She giggles. It’s that giggle that lets me know I am 100% correct.

“I don’t think you’re full of shit. I just think you’re blind. Or in denial.” I watch as she turns back to the yard, giving the leaves her undivided attention.

“I’m done with this discussion. It’s a friendly get-together. I’m sure after today he won’t even look in my direction again. Now, end of story.”

Genna shakes her head. “I wasn’t having a discussion.”

There is a deep sigh across from us, and I turn to face Jason. I know he wants to add something to the discussion. Genna follows my same movement. We both stare at him, waiting for him to start talking.

“He got tickets in one of the suites,” he states.

“He got a suite?” I squeak out.

“Well, not the entire suite, but he bought two tickets in a suite,” he replies, obviously unaffected by the news he just shared. I don’t understand why Parker would spend that kind of money on getting us in a suite for a scrimmage, of all things.

“Just friends, Dre?” Genna chimes in, grinning.

I roll my eyes, ignoring her, and walk over to Jason. “He got tickets in a suite? For a scrimmage? From who?”

“Not sure. He just came into work this past week and said you two were going to the scrimmage and that he bought tickets in a suite. I didn’t ask questions.”

“What do you mean you didn’t ask questions?” I ask at the same time Genna says, “You didn’t ask for details?”

Holding up his hands, he looks back and forth between us. “Hold on, ladies. One at a time, please. No, I did not ask questions. We’re men. We don’t get into all that detail shit. What’s the big deal?”

Awesome. He spent however much getting us those tickets and it’s not even a real game!

Genna goes back to raking. “Well, Aundrea, I’d say Parker is going a little past the friend stage. Sounds like a date to me.”

“Me too,” Jason throws in.

I have a feeling this is a date too, but I shake it off. I still can’t get over the fact he spent that kind of money. Who does that?

At exactly eleven o’clock, Parker pulls into my sister’s driveway in a shiny little two-door sports car. My jaw about hits the grass, as does Genna’s.

“Parker,” Jason says, setting down his rake to walk over and greet him by grabbing his hand and giving him a hug.

I take this opportunity to check out his car. I haven’t seen it at the clinic so I can only assume it’s new. I’ve never seen one like this before. It’s a metallic gray with dark tinted windows. I can see droplets of water running along the bottom of car, showcasing the fresh wash. This is a hot car. Shit, this just might be my dream car!

Great, now I sound like a guy who is getting a hard-on over a damn car.

I watch as he talks with Jason. He’s wearing light jeans with a fitted, navy polo shirt. There is nothing more I want in this moment than to be either one of those pieces of clothing clinging tightly to his body. Friends. I repeat the word over and over in my head until it sinks in. It never does.

Parker’s eyes meet mine and he smirks. I can’t help the giddiness that takes over, and I give him a warm smile in return.

“Good morning,” he says as he comes to stand directly in front of me.

Looking up to meet his gaze, I found my voice. “Hi.” With one look, he has the ability to make my heart flutter.

Parker turns toward my sister who is on the other side of the lawn watching us. He gives her a small wave, and she returns it with a little too much excitement.

“Ready?” he asks.

You have no idea. “Yes.”

He holds out his arm in front of him, gesturing for me to go first. I wasn’t nervous before this, but suddenly the butterflies that have taken over my stomach are all I can seem to concentrate on.

We make our way to the car and I check out the logo on the hood as I head to the passenger door. I don’t know anything about cars but, for the most part, I can make out the manufacturer by the logo. There are only a few I don’t know. This logo is easy. It simply reads Scion in the center of an oval with a fancy “S” behind the word.

Reaching for the handle, I am met with warm fingers. I look up behind me to see Parker. He’s not looking at me, but looking down at the handle as he opens the door.

“Thank you,” I say, still looking at him.

Friends open doors for other friends. Right?

Getting in the car, I sink into a bucket seat. It smells of new car; nothing else. I take a deep breath, soaking in the scent before Parker gets in. I love the new car scent.

You can tell a lot about someone’s personality by their car.

I can tell by Parker’s car that he is without a doubt the type to take care of what matters to him in life. There isn’t a speck of dust or lint anywhere in sight. It’s very well-maintained. Well, or he has some major OCD.

Parker gets behind the wheel, closing the door softly as he does. When we back out of the driveway and turn onto the road, I look out Parker’s window at Jason, who is making a weird hand gesture to Parker that I don’t understand. Just as I am about to ask Parker what Jason is doing, he revs the engine, shifts gears, and squeals up the street, making me fall back into my seat. I can hear Jason’s hoots and hollers as we drive away; I roll my eyes. Men and their toys. Now I know what the hand gesture meant.

Parker downshifts as we come to a stop sign.

