“You know I love you, right?” It’s the first time he’s said that in person, and it’s just as perfect as it was in my dreams.
“I know,” I say, my smile undeniable against his lips. “You know I love you back, right?”
He pulls himself back, looking over me, his eyes moving down my body and back up again, the potency of his gaze making me sweat. “What?” I ask, unable to handle the heat of his stare.
“How’d I get so lucky?” he asks, teeth pinching the corner of his lip as he considers me, my worth—my worth of him.
I don’t have a response, and the longer he looks at me, the more I blush, and then out of nowhere, a tear slides from my eye, over my cheek and onto the sand. And I don’t even mind. I let it fall. This cry…it feels okay.
Ty
The Pacific Ocean is better than the Gulf. It just is. I’m probably biased because I spent an hour making out with a hot blonde on the sand. That’ll sway just about any location into my favor. But this morning definitely falls into my top ten favorite-moments category.
Cass’s strength is unreal. I’m not even sure Nate could have pushed through the sand like that. She took the towel to my wheels back at the car, careful to keep sand out of the grooves, and then she stowed it back in the trunk. She was still blushing when she turned the engine over, sneaking glances at me, catching me staring at her.
“So, I saw your legs…in Newsweek,” she says as we pull back out onto the main road.
“Yeah? What’d you think? Pretty hot and famous, huh?” I say.
“They were all right. I mean, I’ve seen better. The nerve graphic, the one they overlapped? You know, the one that made you look bionic?” she says, and I narrow my eyes, giving her my best suave Bond expression. “Yeah, that was pretty cool. But, still not quite Sports Illustrated swimsuit.”
“That’s only because they didn’t keep the Speedo pics in the mix,” I say, and she laughs so fast she snorts. She gets embarrassed by it; it’s cute. She keeps her focus on the road while we wait through four or five stoplights, but she seems pensive the entire time. Finally she breaks.
“I saw the pictures of you playing ball, too. In high school?” She’s being cautious. Truthfully, I forgot about those photos in the article.
“Oh yeah. I made that uniform look good, huh?” I turn the other direction quickly, watching the cars in the lane next to us, staring at drivers—anything to avoid the look I know she’s going to give me. I don’t turn when she speaks again, but I know the look is there.
“You…you were pretty good, huh? Good, like Nate?” It’s not quite pity, but it’s close. I know she doesn’t mean it that way.
“I was good,” I sigh.
The silence gets thicker before it starts to fade away the longer we drive. I keep my eyes on anything other than her…until I feel like that topic—the concept of me missing baseball—fades almost completely. It always leaves a little mark behind, and I’ll probably feel the punch of this conversation during my flight.
We get back to the house with just enough time to grab my bag and freshen up, shaking the sand from our clothes. My farewells from Cass’s parents are most definitely warmer than their greetings, but there’s still an element of trust—or resistance to fully trust—lurking. And maybe that’s just based on experience. I’m willing to put in the work, earn it over time.
Paige is another story. She treats me with the same huffiness and indifference as she always has. And that feels better. Nothing’s changed between her and me, but over the last few days, I’ve seen moments between her and her sister. I caught Paige looking at Cass differently, regretfully, perhaps. I haven’t mentioned this to Cass, and we try not to talk about Paige much. I can tell it makes her sad, so I don’t go there.
We get to the airport with little time to spare, and Cass doesn’t have time to park. Our goodbye is rushed, and I hate that. But even with my guaranteed spot on the plane, I get to the gate barely on time. I charm my way on in the middle of the final boarding group, and the male flight attendant takes quite the liking to me. I laugh to myself, and pull my phone out quickly to send Cass a text that she may have competition; then I shut the phone off and spend the next three hours learning about my flight attendant Shawn, and how I remind him of his ex. By the end of the flight, I’m honestly flattered, and I get Shawn’s number, with the promise of having drinks sometime—with his new boyfriend and my girlfriend.
Before I get through the gate to where Nate should be waiting for me, I pause and turn my phone back on and chuckle at Cass’s response.