by Julie Cross
He shakes his head. “I’m fine.”
“What’s the big thing?” I ask. “I’ve been up here already.”
Fletch glances at his cell phone and then puts it back in his pocket. “Sunrise. Soon.”
“Wow, and you haven’t even gone to sleep yet.” The air is a bit chilly. I pull the ends of the blanket together, not letting in any air. Fletch’s gaze is fixed on the lake, so I take several seconds to stare at his profile. He’s got amazing bone structure. Perfect skin tone. Perfect lips.
My stomach does a backflip, and I force myself to inhale a long, slow, deep breath. Maybe I’m supposed to tell him he’s beautiful. He said those words to me, and it was with no strings attached or whatever. Maybe if I say exactly what I’m thinking, stuff won’t build into big imaginary relationships inside my head. A guy can be hot and sexy without being a marital prospect or a soul mate. Right?
“Hey, Fletch?”
“Hmm?” He turns to me for a second but quickly refocuses on the lake.
“You’re…” I try to say the B word, but it doesn’t want to exit my mouth for some reason. “Nice to look at.”
“Um, okay?” He faces me again, his forehead wrinkled. “Thanks, I guess.”
My cheeks warm, but I smile anyway. “You’re welcome.”
“So…” Fletch leans on one elbow, stretching out over the slanted roof. “How was your dancing session with Paco?”
“Great.” I lean on my elbow and face him, my eyebrows wiggling. “Actually, it was sexy, erotic, completely mind-blowing.”
Fletch fights a smile. “Oh really?”
“Yep, I’m gonna be fantasizing for weeks about Paco and the way he loves to stare at your ass.”
Fletch bursts out laughing and then glances over his shoulder at his own backside. “Didn’t know that did it for him.”
“It is a really nice ass,” I say. “I recognized it right away on the flyer.”
“So that’s how you found me.”
“I take tumbling lessons in Longmeadow,” I explain. “Your, um, place of employment is on the way.”
“That’s right, tumbling was on your ‘Hump Day To-do List,’” Fletch teases.
I grab his side, preparing to pinch it. But I’m distracted by the close proximity. I pull away. “How does this thing work, Yoda?”
He turns to check on the horizon, but it’s still dark. “What thing?”
“The thing where I want to kiss you and you tell me that I should do it.” I pick at my fingernail. “And then I do it—”
“It was a great kiss,” Fletch says.
“It was.” I brave looking up at him. “But now I’m wondering if I’m allowed to do it again.”
He cocks an eyebrow. “You’re asking my permission?”
“I don’t know.” I shrug. “You’re the expert here. I’m the one trying not to make a big deal out of nothing. I assume you’ve kissed more girls than me?”
“A few,” he says, not elaborating further.
“And do you often have repeat kissing with the same girl?”
He holds my gaze for a beat and then turns forward again. “You know what’s cool about sunrises and sunsets?”
“What?”
“You have to actually make a conscious decision to watch them,” he says. “Or else they just happen, and you barely notice.”
I allow his words to hang in the air between us for a minute, and then I force him back to my question. “Fletch?”
He scrubs a hand over his face. “I don’t know, Haley.”
“I think you know something.”
He sighs and lays back against the roof. “I don’t usually… I mean, it’s never just kissing.”
I almost ask him what he means, but then my brain catches up. Talk about a punch in the gut. “Oh.”
He sits up again, his face full of worry. “Not that it couldn’t be, it’s just that…I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said it like that.”
“Don’t apologize.” I shake my head and study my hands again. “You were being honest. And I asked the question.”
“I’m sorry,” he repeats, despite my clear instructions to not apologize.
Silence falls between us, and we both lie back on the roof—me with a big weight on my chest again and Fletch with God-knows-what? Guilt I forced on him?—and watch the orange and pink emerge on the horizon.
After the sky has brightened considerably, I can’t help mumbling, “It really is beautiful.”
Fletcher nods his agreement.
