What I Need

“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.”

My chest rumbles with laughter.

Jesus. Riley was getting very specific. It’s cute. I want her honest desires. All of them.

“Give me a week. I’ll make it happen,” I promise her, knowing this won’t be a problem and feeling confident about it.

Riley tilts her head and stares into my eyes as if she’s reading something hidden behind my irises. Her gaze narrows. Her mouth twitches. “And I want it to happen on July fifth,” she states, voice victorious.

“Damn,” I mumble through a grin, watching her smile stretch wider. “For a second, I thought you were going to make this easy on me.”

“Not a chance,” she chuckles. “And don’t think you’re getting off easy tonight either. We are still celebrating.” Riley pulls back and leaps from the couch, hurrying into the kitchen. She heads straight for the refrigerator, yanks open the freezer door and takes out the bottle of tequila she bought and stuck in there, holding it above her head.

I groan and drop my head back against the cushion, causing Riley to giggle before she starts hunting for glasses.

“You know what they say about that stuff—it makes you pretty. And I’m not sure you can handle me getting any more attractive, darlin’. Why don’t we celebrate with you kicking my ass in Madden some more?”

I throw out this other suggestion hoping she’ll take it, not because I hate tequila. Typically, I don’t mind drinking it. I just don’t think getting shit-faced off it right now is a good idea. Riley and I are touching again. We’re both flirting. Me more than her, but she’s giving it back. All in all though, we’re keeping things friendly.

And there’s nothing friendly about tequila.

“It only makes girls pretty. I doubt it said that in the men’s bathroom,” Riley argues. She rounds the couch and sets the bottle and shot glasses on the trunk, then she crouches behind it and pushes it closer to my knees. “There. And we don’t have any limes, so we’re drinking it straight.”

“Awesome,” I say, voice heavy with sarcasm as I sit forward more. I look at her with wide eyes as she claims the spot next to me.

Riley knocks against my shoulder. “It’ll be fun,” she says before pouring us both a shot.

“Famous last words,” I mumble.

“A ninety-seven. That’s like, so close to a perfect score, CJ. They should really just give it to me, you know? I always have gum for everybody.” Riley tosses a grape into the air, aiming to catch it in her mouth, but it hits her chin and bounces to the floor. “Ugh. I’m never going to get this.”

“Hit me.”

She smirks, leans forward, grabs another grape out of the bowl on the trunk, and tosses it at me. I bite into it.

“Show off,” she mumbles before shooting back another shot.

Her sixth.

“I agree with you. Supplying gum to the class is worth three points, at least.” I chew up my grape, laughing at Riley when she misses with another one. “Hey, you’re a perfect score in my book, darlin’. Just remember that.”

Cheesy? Yeah. But I’m one shot ahead of her so I can’t be responsible for any of the shit I’m saying right now.

And I’m saying a lot. I just told her five minutes ago I thought she was my ideal woman.

Thanks to the tequila, Riley found that to be hilarious.

She slaps her hand over her mouth and giggles until her eyes water. “Oh, my God. I got a good one. Wait.” She sets her shot glass down on the trunk, swaying a little as she rights herself, then once she’s straight, she tucks her legs underneath her and gets up on her knees so she’s hovering in front of me on the couch. One hand on the back cushion, she leans closer and points her finger at me, opens her mouth to speak, and then hesitates, closing it again. “Oh, wait. You need to sneeze first,” she prompts.