“So how does it work? Do you remember everything you’ve ever heard or read?”

Wes shakes his head, eyes focused on the pitching mound where Mason warms up. “No, not everything. Some things I remember more easily than others, same as everyone else.”

“You just recited all the US and French presidents in order. That isn’t the same as everyone else,” I mock his blasé tone.

“The way I remember things is different. I see it in more detail. I can recite the presidents because I spent a year in fourth grade staring at a timeline banner the teacher posted above the white board. My memory allows me to remember it more clearly than other people, that’s all.”

“So annoying and hot at the same time,” I mumble under my breath.

“What was that?” He takes his eyes off the field and leans in. “Did you say I was hot again?”

“Your brain is hot. The rest of you”—I let my gaze rake over him and I purse my lips—“is okay, I guess.”

“What if I told you I can recall in vivid detail every outfit you’ve ever worn.”

I narrow my gaze. No way that’s possible. Do guys even notice clothes beyond the amount of skin they show?

He takes my silence as a challenge.

“It’s true. The day you called me a dumb jock you were wearing a yellow dress. Your hair was down, and you looked fine as fuck pacing the sidewalk and practically stomping your feet to pry information out of me.”

I cover my face. “That’s so embarrassing.”

“Wanna know what else I’ve committed to my amazingly hot memory?”

By the way he says it, I have a few guesses that make my heart lurch. “What?”

He leans in until our sides touch from shoulder to knee. He looks at my mouth and brings the pad of his thumb to the corner. “The sounds you make when I touch you. When I kiss you here, you make this adorable little hum.”

The noise sings from my throat on command.

“And when I touch you here . . .” Long fingers wrap around my thigh and move up until his palm stretches from hip to the bundle of nerves, which is throbbing at the prospect of what his magnificent mouth and hands can do.

“Wes.” His name comes out sounding more like a plea than a warning.

He grins and moves his hand back to a more appropriate spot on my knee. Damn appropriateness. “You say my name in the sexiest way.”

We’re still staring, holding each other hostage with that promise of an end to the sexual tension banging between us, when the umpire calls out, “Let’s play ball.”

We watch Mason pitch six innings before he’s pulled to rest his arm. Six excruciatingly long innings, where I spend more time tracking touches and glances than the strikes thrown from the pitching mound. I meet Maria, Mason’s mom, and we make our apologies to her and Cal as we duck out before the end of the game.

“Can I convince you to stay tonight? We have early practice tomorrow before we leave for our game up state. I won’t be back until Sunday night.”

Convince me? Is this guy serious?

“Okay.” I one word it to avoid the squeal that threatens to embarrass me.

“Can we swing by the sorority house on the way? I need to at least grab a toothbrush and a change of clothes.”

“All right, but I’m coming inside with you. I want to see your room.” He turns the car in that direction, and his excitement about our impending sleepover makes my insides tingle.

“You know you aren’t technically allowed in my room,” I say as I walked us to the side entrance, which is the closest one to my room and hopefully the easiest to sneak him in. “So, be quiet and try to blend in.” I wave a hand in front of him and then giggle because there is no way he is going to blend in.

Thankfully, the house is empty since it’s a weekend, and I shut the door, closing us into the safety of my room. I busy myself grabbing the essentials for a sleepover while Wes roams around my room taking it all in. He looks absolutely ridiculous in my and Vanessa’s ultra girly room with the low ceilings and purple walls.

“Who’s this?” He lifts a frame, my and Gabby’s faces pressed together as we smile into the camera. It was taken right after the accident, and the fresh scars on her face would make me hate the picture if it weren’t for the big smile on her lips. It was the first genuine one I remember seeing after the accident.

The pity in his voice makes me irrationally defensive, and I take the frame from him and place it back onto my desk. “My best friend Gabby.”

He looks guilty at my reaction. “The one who makes the bracelets?”

I nod. “She was in a car accident senior year. That is how she got the scars.”

“I'm sorry.”

I can hear the sincerity in his voice. “Thank you. She’s actually why I want to rule the world. It was her dream for us to be lady bosses.”

“She here at Valley?”

“Sort of. She takes online classes and lives back in our hometown.”

He places a kiss on my forehead and takes the bag I dropped onto the floor. “Ready?”

“Yep.”

“Bless is out,” he says and winks.

There are those tingles again. I secretly love that he uses our ridiculous couple name. Bless is out. Bless ready to get it on.