It was silly, but I was insanely jealous of that kiss. I wanted that kiss. However, I was never going to get that kiss, and boy, did that blow.

Like I said, my life was beginning to feel like a television show. Only I wasn’t Joey, and I wasn’t kissed senseless by the boy of my dreams. Thanks again, Chris. Jerk.

“What were you so excited about telling me earlier?” he asked during a commercial break.

In all the excitement, I’d completely forgotten about the whole reason I’d burst into his room. His own version of bursting had distracted me.

God, I had to stop thinking about it.

It took a moment for me to remember what had even happened earlier that afternoon. When I did, I sat up and beamed at him. He smiled at me, those freaking dimples deepening. I could’ve stared at those dimples all day. More than anything, I wanted to kiss them. Then his lips while my hands held his face, my thumbs pressing into those little indentations as I held his mouth to mine. Maybe if I just did it, with no one there to distract us, then I could blame the show. Just wanting to see what would happen if we did what they had done. I had just started to lean down when his voice stopped me.

“Sierra?” he prompted, pulling me out of my gaze.

Oh crap. That was a close one. I cleared my throat and clapped my hands.

“You’re looking at the newest Raiders cheerleader!” I informed him proudly.

His eyes went wide, lighting up at my words while the corners of his mouth turned up. “Seriously?” He lifted up and rested on his elbows, the excitement emanating from him.

It warmed my heart. Still, I told myself not to read too much into it. We did everything together. It made sense he’d be happy that we’d have this, too.

I nodded. His smile grew wider.

“Seriously,” I confirmed.

“So, you’ll be at all my games?” he asked, awe transforming his face. As if I wouldn’t have gone to them anyway.

“Every. Single. One.” I drew the words out for added emphasis.

Not that he’d needed it. He was already sitting up and gesticulating wildly with his hands, doing his own sort of silent cheer.

“You have no idea how happy this makes me, Sullivan. It’s freaking perfect. Me on the field, kicking ass and taking names. And you on the sidelines, cheering me on and wearing my number on your cheek.”

The truth was I did know. Because I felt the same way. But, instead of admitting it, I merely shrugged.

“You know the deal, Banks. Where you go, I go.”

“And don’t you ever forget it.”

I couldn’t if I’d tried.

I just hoped it wouldn’t bite me in the ass later on.

As a rule of thumb, I never got embarrassed. It was a blessing and a curse. A blessing because I did some pretty hilarious stuff. A curse because, half the time, I ended up grounded. But I was me, and embarrassment wasn’t in my genetic makeup. I’d tried blaming it on my parents once. You can guess how well that one went over. Here’s a clue: My punishment doubled. But even Dad hadn’t blamed me too harshly for trying. Mom, however, had not been amused.

There wasn’t a dare I wouldn’t accept. Well, aside from that one time Chris had dared me to moon Sierra while our moms were sitting beside her on the beach. I was a jokester, but I wasn’t stupid. But, when he’d bet me that I wouldn’t prank call our fifth-grade teacher looking for Jack Hoff, I’d picked up the landline right away. Fortunately, Mrs. Miller hadn’t had caller ID. Or she at least hadn’t cared enough to call back. I’d figured she was used to it, but that hadn’t stopped us from looking up random numbers in the phone book and telling stupid jokes to whomever answered.

When he told the entire seventh-grade class that I had a crush on Mandy Simpson and she called me a troll she’d never touch, I didn’t care. It didn’t bother me. I wasn’t humiliated in the least bit. In fact, that crush was, well, crushed. Thanks, Chris. I later found out that I’d dodged a bullet with that one.

One time, I even got caught peeing off the side of the pier. Did I care? Nope.

But, when Sierra Sullivan barged into my room right in the middle of a hand job session, I was mortified. For the first time, I knew what embarrassment felt like. It was the worst feeling in the world, and I didn’t know to react. Clearly, Sierra didn’t know how to, either, because she froze, her eyes never leaving my dick.

And then I suddenly knew the meaning of spank bank material. Because Sierra standing in my room, her eyes wide as she watched me, was more of a turn-on than any Baywatch or Buffy episode ever could be. Dressed in cute, little gym shorts and a Navarre Raiders T-shirt, she was a vision of pure innocence and beauty, and she was precisely what I needed to finish what she’d walked in on. I couldn’t even help myself as my release spilled onto my stomach.

It wasn’t until she gasped in horror and ran from the room that I realized what I’d done. I was a mess—and not just literally. I debated not even going after her, but I couldn’t do that. I had to make sure she was okay. That we were okay.

Imagine my shock when she turned it into a joke. I was conflicted. Part of me was glad she was taking it all in stride. Another part had hoped she’d been at least a little affected by it. But I guess I was delusional, because apparently, it was no big deal to her.

That was killer on my confidence, by the way.

While lying there, watching Dawson’s Creek, I started relating to the show. Man, they’re right—whoever they are. Sex messes with you. Not only was I trying to picture Sierra naked, but I was having real, genuine feelings for her. The more I ran my fingers through her hair, the harder I became. Suddenly, cuddling on her bed didn’t seem like such a good idea anymore. I needed some space, some distance, before my junk freaked her out for a second time that night. But, when I tried to shift away, she wrapped her arm around my waist and nestled in closer.

Shit.

I started going through the football playbook and picturing huge-ass linemen tackling my ass as I ran down the field. It was enough to soften me up. Just enough.

Until she shared her news and I started picturing her in a cute, little cheerleading outfit.

I thanked the freaking Lord as soon as the credits rolled, because I did the same thing. Twisting off the bed, I pressed my fists down and hovered over her, careful to keep my groin out of her line of sight. Her ocean-sky-blue eyes were sleepy, and I took it as my out. Leaning down, I gave her a kiss on the forehead.

“Night, Tod,” I whispered and turned to climb out the window. I was halfway through when she called to me.

“Hey, Copper?”

My head swiveled as I glanced back at her. I raised an eyebrow, waiting for her to continue while I straddled the window sill. That was enough to deflate me just a little bit.

A mischievous smile played on her lips. “Who were you strokin’, too?” she asked. A giggle bubbled out, and I groaned, hanging my head in shame.

And then I had a thought. Screw this. Jeremy Banks doesn’t do shame. Jeremy Banks has no shame. Jeremy Banks is shameless. Why is Jeremy Banks referring to himself in third person?

My eyes slowly rose and raked over her long, bare legs. By the time they reached her face, her laughter had stopped and she was watching me with expectant eyes.

I gave her a wink. “You were right when you chose the fox, Sierra.” I whispered the word fox using my best Jimi Hendrix impression.

Her brow wrinkled. I waited her out for a moment, and as soon as realization crossed her features, I slipped out the window and into the black night.