This time, I don’t hesitate. I don’t wait.
I step closer, wrap my arms around her and kiss her with everything I am, and everything I ever was.
Her mouth is so fucking warm, and soft—new and familiar all at the same time. Callie’s lips move with mine, pliant but eager. And that connection, that bond, that live-wire spark that was always there between us flares up again, bright and strong. I cup her jaw in my palm, stroking her smooth cheek with my thumb, leaning in closer, tasting her deeper.
And I was right. She tastes even better—like warm honey, melted sugar.
Slowly, savoringly, I ease out of the kiss, brushing my lips against hers one last lingering time. Callie’s eyes are closed, our foreheads are pressed together, and our breaths are the same—harsh and needy.
“Did you think of me?”
Her eyes open slowly, blinking up at me in that way that makes me want to kiss her again—and then do a hell of a lot more than kiss.
“What?”
“All those years, all this time, did you think of me? Because I thought of you, Callie, every fucking day. I would hear a song or pass a spot in town and some perfect memory of us would come back. And I would wonder where you were . . . how you were . . . and I would think of you . . . every single day.”
She doesn’t close her eyes, she meets my gaze head on, wets her lips with her small pink tongue—and nods.
“I would hear you in my head, whenever I needed you . . . and sometimes for no reason at all. And I would think of you, all the time.”
And there it is—that same feeling I get on the field after a really great play—the thrilling, electric excitement of being exactly where I’m supposed to be, doing exactly what I was born to do.
“I missed you,” I whisper. “I didn’t even know how much . . . until you came back.”
She smiles, her eyes going shiny with wetness. Because Callie’s a crier . . . happy or sad, sometimes both at the same time . . . she always was.
“I missed you too, Garrett.”
And she doesn’t hesitate either. She reaches up, clasps her arms around my neck, and kisses me hot and hard and wet, with years’ worth of wanting. It’s almost a full-on make-out session right there on Callie’s parents’ front step. Her fingers slide through my hair, and my hands skim down her arms, gripping her waist, pulling her closer, rediscovering the feel of her.
The feel of us.
And we feel spectacular.
Chapter Ten
Callie
High school parking lots are one of the most dangerous places on earth. I don’t have statistics to back that up, but I know it’s true.
I pull into the school parking lot Monday morning in my dad’s giant, newly repaired mint-green Buick, with “Back in Black” by AC/DC blasting from the speakers. I feel tough, powerful—like I’m driving a tank.
I’m a badass teacher—I’ll run you down even if you’re a student—I’ve got twenty-nine more in class just like you.
The outfit helps too—leather boots, blue jeans, a starched white blouse, and a black leather jacket. It’s my armor. The morning air is cool and crisp today, but I barely feel it. I’m locked and loaded and ready to roll.
As I march towards the main entrance, I spot Garrett and Dean and Alison Bellinger outside the doors. They pause when they see me, waiting.
“Damn,” Dean chuckles. “Callie’s got her shit-kickers on. Did you dig them out of a mosh pit from 1993?”
Garrett crosses his arms. “Somebody’s channeling Michelle Pfeiffer in Dangerous Minds.”
He looks fantastic. His hair is tousled from the breeze and kisses his brow, and he’s wearing a dark-blue sweater that’s snug around his biceps and soft, worn, light-blue jeans. I remember his arms around me yesterday on my parents’ porch. The wonder and exhilaration of the moment.
Of him.
The intensity in his eyes, the desire and possessiveness in the grasp of his hands. The scorching feel of his mouth, his wet, talented tongue that made my stomach swirl and my head spin.
So much for not complicating things.
But I’m not going to play head games with myself or Garrett—we’re too old for that shit.
I have feelings for him—I always have—our breakup had nothing to do with either of us not wanting each other desperately. But these aren’t just leftover echoes of a sweet, first love—this is something new. A throbbing, breathless attraction to the amazing man he’s become. I want to be near him. I want to know him, inside and out, all over again.
And he feels the same way. Garrett wants this version of me as much as he always did—maybe even more. I heard it in his whispered words and felt it in his kiss.
I don’t know if we have a future, if it can go anywhere. We have separate lives on opposite ends of the country. But I’m not going to worry about that—for now, I’m going to take each day as it comes and enjoy every moment we can.