Some Kind of Normal

“I have youth group.”

“Youth group.”

Her eyebrows shot up.

“Yes. Youth group. As in a bunch of teenagers, who would be the youth, who have nothing better to do on a Thursday night but get together, which would be the group, in the church basement.”

“Sounds exciting.”

“It is.

“What do you guys do?” I was picturing choirs and hallelujah and much praising of the Lord.

“We talk and stuff.”

“About what?”

“The weather.”

Wow. She really was in a mood.

“That makes exciting seem lame,” I teased.

“It’s not a joke, Trevor. It used to be a lot of fun.”

“Used to,” I repeated slowly. “So what changed?”

There went the pencil again. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. She shrugged. “I guess I did.” The tapping stopped. “Why are you asking me all these questions?”

I leaned back in my chair, happy that we were engaged on some level other than due process of law.

“Why are you in such a bad mood?”

She tossed the pencil. “I’m not.”

“You’re full of crap.”

She leaned forward, elbows on the table, and for a second, my gaze dropped. How could it not? She was wearing this pale yellow blouse, and the top buttons had come undone. I could be a nice guy and tell her about it, but right now, I was about as far from being a nice guy as snow was from Louisiana.

Everly Jenkins had cleavage and—I grinned—was wearing a matching yellow bra.

“What are you doing tonight?” she asked, oblivious to the fact that the more she leaned toward me, the more of that creamy, smooth skin was exposed. I noticed little daisies decorating the bra straps.

“I don’t know. That depends.”

This here. This was flirting at its best. The kind of flirting that a guy enjoyed, mostly because it was kind of like foreplay. There was something between Everly and me, and man, I wanted to explore it. Considering I hadn’t been all that interested in any girl since my accident and breakup with Bailey, that was saying something. For the longest time I’d been afraid of rejection. I mean, what kind of girl wants to date a guy whose marbles aren’t always intact?

“On what?” she asked, a little out of breath now.

“On you.”

I could tell she was surprised. “Me?”

“Yeah. You.”

Mrs. Henney shushed us, so I leaned closer and lowered my voice. “Let’s do something tonight.”

“Why?”