Getting Schooled (Getting Some #1)(14)

And that’s how we started. That’s how we began.

That’s how we became us.

“Callie!”

Although I haven’t seen Garrett in years, I would know his voice anywhere—I hear it in my head all the time. So when my name bounces off the parking lot pavement in that rich, steady tone, I know right away who’s calling it.

“Hey—Callie!”

Garrett’s leaning out of a first-floor window on the east side of the high school. I wave, and my smile is instant and genuine.

He points at me. “Wait there.”

I wait. His head disappears from the window and a few moments later, he emerges from the door, jogging over to me with those long strides I remember so well, but on a fuller, more mature frame. My eyes recognize him, and so does my heart. It speeds up as he comes closer, pounding out a happy greeting inside my chest.

He’s smiling when he reaches me, that same, easy smile. Then he hugs me, envelops me in a warm, friendly embrace. His arms are bigger than I remember, but we fit together perfectly.

We always did.

My nose presses against the gray cotton of his Lakeside Lions T-shirt . . . and he smells the same.

Exactly the same.

I’ve dated many men through the years, artists and actors and businessmen, but not one of them ever smelled as fantastic as Garrett: a hint of cologne, and that clean, male, ocean scent.

And just like that, I’m sucked back to being seventeen again—standing in this parking lot after school. How many times did he hug me right here in this spot? How many times did he kiss me—sometimes quick and fleeting, sometimes slow, with longing, cradling my face in his large hands?

“Wow. Callie Carpenter. It’s good to see you.”

I tilt my head, gazing up into those same gorgeous eyes with the same pretty lashes.

It’s a strange sensation standing in front of someone you’ve loved deeply—someone who, once upon a time, you couldn’t imagine not seeing, not talking to every day. Someone who used to be the center of your whole world . . . that you just don’t know anymore.

It’s kind of like when I was eight and my Grandma Bella died. I stood next to her casket and thought, it’s her, Grandma, she’s right there. But the part of her that I knew, the part that made her who she was to me . . . that wasn’t there anymore.

That was forever changed. Forever gone.

I know a version of Garrett intimately, as well as I know myself. But do those intimate details still apply? Does he still like room-temperature soda with no ice? Does he still talk to the television when he watches a football game—like the players can hear him? Does he still fold his pillow in half when he sleeps?

“Garrett Daniels. It’s good to see you too. It’s been a long time.”

“Yeah.” He nods, his gaze drifting over my face. Then he smirks devilishly. “You just couldn’t stay away from me any longer, huh?”

I laugh out loud—we both do—because there he is.

That’s him . . . that’s the sweet, cocky boy I know.

“You look great.”

And, God, does he ever. Garrett was always cute, handsome, the kind of good-looking that would make teenage girls and middle-aged moms alike drool while watching him play football or mow the lawn shirtless.

But here, now—Man-Garrett? Oh, mama. There’s no comparison.

His jaw is stronger, more prominent and chiseled with a dusting of dark stubble. There are tiny, faint lines at the corners of his eyes and mouth that weren’t there before—but they only add to his handsomeness, making him look even more capable and adventurous. His shoulders and chest are broad, solid, and the muscles under his short-sleeved T-shirt are rippled and sculpted. His waist is tight, not an inch of bulge to be seen. His hips are taut and his legs powerful. The way he carries himself, the way he stands—head high, back straight and proud—it radiates that effortless confidence, the unwavering self-assurance of a man who takes charge.

Grown-up Garrett is knee-weakeningly, panty-incineratingly, H-O-T, double-fuck, hot.

“You look great too, Cal, as beautiful as ever. What’s going on? What are you doing here?”

I gesture in the direction of the principal’s office and stumble over my words, because I still can’t wrap my mind around it.

“I’m . . . getting a . . . job. Here. At Lakeside. I just met with Miss McCarthy . . . she really hasn’t changed at all, has she?”

“Nope. Still bat-shit crazy.”

“Yeah.” The wind picks up, whipping at my hair. I tuck the blond strands behind my ear. “So . . . I’m subbing for Julie Shriver—teaching her theater class. I’m staying with my parents for the year while they recuperate.”

His forehead furrows. “What happened to your parents?”

“Oh, God . . . You’re not going to believe it.”

“Try me.”

I feel my cheeks go pink and warm. But . . . it’s Garrett, so only the truth will do.

“My mother was giving my father a blow job on the way home from AC. He crashed into a ditch—breaking both their legs. One each.”

Garrett tilts his head back and chuckles. His laugh is smooth and deep. Then he sobers to a smartass grin. “Yeah, my brother already told me—I just wanted to hear you say it out loud.”

“Jerk.” I push at his chest, and it feels like warm stone beneath my fingers. “It’s so embarrassing.”