Capture the Moment (Moments #1)

12. Blake

twelve

Blake

When it comes to the female population, I’d say that I’ve been pretty lucky in the courting and winning hearts department. But sitting here across from Cleo inside of Doug’s Diner with only an order of buffalo wings and an uncomfortable silence between us is not something that has ever happened in the history of Blake Wilder and Women.

Cleo’s gaze is narrow as she watches me pick up one of the single wings on our shared plate. She eyes me suspiciously as I eat it and I almost laugh at the ridiculousness of this whole thing.

Not even two weeks ago we were practically hooking up in my bedroom—which was incredible, might I add. But now here we are on a random Wednesday in September, sitting in an off-campus diner, staring at each other like one of us has grown two heads.

I clear my throat, shifting in my soft seat as an attempt to break the silence. This had been so easy when she and I were around others but now that we’re alone, I’ve lost all fearlessness.

“So…” she starts, looking everywhere but me as she tugs a straightened piece of her hair behind her ear. I’m thankful for her being the one to initiate whatever this is. So, I take the bone she threw out and run with it.

“21 questions?” I ask, cringing internally. I never said that I thought about my words before I said them.

Cleo snorts at my abruptness, covering her mouth as she chuckles at herself .

The action is adorable and heartwarming, and my ears heat up because even though it’s at my expense, I’m happy to be the one to make her laugh no matter if it was accidental or not.

“How about five,” she says, amusement laced in her tone.

“Fifteen.” I shrug, gaining my confidence out of nowhere as I place three wings on a saucer and slide it in front of her.

Since sitting here, she hasn’t eaten a single thing, other than the cherry from the Shirley Temple she’d drank.

“Ten,” she counters, raising an eyebrow at the wings before taking one. “Thanks.” her lips curve slightly, as if she wants to smile but refuses to do the action at the same time.

“Deal. Let’s order actual food and then get started,” I say happily as she takes the first bite of her wings.

For five minutes, the two of us sit in silence enjoying the rest of the wings after ordering our food. She’d ordered a fried chicken sandwich and fries that I totally would’ve ordered too, if we didn’t have strict diets. So instead, I opt for grilled chicken and rice with broccoli. Yum.

As the waitress approaches with our food, setting it down in front of us, I take a second to observe Cleo.

She twirls her rings a lot when she’s uncomfortable. It was something I noticed in class and last week at the party. She’s doing it now as she analyzes her plate, though I can’t see her hands. I have a feeling that the small ring is being fiddled with.

My gaze peruses her for longer than necessary and she shifts once again, crinkling her nose.

“Why’d you say we’re going on a date?” she asked, stupefying me for a moment.

Why did I say that? I mean a date with Cleo would be nice but I don’t do dates… I’m more of a 'meet in a bar and never see each other again’ kind of guy.

It’s easier that way. Less obligations, and whatnot. But staring at the girl in front of me makes me feel… weird. I act differently around her, and I want to know why. So instead of shying away from the conversation, I lay on a smirk and lean closer to her.

“Is that your first question?” I ask, meaning to sound teasing but my tone is huskier than I'd wanted.

I don’t think the sugar plum princess will take the bait. But then a small glimmer in her eyes and slight curving of her lips draws me in.

“Was that yours?” she taunts, batting her lashes; my heart stutters but before I can lose my confidence, I pluck one of the crisp fries from her plate and smile.

“No. My first question is why did you run off that night at the party?” I ask, taking a bite of my chicken and sighing as the savory flavors melt on my tongue.

Doug deserves the world for this one piece of chicken alone. My goodness…the tanginess of the lemons mixed with the herbs—

She coughs dryly. “You sure know how to start a conversation.”

Cleo smiles shyly, her arms moving fast under the table more than likely twisting her rings. She takes a bite of her sandwich before chuckling, running a hand over her face.

“Blake, I don’t do hookups, or hockey players, If I’m being honest. That night was partially due to a lot of liquid courage and partially due to you being somewhat attractive.” She laughs again before taking a sip of her refilled Shirley Temple.

Somewhat? I’m somewhat attractive? I don’t know if that’s a joke or she’s “somewhat” blind. I’ve seen her squinting in the lecture hall maybe once or twice, so I probably shouldn’t rule it out.

Cleo snickers as she eyes my features, my jaw agape with raised brows.

“Don’t take it to heart, Boy Scout.” She gives me a small smile, leaning back into the booth.

“Oh, I am. Consider my heart in mourning of my attractiveness on the impossible meter of Cleo Jones’ heart.”

At that, Cleo lets out the most guttural bark of laughter I’ve ever heard from a woman. I smile as she lets herself be free, laughing with her head thrown back without remorse .

It’s liberating to be around a woman who will let herself simply be. My sister and mother are always on ten and I love them for it. But sometimes it can be exhausting knowing that they’re constantly “on stage” whether metaphorically or physically.

I love the women in my life to death but this feeling of complete euphoria from another person’s being is astounding.

And as for the women that I tend to take to bed, they’re more worried about pleasing the name Blake Wilder than fulfilling themselves and me. I hadn’t known how exhausting it truly was until the woman in front of me let out the most melodic yet chaotic laugh I’d ever heard.

I smile as Cleo reels herself back in, she looks me over with eyes filled with mirth and then frowns as they wander to my plate. Her lips curve downward as she sighs.

“Sorry he has you guys on such strict diets…I’d tried to get him to ease up when Jace first told me about it a year ago.” Almost immediately my mind wanders back to Cleo and Jace and how close the two of them truly are.

