The Unforgettable Kind

by Melanie Munton

  He growled. “Yeah, well, I’ve got an entire coaching staff being paid to bust my balls, thanks. So, what’s new with you?”

  “Absolutely nothing,” I said, yawning. “Since the season started my life has been pretty much consumed by football.”

  He chuckled. “Isn’t it always? How’s Trent?”

  “Pretty good. At last week’s game he rushed for—”

  “No, I meant how are you two doing? You guys still good?”

  I paused, shocked that he’d even asked. It’s not that he wasn’t considerate, but big brothers didn’t usually care to know how their sister’s romantic relationships were going.

  “Yeah, um, we’re good.” I hoped he didn’t notice how I’d fumbled my words. Pun intended. Heh. “Just busy, you know.”

  All crunching and munching in the background ceased. “I heard Kade Jennings is supposed to be a hell of a player.”

  I so did not need to hear his name right then, not after waking up from the dream I was having about him.

  “He is. The scouts are going to be looking at him hard.”

  Drake’s voice hardened. “He a good guy?”

  Where was this going?

  “I guess. I don’t really know him that well.”

  “Hmm…”

  I was starting to think he knew more than he was letting on, but how could he? Nothing had happened. I’d ridden in Kade’s truck, we’d eaten ice cream, and had talked for about an hour. Plus, our phone call tonight. Everything else happened in my own imagination.

  “Well, good for him then,” Drake eventually said.

  I needed to change the subject immediately, though I wasn’t sure what prompted my next choice. “You talk to Dad lately?”

  He snarled as he always did when I brought him up. “Nope and don’t have any plans to. He still calls, but I never answer. You?”

  My chest hurt just thinking about how long it had been since I’d spoken to my own father. We used to be so close.

  “No. He used to send me emails but stopped when I never responded. He’s still trying to get me to go stay with him for a weekend.”

  Tense silence. “Are you going to?”

  “I’m not there yet.” I knew I sounded bitter. “I don’t know if I ever will be. Especially if she’s there.” The woman who took him away from us, and who he willingly followed.

  “I hear ya.” I knew what was coming. Any conversation about our father was inevitably followed by Drake’s abrupt departure. “I’m going to let you go ‘cuz I gotta get some sleep. But I’ll call you this weekend, okay?”

  “’Kay.”

  “Love you, sis.”

  “Love you, too.”

  I wished I could say that I had fallen back asleep that night thinking about Drake and football and my dad and school, but that would have been a lie. Despite how exhausted I was, I tossed and turned all night, my head full of visions of brown hair instead of blond. Of hazel eyes instead of blue ones. And of a smile so gorgeous it caused heat to pool in my belly.

  I screamed at my hormones to forget all about Kade. That’s all it was, just hormones. My heart didn’t enter into it. It couldn’t. Because I knew that if it did, I would have so much bigger of a problem on my hands.

  Ugh.

  I finally went in search of the aspirin.

  Chapter Twelve

  “Sweet Home Alabama”

  by Lynyrd Skynyrd

  Kade

  I pulled into the lot of the movie theater in Valley View and parked. “Who’s going to be here?”

  Matt named off a couple of other guys from the team and some sophomore girls. “Oh, and Trent and Sam.”

  My gut twisted every time I heard their names connected like that. I didn’t know if I was up for this tonight, watching one of their dates play out before my eyes. I was tempted to tell Matt I was feeling sick and bail on him, but one thing stopped me.

  I just wanted to see her.

  Even if she was there with someone else, I wanted to see her smile, hear her voice. And yeah, I knew how fucking pathetic that was.

  Bite me.

  I didn’t know how much more my sanity could take, though. It seemed like there were full days where she was all I thought about. It was driving me fucking crazy. But like an addict, I continually craved my next fix, seeking out the source of it, rather than trying to ween myself off the vicious cycle.

  Watching Jason Statham beat the shit out of a bunch of assholes in this new movie might actually make me feel better.

