Getting Schooled (Getting Some #1)(29)

“Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear . . .”

We fly across the median, with green and brown grass clipping, bursting around us and clinging to the windshield. And then we’re on the northbound side, heading the wrong way into three lanes of oncoming traffic.

Holy shit, I’m gonna die . . . .to an Eddie Money song.

How fucked up is that?

I’m not ready to go. There’s too much I didn’t get to do.

And at the very top of that list is: kiss Callie Carpenter again.

Not just once, but dozens, hundreds of more times. Touching her again. Holding her. Telling her . . . there’s so many fucking things I want to tell her.

If I don’t make it out of here alive . . . that will be my biggest regret.

In a hail of screeching brake pads and swerving tires we make it across the highway without being smashed to smithereens by another car. We dip and bounce jarringly over the grassy gully beyond the shoulder and finally roll to a stop in a thick line of bushes.

I breathe hard, looking around—fucking floored that we didn’t die.

Well . . . I didn’t die. Holy shit, did Old Mrs. Jenkins die?

I turn towards her hoping she’s not spiraling into a stroke or heart attack. “Are you all right?”

With almost Zen-like calm, she pats my hand on her shoulder. “Yes, Connor, I’m all right.” Then she shakes her head, thoroughly disgusted. “God damn geese.”



~



Almost dying really changes your perspective.

There’s no quicker way to light a big, blazing fire under your ass than almost biting the bullet. So, as soon as the paramedics check out Mrs. Jenkins, just to be safe, and I talk to the state troopers, fill out a report, see Mrs. Jenkins back home again, and get back into my own car, I only have one thought in mind.

Only one place I’m going.

Only one person who matters to me, in this moment.

I’m out of the car in front of Callie’s parents’ house before I even get it in park. I jog across their front lawn, pull open the screen door, and knock on the oak one. And I don’t stop, until it opens.

And then she’s there. Standing blond and beautiful in the doorway, the scent of roses and vanilla surrounding her. It’s what my youth, what love, smells like. Her smile is sweet and a surprised sparkle shines in those green eyes . . . the ones I want to drown in all over again.

“Garrett . . . I was just—”

This time, I don’t hesitate. I don’t wait.

I step closer, wrap my arms around her and kiss her with everything I am, and everything I ever was.

Her mouth is so fucking warm, and soft—new and familiar all at the same time. Callie’s lips move with mine, pliant but eager. And that connection, that bond, that live-wire spark that was always there between us flares up again, bright and strong. I cup her jaw in my palm, stroking her smooth cheek with my thumb, leaning in closer, tasting her deeper.

And I was right. She tastes even better—like warm honey, melted sugar.

Slowly, savoringly, I ease out of the kiss, brushing my lips against hers one last lingering time. Callie’s eyes are closed, our foreheads are pressed together, and our breaths are the same—harsh and needy.

“Did you think of me?”

Her eyes open slowly, blinking up at me in that way that makes me want to kiss her again—and then do a hell of a lot more than kiss.

“What?”

“All those years, all this time, did you think of me? Because I thought of you, Callie, every fucking day. I would hear a song or pass a spot in town and some perfect memory of us would come back. And I would wonder where you were . . . how you were . . . and I would think of you . . . every single day.”

She doesn’t close her eyes, she meets my gaze head on, wets her lips with her small pink tongue—and nods.

“I would hear you in my head, whenever I needed you . . . and sometimes for no reason at all. And I would think of you, all the time.”

And there it is—that same feeling I get on the field after a really great play—the thrilling, electric excitement of being exactly where I’m supposed to be, doing exactly what I was born to do.

“I missed you,” I whisper. “I didn’t even know how much . . . until you came back.”

She smiles, her eyes going shiny with wetness. Because Callie’s a crier . . . happy or sad, sometimes both at the same time . . . she always was.

“I missed you too, Garrett.”

And she doesn’t hesitate either. She reaches up, clasps her arms around my neck, and kisses me hot and hard and wet, with years’ worth of wanting. It’s almost a full-on make-out session right there on Callie’s parents’ front step. Her fingers slide through my hair, and my hands skim down her arms, gripping her waist, pulling her closer, rediscovering the feel of her.

The feel of us.

And we feel spectacular.





Chapter Ten


Callie





High school parking lots are one of the most dangerous places on earth. I don’t have statistics to back that up, but I know it’s true.

I pull into the school parking lot Monday morning in my dad’s giant, newly repaired mint-green Buick, with “Back in Black” by AC/DC blasting from the speakers. I feel tough, powerful—like I’m driving a tank.