He’d only given me a few details about her, even after I pestered him about her after the party. His vagueness alerted me of just how close the two of them may have been because if there was one thing Jace Heart was not, it was vague. He was more of an open book with details and pictures of wonky drawings kind of guy.

“As for your level on my scale, let’s just say you’re okay on there. Obviously, Eren Marlowe is at the top.” She shrugs.

“He’s old enough to be your dad!” I try but Cleo isn’t hearing it as she waves me off.

“Eren is 26, that’s nowhere near Dad. Besides, we’re getting off topic. It’s my turn to ask a question.” Her eyes are wicked as she peers at me from the rim of her cup, they dance with mischief as she takes a sip.

“Why’d you insist that we had a date earlier today on the football field? Ry wasn’t your biggest fan until—” Now she is the one trying, and I’m the one cutting her off as my stomach heats.

“How do you know Ryan and Tatum? Didn’t you just transfer?” My tone is slightly clipped as I watch Cleo tilt her head in confusion.

My skin grows hotter as I remember how Ryan and Tatum were surrounding her and Georgia when we first entered the field. Or how cozy the three of them were. I’m a protective guy! It’s only right for me to make sure girls are safe and not harass—

“How do I know my younger brother?” She guffaws, holding her shaking belly as laughter consumes her.

Younger brother? Ryan is only 20 and if he’s her younger brother then does that mean that she’s older than Jace—

“I can see the wheels turning in your head, so I’ll just put you out of your misery. Ry and I are step-siblings, I’m a week older than him. Georgia’s a year older than us, and Jace is about five months younger than me, give or take,” she says, taking a bite of the large sandwich on her plate as if everything is simple. But it only leaves me with more questions, like why didn’t she start at Summerfield with everyone else? Or why is she here now? And why can’t I stop thinking about her and Marcelo—

“As for all other questions, and although I’d love to get to know you more, I think we should stick to more professional topics. I was serious when I told you a few days ago that this is strictly business and not the funny kind.” Cleo’s face is serious as she wipes at the ranch on her lip, missing it a bit. My finger itches to wipe it away but I know that the action will probably result in my castration, and I like my guy down there safe and sound.

But she wants to get to know me more. I’d say that my work here is not done but for now, I’ll give her what she wants and comply.

“I already told you, you have my Scout's honor. I won’t break anything if you don’t. But don’t be tempted by my dashing good looks while we work together for the next few weeks.” I shrug, my exterior passive while my interior roars at me for being an idiot.

“Trust me… I won’t.” She chuckles, pushing a few fries onto my plate. I raise an eyebrow at the action as she shrugs. “They weren’t crispy enough. ”

I fight the small smile that wants to break loose at the action and try to school my body into numbness as I watch her. If Cleo genuinely doesn’t want anything romantic with me, I won’t force it. But, when she’s ready, I’ll be here.

After my “date” with Cleo, I’m feeling giddy as I enter the house. Delilah and Jace are sitting on the couch with face masks on, watching a cartoon about a talking car. I shake my head and snap a picture at the sight before stalking off to find the mother bear of the house.

“For someone who doesn’t live here, you sure are here more than I am.” I chuckle as Derek jumps from his spot in front of the kitchen stove.

He gives me the nastiest look ever before turning back to the large pan filled with rolled cookie dough, more than likely chocolate chip and peanut butter.

“Deli’s dance studio is closer to this house; besides, I like your kitchen.” Derek shrugs, fixing the pink apron he’s donning. His shoulders hunch at the mention of Deli’s dance studio, and it takes everything in me not to cringe as I remembered the recital a few nights ago.

To everyone’s surprise, I was in fact on time. I’d been there bright and early enough to see Derek and Delilah’s dance teacher nearly rip each others face’s off. I don’t know the logistics of his argument with the fiery pink-haired teacher, all I know is that she was not happy with Derek.

As if sensing my curiosity, Derek shoots me a warning glare which is all I need to know that this is not a fight for any of the uncles to help with.

“So, have you figured out what you’re going to do about Coach?” he asks, whirling to face me with flour dusting his nose. Derek grins wickedly as my body coils from the mention of our ironclad couch, Clef Jones. Otherwise known as Cleo Jones’ scary ass dad.

“What do you mean?” I ask, finding the loose string on my hoodie suddenly interesting.

“I mean, how are you going to go about flirting with the daughter of the man who holds your balls on a tight leash? I highly doubt he’d keep you alive if he knew what happened that night at the party.” Derek raises a brow at me. I sigh, throwing my head back.

Fucking Braxton can’t keep a secret to save his life .

“I don’t know much about her but I have seen her on social media and she seemed happy at her previous school. A girl with the lifestyle she had doesn’t just leave her dream school to be up under her dad without a good reason. And I’m not saying you’re not a good guy, Wilder, but you don’t have a great rep with women. If Coach finds out about you clambering after his only daughter—”

“He won’t. We’re only classmates.” I shrug, my chest tightening as Derek and I lock eyes. His eyes are soft and he looks as if he wants to continue this conversation, but instead shakes his head and sighs.

“Great. Because nothing good can come from whatever it is that the two of you did. Besides, this year is crucial for you. Scouts are watching you now more than ever.”

I know Derek means well but it doesn’t help the sharp feeling gracing my stomach. Sadly, he’s right in a way. Flirting with Cleo Jones, no matter how fun it is, isn’t something I can afford to do.

But then again… When do I ever listen to everyone else?