  Matt and I bought our tickets and located our group as soon as we entered the lobby. The guys all greeted me with fist bumps, the girls blushed and fluttered their eyelashes, but I only had eyes for one person.

  “Hey, Sam.”

  Her smile for me was warm and soft. “Hey, Kade.”

  “We’re going to go grab us all seats,” Matt announced, taking the hand of one of the sophomore girls. The rest of the group followed.

  Trent slapped a few bills into Sam’s palm. “Get us a large popcorn and some Reese’s Pieces, okay? Thanks, babe.” He took off after the group, leaving the two of us alone together.

  What a prince.

  The guy couldn’t even be bothered to wait with his girl and buy the damn snacks himself. Then he’d carelessly walked off like he’d already forgotten about her. He had no idea what kind of treasure he held in his grimy hands. Not that I was complaining. The more he screwed up, the quicker she’d come to her senses and realize he was all wrong for her. And that’s when I would step in.

  Your dad could lose his job. Your dad could lose his job.

  Shit. There was still that.

  We got in line at the snack stand. The sounds of arcade games and rambunctious children filled my ears, the smell of buttery popcorn wafted through the air.

  “Moment of truth.”

  I looked down at her, my brows furrowed. “Sorry?”

  She tipped her head at the snack counter. “It’s almost your turn. The type of candy chosen at the movies says a lot about a person, you know.”

  Containing my grin was like fighting a losing battle. “Is that right?”

  She nodded.

  “Please elaborate.”

  She cleared her throat. “Well, if you buy a plain Hershey’s chocolate bar it means you’re a no-nonsense kind of person. You like things straightforward, no surprises. Reese’s Cups? You like the sweeter things in life and appreciate comfort foods. Sour Patch Kids means you aren’t afraid of a challenge. If you get Sprees you might be a little quirky or off-beat, but you own it. You’re not afraid of being unusual.”

  My grin spread. “What about Hot Tamales?”

  She whistled. “Oh, those are for the fearless people who like things spicy. They have a fierce sense of adventure, and are always looking for excitement.” She smiled. “They like a little fire every now and then.”

  “That’s pretty insightful. How did you become such a connoisseur?”

  “Years of research.”

  I laughed. “Do you offer readings of soda purchases, as well?”

  She scrunched her nose up. “Eh. Sodas are too superficial. They don’t give you a peek into someone’s soul.”

  She looked around conspiratorially and discreetly pulled open her giant purse, showing me the contents. Sure enough, there were two aluminum cans nestled safely inside her scarf.

  When I met her eyes again, she lowered her voice to a whisper. “The trick is getting the exact right size of purse. Can’t be small enough that you can’t fit them in with all your other necessities. But it can’t be too big to tip off the theater employees.”

  I leaned my head in closer, mimicking her whisper. “That’s why I decided to leave my purse at home and just went with the cargo shorts.” I jiggled my leg, snagging her attention to the large bulge in my shorts pocket where I hid my own contraband. When her eyes snapped back up to mine, I winked. “Never leave home without the Dew.”

  If I’d died right then with her blinding smile as th
e last thing I ever saw on this earth, I’d have gone out a happy man.

  We made it to the front of the line, and she turned to me expectantly. “You must choose. But choose wisely.”

  “Should have pegged you for an Indiana Jones fan.” I placed my money down on the counter, my eyes remaining locked on hers. “Hot Tamales, please. I’m in the mood for something spicy.”

  My gaze unwittingly moved down to settle on her mouth, the innuendo blaring loudly between us. I had the pleasure of watching her eyes widen, her throat working as she swallowed slowly.

  Tension sparked in the space between our bodies. A thick cloud of need enveloped us. So much left unsaid. So much that could never be said.

  But words were unnecessary. I’d never felt this kind of connection with another person in all my life. And just like I knew every one of our team’s football plays like the back of my hand, I knew exactly what Sam was thinking.

  “Anything for you, miss?” the snack bar employee asked.

  “Just a large popcorn,” Sam blurted, her voice squeaking. “No candy for me.”

