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“No worries!” I scurry past them, boobs jiggling because I’m not wearing a bra either. Yikes.
Garrett’s walking out of his bedroom—shirtless with black sweatpants hanging low and delicious on his hips—as I make a dive into it.
I can hear him talking to his brother and nephews downstairs as I search for my clothes.
“Sorry, Gar—I got called into the hospital and Mom wasn’t feeling so hot.”
“What’s wrong with Mom?” Garrett asks.
“Just that cold that’s going around, but I wanted to let her rest. Can the boys hang with you today?”
“Yeah, no problem.”
“Can we go fishing?” Brayden asks excitedly.
“Sure, buddy.”
“Your girlfriend has a nice ass.” The older one—Aaron—comments.
“Watch it,” Garrett warns.
“You would prefer I said her ass wasn’t nice?” the teenager asks.
“I’d prefer we leave her ass out of the conversation altogether.”
The opening and closing of cabinets and drawers fills the pause in conversation. Then I hear Garrett’s voice again. “Get yourself some cereal, I’ll be right back.”
I’m sitting on the edge of the bed, just hooking my bra, when the bedroom door opens. Garrett walks straight to me and climbs onto the bed—onto me—pushing me back, straddling my waist, keeping his weight on his knees, holding my wrists loosely above my head and gazing down into my eyes.
“Hi.”
“Hi.”
He leans down and kisses me, sucking at my bottom lip. “You taste like coffee.”
He tastes like mint and smells like . . . home.
“I made a pot.”
He leans back, watching me, eyes trailing over my face.
“Stop freaking out, Callie.”
“I’m not freaking out.”
“I can hear you freaking out, from here.” He tilts his head, his dark hair falling into his eyes. It’s not a cute-tilt, like Snoopy. It’s a sexy, hot-tilt . . . a manly-tilt. “The question is, why?”
I swallow and lift my chin and just . . . put it all out there.
“Am I Cancun?”
Garrett laughs. “What?”
“Am I that girl in Cancun . . . the one you do shots with, and go to clubs with, and have sex on the beach with . . . and then never see or think about ever again?”
He squints at me. “What the hell are you talking about? Were you drinking something else besides coffee?”
I shake my head and sigh.
“I’m not staying in Lakeside, Garrett.”
A shadow falls over his features. “I know that.”
“I have a life. A whole life in San Diego that I plan to get back to.”
“I know that too.” He reaches out, tracing my bottom lip with his thumb. “But for this year, your life is here.”
“And what happens when I go back to San Diego?”
“I . . . don’t know. But I know I want to figure it out. And we will, Cal, we’ll figure it out.”
Those are good answers. I like those answers. But I have to know, I want us to be clear—no misunderstandings or mistakes.
“What is this to you . . . what are we doing? What do you want?”
Garrett smiles that easy smile that makes me want to lick every single inch of his skin.
“This is . . . you and me . . . the reboot. We’ll talk and laugh, and fuck until we can’t move and probably fight at some point too. And we’ll . . . be.”
I reach for him. He releases my arms and rolls us to the side, my hands around his neck, my leg draped across his hip. “As for what I want . . . I want you, Callie. For as long as you’re here, for as long as you’ll let me have you. I want all of you.”
Chapter Fifteen
Garrett
On Monday, I start picking Callie up in the morning, so we can drive to school together. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before—all those post-fantastic-screwing endorphins pumping through my bloodstream must be giving me brilliant ideas. Although no one sees us pull into the parking lot or walk in together, by midmorning talk around the school hallways is already rampant. It’s like the kids can smell the attraction on us—nosy little bloodhounds. They whisper and point, and by Tuesday they ask me about it, because privacy and personal boundaries mean nothing to them.
Are you and Miss Carpenter hooking up?
Is Miss Carpenter your OTP?
Miss Carpenter’s hot, Coach. You gotta lock that down. Give a chick a mile and she’ll take the whole nine inches from somebody else, you know what I’m saying?
OMG, Coach D! You and Miss Carpenter should totally go to prom! It’s sooooo cute when old people date!
OTP is One True Pair, by the way . . . and I hate myself for knowing that.
By Wednesday, they invent one of those celebrity, name-mashing nicknames for us. “Darpenter,” Dean tells me, barely managing to keep a straight face.
I sit back in my office chair. “You’re screwing with me.”
He’s pulled some pretty twisted practical jokes in the past.
He holds up his empty hands. “Afraid not. Kelly Simmons told me it’s all over the girls’ bathrooms and Merkle said two of her art kids engraved it on keychains.”
