crowd is going nuts, I'm not going to lie and say it isn't pretty damned fun."

  "Being on the runway was like that sometimes. If the designer was really spectacular and I knew fashion history was being made that day, it was pretty cool. But every time I met people who had real passion for clothes and fashion, I'd end up feeling like a fraud for not being one of them."

  "Most of the guys on the team, especially the ones who are good enough to go pro, they live and breathe the game. So I know what you mean about feeling like a fraud sometimes."

  Just then, the campus mascot--a seven-foot-tall redwood tree made out of sewn-together pieces of felt--danced by them with the Stanford band not far behind. The campus band was notorious, not only for their crazy outfits, but also for their shocking antics. Tonight it looked like they were going to be putting on one of their better shows, as the guys were all dressed in drag and they were playing a dirty "alternate" version of Come Join the Band.

  There was no way Sean and Serena could have kept from laughing at the perfect break in what had become far too serious a conversation for a Friday night football game. He wanted to get to know her better, but he was just starting to realize that sharing didn't go one way. He couldn't just dig into her past, her secrets, her fears and dreams without letting her do the same to him.

  The things was, he thought as he handed the girl at the gate their tickets, he didn't know if he was ready to go there yet. But could he do it for Serena?

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  "Wow," Serena said as they stepped into the stadium, "this place is huge. And loud. Really loud."

  Deliberately shaking off the dark cloud of his thoughts--his worries about the future and his grief over the past--Sean made himself focus on the here and now.

  His family had been coming to games for as long as he could remember, and they'd worked their way up over the years to sweet seats right at the fifty-yard line. But if he and Serena sat there, it would make their disguises pointless. Which was why he'd sucked it up and bought a couple of crappy seats in the nosebleeds.

  Clearly, though, she had no idea that their seats were terrible as she looked around her with such wonder on her face that he could read it from behind her sunglasses. "This is so great."

  He'd taken girls to games a couple of times in the past and had always regretted it. They were too cold, too hot, too bored, too annoying. But Serena was already perfect.

  "How much do you know about football?"

  "Nothing."

  He'd assumed as much, guessing that a supermodel with an always-there mother and no dad in the picture probably didn't have many chances to watch football on TV or live at a stadium.

  "The game's pretty easy to understand. You have an offense trying to score and a defense trying to stop them. The offense has four chances to go ten yards to get the first down. If you don't get at least those ten yards, the other side gets the ball. You score by getting the ball in the end zone, or depending on your field position you can try to kick the ball through the uprights for a field goal."

  "Surely it's more complicated than that."

  "There are a bunch of extra details I could add in like penalties, turnovers and safeties, but if you just remember that the offense is trying to get the ball in the end zone, and the defense is trying to stop them, you've pretty much got the point of the game." He waved over a teenager who was selling concessions. "I'm thinking popcorn, hot dogs, candy, and Coke. What kind of candy is your favorite?"

  "If I had to guess, I'd say all of it."

  If she had to guess? Hadn't she grown up eating teeth-rotting candy like the rest of them?

  He told the teenage girl to give them one box of each kind of candy, along with loaded hot dogs, a huge bag of popcorn and two bottles of Coke.

  "Tonight must be costing you a fortune," Serena said when he came back with the pile of junk food in his hands. "I want to pay next time."

  He loved that she was talking about next time. "Nope. I asked, I pay."

  "Then I'll just have to ask you first, won't I?" Before he could interject, she said, "Will you go out with me next Friday?"

  He had to mess up her green lipstick then by kissing her. "You know," he said when he made himself draw back, "that means you're in charge of finding something normal for us to do."

  That seemed to take the wind out of her sails a bit. "What if I blow it?"

  "I have faith in you."

  She stopped then and stared at him as if he'd just blown her mind. But before he could say anything else, the ref blew the whistle for the opening kickoff. Together, they sat back in their seats, his arm around her shoulders, her head nestled into his chest, and both enjoyed forgetting about everything else in their lives for a few hours.

  Everything but each other.

&nbs
p; *

  Serena quickly picked up the game and by the end she was so into it that she was screaming and jumping out of her seat along with everyone else when Stanford won in the final seconds of the fourth quarter.

  She threw her arms around Sean. "We won!"

  Who cared about the game? He felt like the biggest winner in the stadium just for getting to be with her. Her smile was so big and wide that he could see the face paint cracking at the corners of her lips. "Let's go take off this goop so that I can kiss you properly."

  That was all it took for heat to rise between them. He grabbed her hand and pulled her out of the stands and down the stairs to the exit. For three hours he'd been close to her, had gotten to hold her hand and put his arm around her shoulders.

  But it hadn't been close enough.

  Thank God their Friday night date wasn't over yet. Not even close.

  "Where are you taking me now?"

  She was slightly breathless from the speed at which he was making them walk as they headed across the street from the stadium to the empty baseball field and the locker rooms.

  "I've got this fantasy," he teased her, "about you and me...and an empty locker room."

  She laughed, but it was a nervous sound. One that had him stopping in the middle of a patch of grass to tell her, "You know I'm kidding, right? I just figured it would be a private spot for us to take off the face paint and hang out for a while until the crowds thin out. I meant it when I told you that I would never do anything to hurt you. And I won't do anything you don't want, that you're not ready for, either." Even if he was beyond ready for all of it.

  For all of her.

  "I know you won't. It's not you, it's me." She gave another shaky laugh. "That didn't come out right. I need to explain and hopefully, I won't just end up making it worse."

  It was nearly completely dark out by then and they were far enough away from the crowds that she finally slipped her sunglasses up to the top of her head so that he could see her eyes. He'd missed being able to look into them. Missed being able to see what she was thinking, what she was feeling.

  "My mom had a pretty hard time with my dad. It's weird to even call him that, when he was more like an accidental sperm donor. When he found out she was pregnant, he split. And even before him, I don't think she'd ever been with a guy who treated her well. All my life, she's been worried that the same thing will happen to me. That some guy will use me or hurt me." She shook her head. "Even though I know her experience with men is colored by what she's been through, and that all guys can't be bad, the truth is that it's hard to forget what she's taught me my whole life." She paused before adding, "And it's hard not to be scared that she's going to be right."