I shouldn’t want to smile at that, but I do anyway. It should incense me that I broke her heart, but I’ve had a few years to deal with that guilt. All I can process from that sentence is what I can read between the lines, and that shit makes me happy.
She wasn’t in love with him.
“Yeah, well, you know what they say.” I shrug.
“What’s that?”
“If you break something, it’s your responsibility to fix it.”
“If you break something, you’re generally not trusted with it again,” she tosses back.
“Oh, come on,” I scoff. “That’s like telling a man he’s not allowed to eat off the good china because he broke a plate when he was a baby.”
She makes a face. “That’s a terrible analogy.”
“Whatever. You know what I mean, and I know just what you need tonight.”
“I bet you do,” she says, narrowing her eyes. “One track mind, Cross?”
Grinning, I lean forward. “I think we have two different things we’re thinking of, but by the look in your eye, I’m more than happy to go with yours.”
“What are you thinking?”
Picking up my sandwich, I take a bite. “Eat up. Then I’ll show you.”
Nine
Kallie
“Oh my God,” I squeal, bouncing in the seat of Cross’s truck. “Storybook Village! I thought they shut this place down!”
The truck slides into a spot in front of a cutout of a giant shoe. I take in the ducks waddling around and the smell of manure as the engine stops.
“They did,” Cross says. “I think it was down when you left.”
“It was. It hadn’t been open for a few years.”
“Well, this guy named Charlie bought it and opened it back up, last summer, I think. I thought maybe we could play a round of putt-putt.”
Like a kid on Christmas morning, I clap my hands. “You’re going down, Cross.”
“We’ll see, Kallie girl.”
We get out of the truck and enter through the little doorway where the frame around it is painted like a pirate ship. This was where our class had our senior pictures taken because we’d all spent so much time here in the summers growing up.
Storybook Village was a small-town version of an amusement park. The only ride was a little train Paul would start up when enough people were visiting, and it took you on a tour of the entire setup.
Growing up, this was as good as going to a far-off country. There were peacocks and giraffes, a bear and a tiger. I could spend all day milling around, feeding the ducks handfuls of corn, then ending the day with a round of mini golf.
“Nice to see you, Cross,” an older lady says as we enter the little check-in area.
“How are you, Maggie?”
“Good, honey. I’m good. What can I do for you?”
“Two for a round of putt-putt,” he says, placing a twenty on the desk. “I’m gonna show this girl how it’s done, Mags.”
“Whatever,” I scoff, picking out a pink ball. “He doesn’t know what’s about to hit him.”
Maggie laughs candidly as she sorts through a bag of change. Handing Cross the difference, she tells us to grab our equipment and start through the door on the left.
The afternoon sun is warm as we step into the golfing area, and a giant plastic giraffe greets us.
“Do you remember when Peck tried to climb up the legs and get a picture taken on its back?” I laugh. “I thought old man Paul was going to have a heart attack.”
“I forgot about that. Do you remember when Machlan tried to capture a peacock? And it trashed the hell out of his arm?” Cross laughs. “Apparently it was mating season and the male thought he was competition for his woman.”
We exchange smiles as I set my ball on the little circle to start. One crack of the club and it misses the blade of a giant pinwheel, making it to the other side through a little tunnel. With one more putt, I’m in the cup.
“Beat that,” I say, marking me down for two strokes.
He takes his green ball and sets it on the tee. The club looks so tiny in his hands, and he almost bends in half to take a swing. Once he does, the ball rips through the tunnel, runs a circle around the rim of the cup, and sinks in.
“Dammit.” Narrowing my eyes, I head to the second hole. “You got lucky.”
Lining up my ball, I get into position to hit it. Before I do, I feel him behind me. My heart flutters in my chest like it has the wings of a butterfly. Holding my breath, I wait as I feel his proximity grow near, my body pulled to his like there’s an invisible wire connecting us, reeling me in.
“You’re right,” he whispers, his breath hot against the shell of my ear. “I did get lucky.”
Instinctively, I sag backward, my back resting against his chest. It takes about half a second for his arms to wrap around my waist, pulling me into him. His face finds the crook of my neck and he breathes in, the air trickling over my sensitive skin and making me shiver.