  Finally, she broke our eye contact.

  But not before I saw the blush spread over her cheeks.

  She pegged it right. I did like a little fire in my life.

  And what I felt for Sam was like a fiery inferno blazing inside me.

  One that I feared would never be extinguished.

  ***

  After the movie was over, we all decided to stop at the local diner in Mason for a late-night snack. As with most small-towns, the place hadn’t changed much in the last thirty years. The linoleum floors were clean but cracked and discolored from years of wear and spills. The walls were adorned with the fake wood paneling that was so indicative of decorating styles from the 1970s. There was even an old-timey bar with the original naugahyde stools and a jukebox in the corner. All I really cared about, though, was their homemade country-cooking that boasted one of the best breakfasts I’d ever eaten.

  We all slid into the biggest curved booth in the back corner. Sam and I ended up sitting on both of the ends, right across from each other.

  “Whatever, Sheena, I saw you covering your eyes when he stabbed that guy in the hand,” Trent said, laughing as he leaned in close to the sophomore girl sitting on his other side.

  Sitting a little too close from the looks of things. Sam’s face was buried in her menu, ignoring the conversation about the movie we just watched. I, however, stared in bewilderment at the flirting taking place between her boyfriend and a girl who wasn’t her.

  “I was not!” Sheena protested, smacking Trent’s arm playfully.

  Trent did know that he was dating Sam, didn’t he? The most perfect girl in the world. Sheena was pretty and all, but she didn’t have a prayer of holding a candle to Sam.

  The conversation between the two of them led into a discussion on whether or not one could keep firing a gun after getting stabbed through the hand. Of course, this then led to Trent being very hands-on by demonstrating with Sheena.

  “See, he’d have to grip the trigger with his middle finger if the knife got him here,” he said. His fingers squeezed around Sheena’s, miming a gun.

  That definitely got a reaction out of Sam.

  She sat there glaring, her eyes shooting daggers at them. It was the first time I’d ever really seen her angry.

  And I weirdly liked it.

  What I’d said earlier at the theater hadn’t been a lie. Sam was straight fire, and I swear my insides burned for her. I wouldn’t even mind if that anger was focused on me because at least I’d have her full attention. I wanted to be the target of her passion.

  “I need to use the restroom,” she bit out, shooting up from her seat without waiting for a response from anyone.

  Unbelievably, Trent didn’t even notice the absence of his girlfriend. He just sat there like a putz, laughing at whatever story Sheena was now telling. With sharp clarity, I decided in that moment that this prick didn’t deserve her.

  I need to make her laugh.

  No matter what it took, I was going to prove to her that there was someone out there who took her happiness very seriously.

  Without a word, I got up from my seat and headed for the jukebox. Since it was right next to the restrooms, I’d be able to easily intercept her. She came out less than a minute later.

  “Typical.”

  She stopped and leaned against the machine. “What’s typical?”

  I waved down at the jukebox. “It’s always the same clichéd songs on these things. ‘I Will Always Love You,’ ‘Blue Suede Shoes.’ The lack of variety is truly disappointing.”

  She crossed her arms, grinning. “You don’t like Elvis?”

  “I love Elvis. He’s the King. But even the King can get overplayed.”

  I curled my upper lip in classic Elvis fashion, drawing a laugh from her. Mission accomplished. But it wasn’t enough. Not yet.

  I pulled a quarter from my pocket and held it up in front of her face. “Tell you what. You pick the most clichéd song on this entire jukebox. If you pick correctly I’ll buy you a strawberry-banana milkshake.”

  Her brows knitted together. “How did you know that was my favorite?”

  Because I’m a fucking stalker and like to watch everything you do.

  “That’s the only kind of yogurt you ever eat at lunch.”

  Shock registered across her features. There was a moment of vulnerability that swam through me, making me want to avert my eyes to hide what was going on behind them. But screw it. Let her look. Let her see how much I pay attention, how much I care.

