Us At First (Carolina Rebels 2.50)

Her cheeks redden and she glances away from me. I smile, liking it probably too much that I have an effect on her. That’s great news because she’s having an insane effect on me. But then those eyes shift back to me and run over my body like she’s getting a good look at me for the first time. I almost wish I dressed a little better, but I decided to go with plain gym shorts and the last clean T-shirt I had left.

Does she like what she sees? Does she have a favorite part, like how mine right now is her lips? My brown hair is rather short because that’s the way I like it, especially in the summer. My eyes are green. There’s a shadow of scruff on my jawline because I was lazy this morning, and I’ve been debating about growing a beard.

“I’m okay now,” she says. “You don’t have to keep talking to me.”

Oh, but I want to. “How about I keep you company anyway? That okay?”

She nods, her eyes getting watery again. “So, what do you like to do?”

No Grandma talk, then. Good to know. I’d rather avoid it, too. I lean back and slouch in my seat to get comfortable. “I like to play hockey, hang with my friends, and watch TV. You?”

She holds up her book.

“That’s it?”

“Pretty much. I mean, I hang out with my friends some, too, but reading is superior to other activities. I don’t even know what’s on TV these days.”

“How many books do you read in a year?”

“I can read as many as five a week, so up to about two hundred sixty books.”

My eyes nearly pop out of my head. “Damn. I barely read the ones the teachers make us read.”

“If you don’t like it, that means you’re reading the wrong books.” When I frown in confusion, she adds, “You read all the time. You had to read your boarding pass, street signs, textbooks—” She laughs when I give her a look to show her that I don’t like reading any of those things. “Anyway, all we need to do is find you a book that you would like. There’s a book out there for everyone, you know.”

“You’re one of those crazy book lovers, aren’t you?” She nods unashamed, even as I continue, “The girl who always has a book and reads more than she talks to her friends. I bet your room is full of them.”

“Pretty much, but I am social. I’m talking to you right now when I could be reading my book, which is very good by the way.”

A grin breaks free before I can control myself. “I feel pretty damn special, then.” I love hearing her talk. I haven’t been around many people who are from the South. I decide to start asking Sydney a bunch of questions about her favorites to keep her mind off her grandmother and to keep her talking.

I learn that she loves Laffy Taffys and the corny jokes on the wrappers, but she also loves a good chocolate bar. She loves chicken. Green beans and potatoes are her favorite sides. Aside from reading, she likes going to the football and baseball games for her school, but she admits that’s to socialize because she doesn’t like sports. The list goes on and on. Soon, she rambles on her own and she starts talking about her grandmother. She used to live in North Carolina, but old age and her dad moving out of state meant her grandmother moved away, too, because her father wanted her close by.

Her relationship with her father is strained, which is why she’s worried she’s going to be dealing with this on her own and that she’ll be alone while surrounded by those attending the funeral. She gives more details that I don’t necessarily need to know, like where it’s being held, but I listen for the most part because damn. I love her voice and her accent. I want to kiss her, but that would be inappropriate. Not to mention, Sydney doesn’t seem like the type to kiss a random guy in the airport who decided to be nice to her.

Man, I’ve never been more thankful for a layover in my entire life.

They call some groups to board and I frown. We’re having to depart already.

“Thanks for talking to me, even though I did most of the talking.” She laughs, and fuck, what is wrong with me? Or, what is wrong with this girl? How is she so perfect? Or seemingly perfect. Something has to be wrong with her. Something has to be wrong with me because I want to stick around as long as it takes to figure out her imperfections.

“You’re welcome.”

That’s all I got. I feel like I should say more before we’re separated. I’m not done yet. I don’t want her to stop talking and I don’t think I’ve ever thought that about a girl. Usually they don’t ever shut the fuck up and it annoys the hell out of me.

I pull my boarding pass out of my pocket to see which group I’m in. Three. I always seem to get into that group. My eyes travel back to Sydney. Her boarding pass is folded in half in her hand, so I can’t see any details. Would it be weird if we exchanged info? We could text or email or I could call her and ask her more stupid questions, so I could hear her talk.

But do I want to run the risk of rejection?

Group three is called and we both stand. “What seat are you?” I ask. Maybe we’ll be close and I can talk to her some more. Get more of a feel for whether she’d be up for us talking after we land. We could be like pen pals or something. I don’t even care that I’m desperate to keep in touch with her anymore.

“12A.”

Today is the best day ever! “12B,” I say with a grin.

“Oh, good.” The relief in her voice nearly knocks me over. “I don’t particularly care for flying; you can keep me company.” She bumps her elbow against mine with a smile. We move into line with everyone else and Sydney pulls her phone out of her back pocket.

“Texting a boyfriend?” How badly I want to know this is absurdly stupid. It doesn’t really matter.