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But it wasn’t my parents sending me a text message.
It was Nate.
Thanks for last night. I owe you.
When had I given him my phone number? I chewed on my bottom lip and my heart sped up again, hitting a new level of insanity as I stared at his message. Crap.
What did he mean, he owed me? I rubbed my hand along my bare thigh, wondering what to say back to him, and I decided something casual was the way to go.
no probs.
Too much? Too little?
My phone bleeped almost instantly, and I jumped.
See you tomorrow.
If my heart was beating a mile a minute before, it kick-started into overdrive something fierce, and for a second, I was dizzy. Me. Monroe Blackwell. Dizzy over a stupid text message from a boy who not only had a girlfriend, but was as screwed up as I was.
I gave myself a mental smackdown and took a step back. Why was I getting so worked up over a few text messages? It’s not as if they meant anything. The guy had a girlfriend. End of story.
I took a deep breath and typed a reply that I thought was appropriate.
okay.
And then winced. Lame.
I put the cell phone onto the table and watched it for way too long, but there was nothing. No more text messages. Only one longwinded voicemail from my parents telling me they were out for the day but would call later tonight.
With a groan, I headed upstairs to get dressed because I knew Gram wouldn’t let me stay in my pajamas all day, even if I begged her.
Just. Effing. Lovely.
Chapter Twelve
Nathan
I knew the moment Monroe arrived.
I’d just tossed the last empty water bottle into my bag after soaking my bandana and tying it around my head, and I knew that if I turned around, she’d be there. Don’t ask me how. It’s not like I’m psychic or anything. I just knew.
So I blew out a hot breath and turned around.
And there she was.
Her long hair was loose, kind of wild-looking, as if she hadn’t brushed it. She wore cut-off jean shorts and a white Foo Fighters T-shirt that fit her like a T-shirt should fit a girl—tight in all the right spots. I had to give it to Monroe, the girl had good taste when it came to music. She tucked one long curl behind her ear and glanced behind me at the iron fence.
“You’re done,” she said.
I nodded. “Yeah. I started early. Figured it was a good idea ’cuz it’s gonna be a hot one.”
She cleared her throat and held out her hand. “Gram thought you might want this. The lemonade is fresh. I squeezed it myself.”
“Thanks,” I murmured.
A slow blush crept into her cheeks as I stepped forward and took the tall glass filled with ice and lemonade. I liked the fact that I could make her blush. Our fingers touched briefly, and I liked the little zing that shot through me too.
I also liked the way her tongue darted out to take a swipe at her lips.
