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“I love that song.”
“I know. I know everything about you.”
She mutters, “Not everything.”
No, but I wish I knew what her body felt like underneath mine, on top of me, against a wall. Sure, we’ve been in all of those positions at some point but never skin to skin, where we’re fucking so hard that sweat drips from my hair. I press my lips into a flatline, attempting to secure an ounce of control, so I don’t blurt out that I want to experience everything with her.
“I’m excited to see Granny and Paps.” She blows out a breath, and her shoulders slump. “I feel bad about leaving them. I feel bad about your family buying me clothes and saddles. At least I’ve paid for my own training and entry fees. Thank God for sponsorships. I’m happy and sad about you going to the NBA. I imagine it’s how Granny and Paps feel… that I’m off living my life, going to college and, God willing, making it to the Olympics. Happy for me. Sad for them,” Lettie rambles.
It’s like an info dump of her thoughts spilling out at once and I love it because it’s unfiltered. But this time,I’m unsure if she’s taken her medicine or if that moment of weakness when I kissed her has changed things between us. We haven't talked about it, even though Reed asked Brooke if Lettie had mentioned the impulsive kiss. And she had, but Brooke swore to keep Lettie's opinions locked away.
“I feel the same way. I don’t want anything to change, yet I do. I want to go to the NBA, but I’ll miss college and hanging out with our friends. But I’ll always make time for you and our family. We’ll go see Granny and Paps on Sunday.”
I feel the warmth of her smile as she asks, “Do you mean it? I know our hometown is an hour away from the fundraiser?”
“Anything for you, Lettie Bug. Haven’t I always had your back?”
“Yeah, but I’ve had yours too. Like when Darla Springer said she was pregnant with your baby.”
“God, I forgot about that. You saw her coloring in two pink lines.”
“Yes, you should still be thanking me for that one, or you would be Dane the Dad, instead of Dane the Great. Can you believe she thought it would work?”
I shake my head. “No. It’s insane that she got pregnant the next month. I never touched her.”
“Well, that would be a first,” she says sarcastically. “Are we close?”
Pressing my lips into a thin line, I hold back all the thoughts running through my head. I’m not talking to her about the kiss or how I feel while on these curvy mountain roads. My heart could stop.
“The GPS says twenty minutes,” I say, showing her my phone.
“Twenty-three minutes.”
“You don’t have to be exact.”
“I’m a statistics major. Numbers are exact. They don’t lie.”
We are opposites in a lot of ways. Yen and yang. Peanut butter and jelly. I’m laid back and go with the flow. Lettie’s always moving, making people laugh and pondering questions. Even though her intelligence is beyond the scope of my understanding, and our friends know how smart she is. Lettie never boasts of having a perfect GPA or the job offers she already has from the big three accounting firms and the risk assessment division of a huge insurance company.
I don’t have the stamina or enough time left in the drive to broach the subject of us. When we reach the Resort at Buttermilk Falls, I’ll talk to her. Lettie will understand how I feel, and I will live with the chaos that may come from telling the truth.
The voice on the GPS says, “You’ve arrived at your destination. The Resort at Buttermilk Falls.”
Thanks, I can see the big fountain.
The front desk has a line ten people deep. Thankfully, my mom is in the lobby.
“Sweetie.” She strides over with her arms stretched wide. She takes us both in her arms at the same time. “I’m so happy you’re early. Lettie, I made spa appointments for us. And Dane, your dad wants you to meet him in the casino to meet some friends. How was the drive?”
Dane chuckles. “Lettie played possum so she wouldn’t have to listen to my play-by-play of the team’s scrimmage.”
Mom smiles, but Lettie’s eyes crease in the corners as she looks up, tapping her lips. “Why do we say playing possum? Why not say Lettie acted like she was asleep?”
“Cause we’re from the country, and it’s more interesting.” I put my arm around her shoulder, laughing.
Looking at my mom, she’s the epitome of a classic mom—a short bob, diamond studs in her ears, and a fitted dress with a matching jacket. “Can’t I meet Dad’s friends tonight?”
Mom tugs on my shirt and straightens it. “Go upstairs and put on a polo and shorts, then meet your dad. This weekend is about him and his goals.”