We both sit perfectly still, our silence growing more and more comfortable by the minute. I relax into my space and allow the reality of kissing a boy who isn’t and probably won’t ever be in love with me to sink in fully. The sun is rising. The world hasn’t ended over this revelation. And it really was an incredible kiss.
I turn to Fletch. “Let’s make a pact.”
Relief washes over his face, maybe seeing that I’m calm and not crying again. “What kind of pact?”
“The kind where we’re allowed to do whatever we want…” I say. And when he lifts an eyebrow, I add, “Mutually, of course. And we promise to be completely open and say whatever we’re thinking or feeling. And that’s it. No drama, no miscommunications. Simple. Not complicated or imaginary.”
“This is all having to do with the Constitution project, right?” He flashes me a devious grin. “Because I thought that was the only reason we were forced to hang out.”
I lay back down and stare at the rising sun. “God, doesn’t that feel like a century ago?”
“It’s summer,” Fletch says. “It’s like because the days are longer, every event seems further apart from the last.”
“But it still always goes by so fast.” My hand extends out to him, my pinkie waving in front of his face. “Are you in? The pact?”
“Okay.” He wraps his little finger around mine and gives it a squeeze. “I’m in.”
“Can I ask you something?” I say, and Fletch nods. “What goes on in the private-lesson rooms?”
He laughs, his eyes crinkling in that adorable way. “No idea. Ricky, the club’s co-owner, won’t tell me, and she won’t let any of the guys tell me, either. She has a way of threatening people that makes requests impossible to ignore.” He flashes me a grin. “But I do know that there are locks on all three doors…and yet, we do get a larger number of skilled dancers each Saturday night, so maybe actual lessons are happening.”
“Some girl in front of me paid for private time with you,” I say, since we’re doing that honesty thing.
“Really?” Fletch pops up, his eyes wide. “That must be for this week. I haven’t gotten the schedule yet.”
I laugh and smack him in the shoulder. “Don’t look so excited.”
“I am excited. It’s a hundred dollars an hour.”
My mouth falls open. “Seriously? You have to tell me what happens. Will you tell me, or would that be weird?”
He traces a finger over the roof shingles. “I’ll tell you…if you tell me about these UCF tryouts. What’s UCF? Is that Florida?”
“Hey!” I say accusingly. “How do you know about UCF?”
“‘Hump Day To-do List,’ remember?” Fletch lays back, his hands resting behind his head. His shirt creeps up, revealing a strip of those abs. “Your teeth look great, by the way. How’s your underwear drawer?”
“It’s very clean. Thanks for asking.” I curl up on my side again, with the blanket tight around me.
“And UCF?” he prompts.
I spill way too many details regarding cheer tryouts and out-of-state tuition waivers and partner stunts. When I finally finish talking, we’re practically in sunglass-needing territory. “Am I boring you?”
Fletch shakes his head, but his eyes are half closed. “I think UCF is about as illogical as me wanting to play varsity hockey this year. I could be in college now if I wanted to. I might end up sitting on the bench more than not, and yet…”
“You still want it,” I finish f
or him. “I’m not even sure I can see myself going to college in Florida. But I really want to visit campus this summer. Maybe meet the coach and the squad.”
“If your cousin lives there, can’t you stay with her? Then it’s just a plane ticket to Orlando, right? That’s nothing.”
“For you, maybe.” I poke him in the stomach. “But not everyone gets cash stuffed in their pants every Saturday.”
“And panties,” he reminds me.
“Some of those thongs looked expensive. Maybe you can stow them up for a few weeks and have a rummage sale.”
He turns to flash me another grin. “It’ll be the Haley Stevenson charity sale. All contributions go to your college trip to Florida.”
I pinch him again, but I’m laughing. He’s pretty funny like this. Other Fletch. And suddenly, my mouth is hovering an inch from his. Without thinking it through at all, without all the worry and fear from before, I press my lips against his. It’s incredible how quickly my body can shift from this low, dull buzz of relaxed energy to full-on electric current. Fletch kisses me back with warmth and gentleness, but then he pulls away, his forehead still against mine. My entire body is left screaming for more.
