I watch her sit up and scoot to the edge of the couch so we’re no longer touching. She looks ready to kick my ass. I figure Riley’s just wanting to stay focused so she actually has a shot at beating me, and thinking about everything I’ve ever said to her is bound to jar that focus, same as us touching, so I don’t question her sudden change in demeanor.

Smiling, I sit forward, drop my feet onto the floor and my elbows onto my knees. I choose two player and start the game.

“You’re going down,” I taunt under my breath.

“Don’t think so,” she says with some sass on her tongue.

“Aw come on, defense! Wake up!” I slam back against the couch cushion and gesture at the TV as Riley springs to her feet. “Oh, that’s nice. Taunting? Where’s the flag?”

Riley giggles as her guy holds the ball out behind him, teasing my players with it, and then takes it into the end zone. “Booyah!” she cries, throwing her arms into air. “Oh yeah. Oh yeah oh yeah oh yeahhhh.” She wiggles her hips, doing her celebratory dance next to the trunk.

I drop my head back and watch her, laughing when she breaks into the running man. “This is fucked up. You’re like some secret gamer, aren’t you?”

Seriously. She’s kicking my ass.

“Nope! I’m just awesome at everything,” she replies, smiling big as she turns to face me. Her cheeks are flushed and her eyes are shining bright. “Want to watch the replay again?” she asks, wiggling her brows and tucking her hair behind her ear.

“No thanks. I’m not sure my delicate man pride can handle it. I'm already depressed as fuck.”

Riley presses her hand to her stomach, throws her head back, and laughs.

A sound comes from the kitchen, like an alert on a phone. Riley tosses her remote onto the couch and walks around it as I stretch out my legs. I check the time on the DVR. It’s after midnight. We’ll probably turn in soon.

I toss my remote beside hers and rub at my face, yawning. A quiet gasp turns my head.

“What’s up?” I ask, watching Riley put her phone on the counter and start going through her book bag.

“Grades are posted,” she says, voice anxious. “I can finally see what I got on that test.” She grabs something out of the front zipper pouch, then pulls out her laptop and rushes over with it, sitting down beside me. She slips on a pair of glasses I’ve never seen her in.

“You wear glasses?” I ask.

Riley looks over at me after opening up her laptop. The glasses are black-rimmed and rectangular, and fuck, they make those big, blue eyes of hers pop even more. “I need them to read if I don’t have my contacts in,” she explains, sounding like she’s apologizing for it, which tells me Riley isn’t a fan of wearing them.

Or, that maybe some piece of shit never told her how pretty she looks wearing them.

I watch her long lashes blink behind the lenses. “You should skip the contacts more often,” I suggest. “Trust me. They look really good on you.”

Riley stares at my mouth as if she can't believe the words I just spoke, then lifts her gaze to my eyes again. She smiles, quick and shy, and ducks her chin to hide her blush, putting her attention back on the screen.

I figure even if I do point out that I saw what my compliment just did to her, she’ll deny it. And right now, I know she’s more concerned about finding out her grade. I am too. I’m curious.

“You thought you did good, right?” I ask.

Riley keeps her focus on the screen as she chews on the side of her thumb, pressing keys with her other hand and swirling her finger over the trackpad. She doesn’t answer me. She’s nervous.

“Hey.” I place my hand on the small of her back and rub my thumb there. I get her eyes. “Remember how sure you were after you took it? You said you nailed it, babe. You wouldn’t have felt that way if you didn’t have this.”

Riley stares at me, thinking back to the words she spoke, then remembering them, she nods, but keeps chewing on her nail and holding onto that worry. She looks back to the screen, and I feel her body draw away from my hand as she pulls in a deep breath and clicks on the trackpad.

“Oh . . . my God,” she whispers.

I drop my feet and sit forward, sliding my hand around to her side as I prepare to comfort her. “Hey . . .”

“Ninety-seven.” Riley's head whips around. She beams at me. “I got a ninety-seven. A fucking ninety-seven! Holy crap! CJ!” She shifts her laptop to the couch, twists her body and throws her arms around my neck, pulling me into a crushing hug. “This was a unit test! It’s worth so much of my grade. This is awesome!” Her excited breaths are sharp against my ear, and the quick pounding of her heart thumps beneath her hoodie.

“See? What’d I tell you?” I give her a squeeze, my other arm around her now too. “My girl’s a fucking genius.”

Riley giggles quietly, and for seconds we’re just holding each other, neither one of us easing away or even relaxing the slightest bit. Her arms keep their pressure and mine hold her captive, circling her tiny waist. My face is half buried in her hair. I can smell her shampoo and the soap she uses on her skin. I can feel the blunt curve of her knee against my thigh, and I know if I were to lean back I’d pull her with me, forcing her to straddle my lap.

“You said we would celebrate when I got my grade,” Riley reminds me.

“I did.” I smile when she leans back enough to look at me. My grip slides to her hips. “Anything you want, darlin’. Name it.”

She keeps one hand on my shoulder and brings her other up to stroke her chin. “Mm. Anything I want, huh?”

I chuckle.

She giggles at herself, then grips onto me again, sliding her fingers to the back of my neck and holding there. “You seem sure of yourself. I should say something you have no chance of following through with.”

“Like?”

“Like,” she looks over at the TV, then turns back to me, stating, “Fireworks.”

“Fireworks?”

“Over a football field.”

“Oh, you’re getting specific . . .”

She drops her head into a firm nod. “I want to lay in the middle of the field on a pile of blankets and watch them together while we eat coconut inspired food and listen to music.”