Mara snorts.
I groan and look at my sister. “Was Daniel Kearns really in the car with us?”
Mara nods her head slowly. “He and Cole both carried you in and tucked you into your bed. It was actually pretty cute.” She takes a few steps backward and gestures to the table next to my bed. “Oh, and Cole left you a note.”
I reach out, fumbling over a stack of books and my alarm clock until my fingers find the small slip of paper. Written below a phone number that I assume is his, are just three words: Lots of water.
Cole
Six days.
She doesn’t call or put up a smoke signal or any of that shit. Not even a text.
Six fucking days.
At first, I’m worried.
When day three rolls around, I’m pissed.
By day four, I’m resigned. What does it matter to me anyway?
I run harder than usual. I push myself on the weights. I tell myself to forget about Aimee and, for the most part, it works.
But at night, I end up staring at the ceiling of my bedroom, watching the fan blades cycle round and round. I think about her face and her wide saltwater blue eyes and that freckle on her cheek. And I think about her mouth.
Fuck. I spend a lot of time thinking about her mouth. I wonder about the secrets that live between her lips and I wonder about the taste of her. After I get that far, it’s a short leap to remembering the way that her breath felt against the skin on my neck. Or how my hand sunk into the curve of her waist as I lowered her into her bed.
Damn it.
It’s brutal.
On Thursday afternoon I’m walking out of the union with Daniel and there she is. She’s in almost the exact same spot where I first saw her, only this time she’s not falling over her feet into my lap.
She’s with that blue-haired girl, Jodi, and she’s got her legs kicked out and her head tipped back to catch the sun. Her long brown hair is spilling over the skin of her neck and pooling on the grass beneath her. Everything about the moment is so golden and glowy that my heart does an erratic flip and my feet stop moving.
“… that if I can keep my shoulder blade rotated down, I can throw a lot farther.” Daniel’s voice comes back to me.
“Huh?” What did he say?
He stops and spins around. “Practice. Throwing the discus. Track and field. Earth to Cole.” He snaps his fingers sharply in front of my face.
“Uh, yeah. I’m sorry, man.” I blink and jerk my head but it’s too late. Daniel follows my gaze and spots Aimee.
“You’re into her.”
I clench my jaw tight.
He laughs. “I mean… You’re hardcore into her.”
There’s no use denying it. I am into her.
“What of it?” I ask, my voice low and abrasive.
Daniel’s smile turns crooked and his eyes travel back to where Aimee is sprawled out on the grass. “I’m just amazed that you’ve turned googly-eyed over a girl. It’s not your style at all.”
I bring my hands up and grip the back of my head. I bite the inside of my cheek. “Man, I’m not googly-eyed. Who even says that? I’m just…”
“Trust me. You’re googly-eyed,” Daniel says, cocking his head back and laughing at me. “So why don’t you grow a pair and ask her out already?”
“For your information, I did ask her out,” I snap.
“And she said no?” He chokes, disbelieving. “Aimee turned you down?”
“Well, not exactly...” I drop my arms and exhale through my nose. “It’s complicated.”
Daniel flaps his hand like he’s not buying any of my shit. “Look, Cole. If you’re going to go after a girl like Aimee, things are going to get complicated. She’s not going to fall for any of your normal tactics or throw herself at your feet and spread her legs like the sluts that you’re used to dealing with. She’s different.” He takes a visible breath and there’s this look on his face like he’s carefully editing himself. “And bear in mind that she’s been through a lot. She doesn’t need to be a part of one of your games.”
“I’m not playing a game with her,” I say firmly. “I don’t know what I’m doing but it’s not a game…”
Daniel says something about being late to practice, but I’m barely listening. I’m already halfway over to that sunny patch of grass—to the girl with the long, dark hair and the freckle on her cheek.
When I reach her, Aimee’s eyes are closed and I hear her say, “This is a nightmare.”
At first I think that she means me and my stomach lurches. But then Jodi answers, barely glancing up from her phone. “No, a nightmare is running from a deranged serial killer who wants to cut your ears off and eat your intestines with a plastic spork. This is just an assignment for class, Aimee.”