He rests a hand on my cheek, holding my gaze with his. “You’re sure this is okay?”
“Positive.” I pull him to me again, and he responds with even more enthusiasm.
His body presses into mine until my back is flat to the roof and I’m feeling all of him against all of me. I slip my hands beneath his sweatshirt and let my fingertips glide over his skin. Other Fletcher doesn’t mind if I touch him—he’s an open book. I don’t let myself think about what this might mean, what might become of it. Right now, it’s just me and this beautiful, sexy boy and the sun beating down on us, the thrill of kissing on a slanted roof.
After a while, Fletch’s rough fingers find their way to my lower back, and then he whispers in my ear. “Haley? I think the shingles might be giving you a rash.”
“Huh?” My foggy brain is slow to catch up. “You think I have shingles?”
Fletch laughs, and his whole arm wraps around me, covering my back. “The shingles on the roof. They’re rubbing against your skin. You have bumps.”
“Huh.”
He plants a kiss on my cheek and then my lips. “Let’s go in my room.”
In his room. Where the more-than-kissing likely happens. Not sure I’m ready for that today, especially since it took Tate and me nearly a year to finally decide to have sex. I sit up quickly, nearly knocking Fletch off-balance. Then I grab his phone to check the time.
“Uh-oh.” I swing a leg over him and head for the ladder. “I’m late.”
“Late for what?” Fletch calls after me.
I flash him a grin on my way down the ladder. “Church.”
“Church?” Fletcher laughs.
“I know, right?”
When we get to solid ground, I’m about to go in search of Jamie’s keys. He won’t mind. I’ll have his car back before he even wakes up. But then I catch a glimpse of Fletcher standing there with his hands in his pockets but still looking oh-so-open, and I’m scared of him turning back to his other self and never seeing this version of him again.
I move closer and loop my arms around his neck. “Last night was…”
“Enlightening?” he offers when I seem to be digging for the right word.
I laugh. “I was going to say fun, but definitely enlightening, too.”
For a moment, I don’t know why I’m here so close to him again, and then I remember my fear of this Fletcher vanishing. I push up on my toes and kiss him until we’re both breathing heavy again.
“Sure you don’t want to go inside?” Fletch asks.
I push away from him. I need air. Space. “To your room? To do what, exactly?”
He looks me dead in the eyes, no hint of a joke or amusement on his face, and says, “Anything you want, Haley.”
The air whooshes from my lungs; words are lodged in my throat. Such a simple answer, and yet I can tell that Fletch means it in a way I probably can’t even wrap my head around. Yet. And I’m so tempted to figure it out…
I give him a look that hopefully says hold that thought. “Not today.”
He just nods, not uttering another word of protest or offering any excuses. A few minutes later, I’m driving Jamie’s truck toward my house to change, and already it feels like the moment might have passed, like last night was its own universe and there’s no way to teleport back.
And maybe I just need to figure out how to be okay with that.
Chapter Twenty-Five
–Fletcher–
HALEY: random Q…don’t u ever worry about someone eating shrimp or peanuts and then touching u at the club
ME: yeah. But there’s no food in the building. Alcohol washes away a lot. Ricky is a germaphobe so she’s got hand sanitizer everywhere too
HALEY: I did notice the hand washing stations. Have u ever had a reaction at work?
ME: mild ones. No ER trips thus far
HALEY: good
ME: is that all?
HALEY: yep. I’m just bored.
ME: at 5:45am?? I’d be sleeping if I didn’t have practice in a few minutes
HALEY: I’m waitin for my girls to show up for our morning run
…
“Keep the pads in your lockers, boys,” Bakowski says when I’m finishing tucking my phone away, preparing to suit up. “No skates, either. Apparently, the ice is melting. They’re getting it fixed, but in the meantime—”
“No practice!” Stewart says, punching a hand in the air.
Bakowski glares at him. “Just for that, you get an extra mile. Shoes on, we’re running with the cheerleaders. Any of them beat any of you, we come back tonight and do it all over again.”
