The Coincidence of Callie and Kayden(22)

I pick the dirt out of my cracked fingernails. “It’s a good way to relax.”

His eyes scan my body from my toes to my face and my cheeks heat. “You look too tiny to be a kick boxer. I can’t picture those little legs of yours being able to do very much damage.”

If I were braver, I would challenge him to a match right here, just to prove him wrong.

I angle my chin up to the sky and place my hand in front of my eyes to block out the brightness of the sunlight. “I don’t do it for sport, just for fun. It’s a good way to… I don’t know…” I trail off because the rest is too personal.

“To take your inner anger out,” he says it more to himself than me.

I nod. “Yeah, kind of.”

“You know what?” He looks at me with a smile expanding at his full lips. “The next time you go, you should call me. My coach, who’s kind of a dick compared to your dad, has been hounding me to get into better shape. Then you can show me how much damage that little body of yours can do. I’ll even tone it down and give you a chance to pin me down.”

I bite on my lip to keep from smiling. “Alright, but I don’t go that often.”

“Only when you feel like kicking some ass?” he teases with a crook of his eyebrow.

My lips twitch to a tiny smile. “Yeah, something like that.”

He turns sideways so he’s facing me and crisscrosses his legs. “Okay, I have another question. I actually just remembered this. I think it was back in fifth grade and your family was over at my house for one of those stupid barbeques my dad has every Super Bowl. Somehow a collector football disappeared from my dad’s display case and everyone thought it was my brother Tyler that did it, because he was acting weird, but really he was just wasted. But I swear to f*cking God I saw you walking out to your car with it under your shirt.”

I tuck my feet under my butt as I cover my hands over my face. “My brother told me to do that. He said if I stole it for him he wouldn’t tell my mom that I was the one who broke one of her silly little collector unicorns.” I pause and it gets really quiet. Finally, I work up the courage to peek between the cracks in my fingers. “I’m really sorry.”

He scrutinizes me and then a slow smile forms on his face. “Callie, I’m just messing with you. I don’t care if you did it. In fact, it’s kind of funny.”

“No, it’s not,” I say. “It’s horrible. I bet your brother got into trouble.”

“Nah, he was eighteen.” He draws my hand away from my face. “And when my dad started being a douche, he just left.”

“I feel like a douche. I think my brother still has it in his room. I should make him give it to you.”

“No way.” He’s still holding my hand as he guides my arm toward my knees. I’m very aware of his fingertips touching my wrist right above my hammering pulse and I’m conflicted on whether or not to pull away. “My dad can go without some of his shit.”

“Are you sure?” I can’t take my eyes off his hand on my arm. “I swear I can give it back.”

He laughs softly and then his fingers graze the inside of my wrist, causing my entire body to shiver. “I promise. No harm, no foul.”

“I’m really sorry,” I repeat.

He looks at me with this strange expression, like he’s conflicted about something. He licks his lips and then presses them together, holding his breath.

I’ve often wondered what a guy would look like when he was about ready to kiss me. Would it be the same as my first and only kiss; a glimmer of conquer blazing within the pupils? Or would it be something else entirely different? Something less terrifying? Filled with more passion and desire?

Turning back to the cliff, he frees my wrist and his hand begins to tremor. He flexes it, elongating his fingers and letting out a sigh.

“What’s wrong with your hand?” I ask, struggling to maintain a steady voice. “Did you hurt it climbing up?”

He balls it into a fist and places it on his lap. “It’s nothing. I just broke a few bones a while ago and it gets that way sometimes.”

“Does it effect how you play?”

“Sometimes, but I can handle it.”

I stare at the scars on his knuckles, remembering the night when they were split open. “Can I ask you a question?”

He stretches out his legs and leans back on his hands. “Sure.”