The air is saturated with the scent of his cologne, infiltrating my senses and making me lightheaded. I grab his arms where they’re locked at my belly to steady myself. His forearms are roped, thick with muscle, his skin coarse against my fingers.
A flood of emotions comes raring back. Suddenly, I’m reminded of the uncertainty of him staying out all night with Machlan, of being rumored to be with another girl every other Friday night, of him showing up late for everything and his failure to get a job.
Cross sweeps the hair off the back of my neck and presses a soft kiss just above my shoulder.
“Cross?”
“Yeah?”
“Can I trust you?”
He presses another kiss to the same spot before raising his face and resting his chin on the top of my head. “You can never go by what someone says to that question, Kal. You have to go with your gut.”
It’s the right answer, but it’s no help. I don’t know what in the world my gut is saying. I can hear my brain, feel my heart, experience the throb between my legs, but my gut? No clue.
He moves slightly behind me, just enough so his hardness presses into my back. I gulp, the length rock solid as he stills.
Everything picks up pace, my sensations overloading as I run my hands up his forearms and close my eyes. There’s not a thing about this moment that feels wrong or out of place, not one single thing that screams at me to stop or reconsider.
“How dedicated are you to finishing this game of golf?” I ask, subtly pressing my ass against him.
“All I want is a hole in one.”
Spinning around, I catch the grin on his lips. “That’s a terrible line.”
“Can’t win ’em all.” He laughs. “Ready to get out of here?”
“Depends on where we’re going.”
His gaze drags down my body, blazing a trail as he works his way back up to my eyes. Licking his lips, he takes the club out of my hands. “My house is closer.”
“What are we waiting for?”
Kallie
The door creaks as Cross twists the knob and presses it open. We enter, stepping into a little foyer that has dark hardwood floors and beige walls. He’s decorated the place sparsely, with few pictures and little else.
“Live here long?” I ask, looking at the three little images framed near the doorway to the living room. There’s one of him and Machlan on their high school graduation day, another of him and the Gibson boys at Bluebird Hill in the middle of winter. The last one is of himself, one hand raised in the air at a boxing match. “I remember that,” I tell him, pointing to the last one. “You won by knockout.”
“I did,” he says, placing a hand on my hip. “You were there, two rows up.”
“You were so good. I’d never seen anything like that before. So controlled, so careful.”
“So not like me every other minute of my life, huh?”
Turning to see him, I cup his cheek in my hand. “That’s what confused me so much. You were so talented, so cautious. Then outside the ring, you were the opposite.”
“In the ring,” he says, pulling his brows together, “someone cared. My trainer wouldn’t let me get by with crap or acting like an idiot, but outside of the ring, no one cared.”
“I cared.”
“Maybe a part of me thought you shouldn’t.”
“Maybe…maybe I should’ve cared more.”
“Oh, no,” he says, sweeping an arm under my legs and picking me up in a bridal carry. “We’re not going down that road.”
He carries me with ease, a teasing grin on his face as we walk down a blank hallway and into a room at the end. There’s a huge bed with silver-grey blankets and more pillows than any one person should ever need. Instead of laying me down easily, he tosses me into the center. I bounce as I hit, sending a few pillows toppling to the floor.
Everything smells like a mixture of his cologne and soap, a scent I could fall asleep and wake up to with no problem, a scent that reminds me of Cross. It’s a scent that warms my heart.
His phone begins to ring and he pulls it from his pocket. After a quick glance, he holds the side until it stops and then tosses it on a dresser. A few seconds later, he’s stretched out his long frame beside me.
“Was that important?” I ask as he rolls over on his side to look at me.
“Nope. Nothing is more important than you in my bed right now.” One hand rests against my stomach, just below my breasts. He tenses his fingers and they press lightly into my skin. “I’m going to kiss you.”
“It’s about time,” I tease, my breath coming out in ragged heaps.
“I’m warning you, because once I start, I won’t be able or willing to stop. It’s a very slippery slope.”
He’s giving me an out. I do a quick internal inventory, looking for a reason to get up and walk out. There’s nothing to warrant that, but there are a hundred reasons to reach over and wrap my hand along the back of his neck. I guide his head toward mine, and our lips touch.