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I should’ve remembered the parade. We have another week of practices before the game, and they need me focused. Farrow wanted me to have her, but I can’t get distracted.
We slide into our seats, and I start the engine. Tomorrow, I’ll get back on track. Morning workout, after-school practice. The right food and plenty of sleep. I need to stay off her.
“Is something wrong?” she asks.
I look at her, sweat already breaking out on the back of my neck at the sight of my baseball cap over her hair, messy because of me. Fuck, all I want to do is drive out to the lake and only look at and talk to her for the rest of the day.
I clear my throat. “Yeah, you’re not wearing your seatbelt.”
I reach over and pull the belt across her lap and chest, strapping her in.
She kisses my cheek, and the tingle spreads down to my neck.
Heat rises to my face, and I turn away before she sees me blush.
I take her to eat at this old streetcar diner off the highway, out near the lake, and despite having a million questions for her, we don’t speak much. She takes two bites of her pancakes, pushing the rest off on me, as usual, because she just wanted a taste before enjoying her usual two eggs sunny-side up, with bacon, toast, and hashbrowns.
I want to know what schools she’s applying to for next year. If she wants to get a season lift pass for snowboarding with me this winter. If she’s planning any trips for winter or spring break.
Instead, I just ask her to come closer, and she does, slipping her hands underneath the table and leaning her shoulders in as I slide the single strand of hair away from her eye. Her blue and white flannel is buttoned up to her neck, the bruise I left from sucking on her there last night peeking out.
“Will you come over for dinner next week when I’m home?” she asks. “Just you?”
My heart swells painfully, because I don’t want her to go, but hell yes, I’ll come to her house for dinner. Even if Jared will know with one look what’s going on and will kill me before I even take my first bite.
“Depends,” I tease. “Which side of the field are you sitting on this Friday?”
She breaks into a smile, filling her mouth with food, so she doesn’thave to answer.
I won’t be mad, either way. But if she sits on the Pirate side, I’ll have some fun making her pay for that.
We finish eating and head into the Falls, certain streets on the parade route blocked off and families already in their lawn chairs along the sidewalks. Kids run around in peewee jerseys, and parents in school sweatshirts, showing their pride. Weston is even here, teachers, parents, and Mr. Fletcher, all arriving to support the team.
I find a place to park behind Quinn’s shop, and Dylan and I head to the street, my chest tightening when we reach for each other at the time same. She takes my hand, I take hers.
Walking onto First Avenue, perpendicular to High Street, I look up and down the long line of floats, cars, marching bands, and cheerleaders. The Pirates are ahead, and Dylan and I walk toward the rear, finding Farrow and the guys.
He stands on a float decorated with wolves of papier-mâché, blue streamers and balloons attached everywhere.
“Aren’t you afraid they’ll throw milkshakes on you like last year?” Dylan calls up to him.
He lifts his eyebrows and walks over to the edge, lifting the lid on a cooler.
A dozen water guns lay inside, filled with something red.
“Paint?” I ask.
“Hot sauce.”
Dylan scoffs, throwing me a look. But Farrow won’t give a shit that it’s illegal.
I pull off my sweatshirt, leaving the dark gray Under Armour shirt on before I pull my jersey over it. I push up my undershirt sleeves.
Dylan pops up on her tiptoes and kisses my cheek again. “Have fun.”
“Oh, no,” Farrows says before she can walk away. “The hostages are in the parade.”
Her face falls, and she looks at me. I just shake my head. “You don’t have to.”
