by Stacie Ramey
“Yeah. You?”
He smiles. “Yeah. Can’t believe they let me in. Kispert’s cool. But I’m in way over my head.”
I pick up my speed, and Nick turns so he’s running forward again and adjusts to my new pace. “You won’t have any trouble with it though,” he says.
“You have no idea.”
He laughs. I don’t.
When we get to the end of the street, I stop again. I motion behind me. “I’m gonna go home. This is way too much exercise for me.”
He puts the brakes on too. “Okay. See you tomorrow. I’ll look for you.”
“Sure thing.” I make myself face him, make myself ignore Max, who has just stepped out of his house. It’s like I have some kind of Max radar that I couldn’t turn off even if I wanted to.
“Is that okay?” Nick trips a little over the words, making me smile.
I act like I don’t see Max standing in the driveway, watching me. I act like I want to flirt with Nick, like it means something to me. “Yeah. More than okay.”
Nick’s turn to smile. Sweet. I wish I could make my heart skip knowing I made him smile. But I can’t. It’s his turn to motion behind him. “I’m gonna go catch up…”
“Yeah. Sure.”
He jogs away, turning to look at me one more time. I wave, and I tell myself not to turn around. Not to look at Max. Watch Nick, who has that silly smile pasted on his face. He turns on the jets, turbo-ing himself forward.
“So you’re into baseball players now?” Max’s voice comes from behind me. “That’s a completely valid choice. You know, if you don’t mind your men a little small.”
I still don’t turn to face him. “Thanks for your approval. Not that you actually get a say.”
He drapes his arms over me, leaning his body against mine. I try not to feel how ripped he is, but I can’t. It’s not like his body’s the only thing I love about Max, but I’d have to be dead not to notice. He whispers in my ear. “How was it?”
Tears spring to my eyes. I want to push him away and run home, pretend that jogging is my new passion. It’s not like what he says to me is so profound—it’s just that his concern gets inside me. Deep. It blankets me, hugging my ribs hard, massaging my heart. Max does this without even trying. He turns me, so I have to face him. He sees my tears. But it’s not like he needed to. Max knows. He holds me against him, and I bury my face in his neck.
“Shh. It’s okay. It’s going to be okay.”
I cry more, not caring. He holds me closer. It’s like there’s no space between us. I want to turn my face up to his. I want to kiss him. I feel that need in every cell of my body—my Max need. Bottomless and aching and just plain stupid because I know it’s not going to happen. Not after that one time last spring. That thought is the slap in the face and the punch in the gut I need to stop the tears. I pull away from him so he won’t know—as if he doesn’t already.
He wipes one of my tears away with his thumb. His eyes are so intense, I have to look away. “How ’bout I walk you home?” he asks.
I nod. That I can do.
Order Stacie Ramey’s first book
from Sourcebooks Fire
The Sister Pact
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About the Author
Stacie Ramey learned to read at a very early age to escape the endless tormenting from her older siblings. She attended the University of Florida, where she majored in communication sciences, and Penn State, where she received a master of science degree in speech pathology. When she’s not writing, she engages in Netflix wars with her children or beats her husband in Scrabble. She lives in Wellington, Florida, with her husband, three children, and two rescue dogs.
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