She pulls away from our kiss. “Jerk! Don’t do that.”
“You liked it, babe.”
“Um, I don’t care. Step away.”
“What’s your name? You got a number?” Dillon McQueen does not give up easily. When he sees what he wants, he goes after it. He also sometimes talks about himself in the third person. “Are you a freshman? I play football. Quarterback.” Usually that’s enough to catch a girl’s interest.
She shakes her head, looking almost surprised as she touches her lips briefly. I think she mutters pigskin-toting Casanova. Then, she flips around.
“No, wait! Don’t go!” I say, reaching out for her, but she’s gone, daring one look over her shoulder as she disappears into the crowd.