  The thrill of the challenge lit up her green eyes. She took the quarter from my hands, turned to the jukebox, and started scrolling through the options. I could tell she found her selection when her mouth curved upward. She put the quarter in, pressed a button, and faced me once again. A second later, the guitar strums of a most recognizable song came over the diner’s speakers.

  “‘Sweet Home Alabama’,” I said in approval. “You remembered.”

  She screwed her face up into a scowl and did her best impression of me. “’That song is one of Lynryd Skynyrd’s best, but everyone keeps playing the hell out of it and it’s losing its impact. Honkey-tonk bars are ruining that band.’ Isn’t that what you said?”

  My lips parted. It felt like I’d just been punched in the stomach, all oxygen knocked out of me.

  I’d said that the night I’d picked her up on the side of the highway as she stood next to her broken down car. When we’d first learned of our shared love for classic rock, I’d gone on a rant about that song having become a straight-up cliché and how it pissed me off. The fact that she’d not only been listening but had remembered exactly what I’d said made my heart thud in my chest a little too uncomfortably.

  “Something to that effect,” I rasped. I was struggling to even form words. “Your voice needs to be way deeper, though.” I pounded my chest with my fist. “More manly. Tough. Me Kade, you Sam.”

  She burst into laughter.

  Seriously, my heart was going to crack a rib if it beat any harder.

  “My apologies,” she said after catching her breath. “I’ll work on my lower register. Wouldn’t want to give you a complex about your high-pitched girly voice.”

  “You want that milkshake or not?”

  Her smile disappeared. “Yes, please.”

  I tilted my head back toward the bar, tossing her a grin. “Then let’s go, smart ass.”

  That was the moment I fell head over heels in love with Sam Lawrence.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Kickstart My Heart”

  by Mötley Crüe

  Now

  Kade

  Sam is drunk.

  Funny enough, her heavy-lidded eyes and slurred speech takes me back to the night of our first kiss. It feels like yesterday and a million years ago all at the same time. I try to focus on anything but that as I leave the bar with Sam in tow, driving her back to her condo.<
br />
  Jasmine had an impish grin on her face when she’d snuck Sam’s keys out of her purse and tossed them to me. “It might do you both some good if you’re alone together. Just get her home safely.”

  I’m still decrypting whatever the hell that meant. How will Sam castrating me with her stiletto heel do either of us any good?

  “Do you ever miss Mason?” she asks as I drive down crowded streets.

  She has her window rolled down, sending her hair whipping around her face. Her cherry scent fills the air, taunting me. Torturing me.

  “Not often. Maybe sometimes when I need some peace and quiet. Forsyth Park was always good for that.”

  I watch as her mouth curves up at the corners. I want to believe she’s lost in her memories of us, but she could just as easily be plotting my death in her head.

  “Yeah, it was,” she says wistfully. “Do you ever go back to visit your dad?”

  “Not since he retired two years ago. He’s too busy RVing around the country with his new wife, living off their pensions. They’re on an Alaskan cruise right now. They seem really happy together.”

  She rolls up her window, cutting off the nighttime sounds and engulfing us in near silence. “I hadn’t heard that he’d remarried.”

  I slow at a red light. “It took him a while. He met Rhonda a few years ago at the supermarket of all places. Then he called me one day last year and said they’d gone to the courthouse and tied the knot. They live in Bridgewater now and take frequent trips up to North Carolina to visit her grandkids. Something he likes to remind me he still doesn’t have.”

  I don’t know what in the world makes me add on that last thing. I’m almost afraid to look at her.

  She’s leaning her head against the window, staring out the windshield. I hope she doesn’t pass out because I’ve finally got her talking, and I’m not above taking advantage of Sam when she’s drunk.

  Not like that, you creep.

  I just want her to loosen up. Be comfortable around me again like she used to be. My father’s words from a million years ago play on a loop in my mind, making nausea roll through my stomach. Once a woman no longer feels special to you, you’ve lost her. Sam probably no longer feels like she’s special to me, not after my dumb ass left her years ago.