Beside me, Tate glances down at his Nike slides. Red has the same pair on, and he says, “What if I don’t have running shoes?”
“Go barefoot,” Bakowski snaps.
I leave my dri-FIT shirt on and grab my tennis shoes from the top of my locker. This sucks. I’d been looking forward to showing off my back crossovers. With Jamie and Leo’s help, I’m flying around the cones now.
Several of the guys file out of the locker room, and Bakowski corners me before I can follow. “You can sit this out if it’s…you know, too hard for you.”
My stomach sinks. I glance around to see if anyone is within hearing distance. Several guys are. Bakowski never lets anyone out of anything. No exceptions. This can’t be good for my position this season. It means he’s not concerned with my preparedness level.
With my jaw tense, my whole body stiffened, I slide my feet into my shoes. “I’ll be fine.”
“Sure about that?” he asks, cocking an eyebrow. “Bring your breathing thing just in case.”
I snatch the inhaler from my locker and stuff it in my pocket. This sucks. This completely sucks. Maybe Bakowski won’t ever see me as anything but weak no matter what I do.
When I get to the track outside, there are at least ten or twelve cheerleaders out there—all of them wearing nothing but sports bras and tiny shorts. Several of the guys whistle, and Haley rolls her eyes. “The one activity I let the girls show their stomachs for, and we’re invaded by hockey players.”
Bakowski pushes past me and blows his whistle. He smacks Red in the back of the head when he reaches out a hand for Leslie’s bra strap. Seriously? Is he in middle school? “You can’t act like a decent human being, we’ll put a blindfold on you and send you out to run in the road.”
All the guys shut up and look at Coach. No one ever assumes Bakowski is kidding. Coach gestures to Haley, who spends a minute explaining the route. I’m being very well-behaved and not checking out her legs, but I do space out for several seconds, replaying Saturday night at the club and Sunday morning on the roof. Definitely could go for a repeat make-out session with her. My gaze bounces from Cole (who is silently in love with Haley) to Tate (who she used to love) to Hammond (who is the
most likely candidate for Haley’s next love), and my stomach twists in a ball. Any repeat sessions with Haley will definitely need to be in a covert location. I should have talked to Cole about this already. I should talk to him now. And yet I don’t want to ruin this idealistic world Cole still gets to live in.
“…we’ve been running this route for several weeks now, so don’t pace yourself with us. You’ll want to save some energy for the last mile because the hills are killer.” Haley signals to the other cheerleaders, and they file behind her.
Beside me, Tate steps out of his sandals with a sigh and a shake of his head. “Guess he’s not worried about me being able to put on skates tomorrow.”
At least five of the twenty guys are going barefoot. The cheerleaders all have on identical white tennis shoes with little silver and green triangles on the sides. I keep my jog slow and even at first. I do quite a bit of cardio on my own—at least I have been since the state game—but it’s on my own, so I have no idea what pace I’m running. I do know that cold weather triggers more asthmatic flare-ups, and with the mild temperatures outside, I’m likely better off than on the ice. Maybe I should have played football like the rest of my family.
Another glance back at Coach, and I’m suddenly fired up to prove him wrong. Instead of holding off until the last second to discreetly use my inhaler, I take a few puffs now, at the beginning, to keep my airways open and ready.
Tanley is on one side of me, Hammond on the other, Stewart and Red a few paces in front of us. I look through the crowd in front of me and spot Cole, working his way toward the front, where Haley is. I suppress a groan and shake my head. I can’t tell him about my make-out session with Haley and not crush him in the process.
I’m so deep in thought that I don’t even notice when we hit the two-mile mark, or that Haley’s blond ponytail is now bobbing right in front of me. I look over my shoulder and see that Cole and several of the guys in front have fallen back. Several of the cheerleaders, too.
I tug Haley’s ponytail and then move beside her. “You’ve got some slackers way back there.”
She seems to pull herself out of her own haze, and then she spins around, jogging backwards. “Let’s go, girls! Pick it up!”