“I wish I could drive a manual,” I say, watching him shift. I’ve never given it much thought, but just that split second of quick shifting gave me a thrill, made me want more.

“You don’t know how?”

“No.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really.” I laugh at the silliness of the conversation I started. It almost makes me want to add, “But, I do know how to ride a stick,” just to see what he would say.

“I’ll teach you. It’s really easy once you get the hang of it.”

Parker speeds off and I have to brace myself by placing my hands on the black dashboard. I’ve never been in a sports car before, and watching as he zips in and out of cars, shifting as he does, makes me wonder why I never have, because the thrill of speed is an addictive high.

Once we get to a comfortable speed, I ask, “What kind of car is this, anyway?”

The interior is black with small accents of red on the outer edges of the seats. The back only has enough space to fit a large child or small adult. It does not look comfortable. The only thing that would make this car better would be a moon roof. I love the feeling of the wind blowing over my body as if I’m weightless.

“Scion FR-S. They came out June of last year. I’ve wanted one since they were announced. This baby was my graduation present to myself.” Baby? Why is it men have to refer to their toys as babies? It’s something I may never understand.

“Some present.”

He grins as he changes lanes. “What do you drive?” he asks, giving me a quick glance before turning back to the road.

“I have a Jeep Wrangler. Hard top. I had to beg my parents for it. My dad wanted me to get something simple. He said my Wrangler would be too dangerous if I got into an accident.”

“But you got your way,” he says matter-of-factly. It’s not a question, so I don’t answer it.

“We went camping one summer and someone in the group had a purple one. I’d just gotten my permit, so she let me drive it. It was a manual, and I didn’t get far.” I laugh at the memory. “She eventually got tired of me riding her clutch, so she took over. When my sister took me to look at cars I found one that was an automatic and didn’t even look at anything else.”

“I like those. They’re good for off-roading.”

“Yeah, it’s been good to me.” And it has, considering it’s a 1999 and has well over one hundred thousand miles.

Parker turns on his MP3 player and rap music plays through the speakers.

“Is this okay?”

“Yeah, it’s fine.” I’m not really into rap. Well, some is okay, but if I had my choice I would stick with pop music.

“I didn’t peg you as someone who would like rap,” I say over the song. It’s not very explicit, and maybe he chose this particular song for that reason.

“No? It’s my favorite. Well, I should say, old school rap. After that, it’s all pop rap.” Pop rap? Is that even a genre?

“Who is considered pop rap?”

“Pretty much anything on the radio these days. I like 2Pac, Too Short, Dr. Dre, the good stuff.”

“Dr. Dre is actually why Genna calls me Dre.” I laugh.

“Really?” He raises one eyebrow with a hint of amusement.

“Yeah. When I was a kid I wanted to be a doctor. Genna started calling me Dr. Dre like the rapper, which eventually got shortened to Dre. She’s called me it ever since. It’s rubbed off on my family and friends as well.”

“And you don’t want to be a doctor now?”

“No. Too much school.” I let out a small laugh, which causes him to grin at me.

I stopped wanting to be a doctor after my cancer came back the second time. All I ever wanted was to help people and make them feel better, but when my cancer came back, I realized that doctors can’t always make people better. I didn’t want that on my conscience.

The drive isn’t that long, considering the lack of traffic and Parker’s serious speeding problem.

We make it to the arena well before the scheduled start time. I look at all the people walking around in Wild jerseys. It’s fun to see the fans come out and show their support, even for a small thing like this.

After parking in a private lot, we make our way through a separate entrance into the building. Parker moves his hand to my lower back, guiding me through the doors, much like our first night together. He doesn’t try to grab my hand, which I’m thankful for, but his proximity in our suite doesn’t go unnoticed.

Parker makes the afternoon all the more enjoyable by keeping our conversation light and playful. He doesn’t press me for any information but my thoughts on the game.

We cheer on the team and laugh together at the silliness of the fans between the periods. Just like in season games, the announcer picks fans at random and asks them trivia questions. It’s fun to shout out our answers together and laugh when we each say something different.

When couples pop up on the screen for the kiss cam, I point and giggle. I didn’t know they do the kiss cam at scrimmages. Still laughing, I see my face … and Parker’s … on the screen.

I stop laughing.

I look between Parker and the screen, mouth wide. You have got to be kidding me! Parker runs a finger lightly down my cheek before it lands on my chin, pulling my face to look at him.

“What?” I whisper. I know what.

I watch in slow motion as he puts his lips to mine in one of the shortest, sweetest, most perfect kisses. My eyes close at the softness of his lips. With my heart pounding and ears about to explode from the burst of applause, I open them when he releases me. We don’t say anything. Instead, we turn our attention back to the ice, where I focus on not wanting to kiss him again.