He blocks me from scoring again, and this time I don’t let it go. I press him, broaching the invisible boundary between us. Beck responds with a speed and dexterity I would have been expecting if he hadn’t spent the past half hour lulling me into a false sense of complacency. He steals the ball back, literally pulling it out from under me. I barely have enough time to twist so I can protect my knee before I collide with the ground. The impact doesn’t hurt, but it’s unexpected. Breath whooshes from my lungs like a deflating balloon.

I lie there for a few seconds, readjusting my bearings from vertical to horizontal.

“Fuck, you all right?” Beck bends down beside me.

“I’m fine,” I reply, twisting around and leaning back on my hands. My left palm is stained green, but that’s the worst of it.

“You’re sure?” He scans my body, either looking for visible injuries or taking the opportunity to appraise me up close.

“I’m sure. Nothing for you to kiss better,” I tease.

Beck’s blue eyes snap back to mine. “Nothing?”

Forget any casual comradery. Heat spreads across my skin like a flame. Tension stretches between us like a taut string. I don’t say anything, just study his face as it grows closer and closer to my own. The kiss starts as a whisper. Beck barely brushes his lips against mine. The tease of friction is tantalizing, sending shivers slithering down my body. I scoot closer instinctively, deepening the contact. Soft warmth turns wanton and urgent. Then, nothing.

I bite my bottom lip, studying Beck and trying to figure out why he pulled back so abruptly. He stands and holds out a hand. I grasp it, and he yanks me to my feet. Not harshly, but not gently either. I’m tugged to the right, toward a grove of spruces.

I’m about to protest the rough handling when I see a small building ahead. A line of people protrudes from one side, ordering from a brightly colored menu displaying photographs of soft pretzels and lemonade. Beck pulls me to the opposite side and pushes open a metal door with a familiar symbol on it.

I’m expecting the park’s bathroom to be grimy. Unkempt. Smelly. But, like nearly every other public place I’ve visited here, it’s spotless. It even smells like freshly squeezed citrus.

Not that Beck gives me much time to appreciate it. Or any time, really. He kisses me hungrily as soon as the door swings shut, picking up right where we left off on the grass. I respond just as eagerly. Because when a hot, single guy kisses you, it’s the natural response.

Because when he sucks on my bottom lip, it feels like fireworks are going off inside of me.

Because I want to, and it’s just sex.