Getting Schooled (Getting Some #1)(49)

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

He leans down and kisses me, sucking at my bottom lip. “You taste like coffee.”

He tastes like mint and smells like . . . home.

“I made a pot.”

He leans back, watching me, eyes trailing over my face.

“Stop freaking out, Callie.”

“I’m not freaking out.”

“I can hear you freaking out, from here.” He tilts his head, his dark hair falling into his eyes. It’s not a cute-tilt, like Snoopy. It’s a sexy, hot-tilt . . . a manly-tilt. “The question is, why?”

I swallow and lift my chin and just . . . put it all out there.

“Am I Cancun?”

Garrett laughs. “What?”

“Am I that girl in Cancun . . . the one you do shots with, and go to clubs with, and have sex on the beach with . . . and then never see or think about ever again?”

He squints at me. “What the hell are you talking about? Were you drinking something else besides coffee?”

I shake my head and sigh.

“I’m not staying in Lakeside, Garrett.”

A shadow falls over his features. “I know that.”

“I have a life. A whole life in San Diego that I plan to get back to.”

“I know that too.” He reaches out, tracing my bottom lip with his thumb. “But for this year, your life is here.”

“And what happens when I go back to San Diego?”

“I . . . don’t know. But I know I want to figure it out. And we will, Cal, we’ll figure it out.”

Those are good answers. I like those answers. But I have to know, I want us to be clear—no misunderstandings or mistakes.

“What is this to you . . . what are we doing? What do you want?”

Garrett smiles that easy smile that makes me want to lick every single inch of his skin.

“This is . . . you and me . . . the reboot. We’ll talk and laugh, and fuck until we can’t move and probably fight at some point too. And we’ll . . . be.”

I reach for him. He releases my arms and rolls us to the side, my hands around his neck, my leg draped across his hip. “As for what I want . . . I want you, Callie. For as long as you’re here, for as long as you’ll let me have you. I want all of you.”





Chapter Fifteen


Garrett





On Monday, I start picking Callie up in the morning, so we can drive to school together. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before—all those post-fantastic-screwing endorphins pumping through my bloodstream must be giving me brilliant ideas. Although no one sees us pull into the parking lot or walk in together, by midmorning talk around the school hallways is already rampant. It’s like the kids can smell the attraction on us—nosy little bloodhounds. They whisper and point, and by Tuesday they ask me about it, because privacy and personal boundaries mean nothing to them.

Are you and Miss Carpenter hooking up?

Is Miss Carpenter your OTP?

Miss Carpenter’s hot, Coach. You gotta lock that down. Give a chick a mile and she’ll take the whole nine inches from somebody else, you know what I’m saying?

OMG, Coach D! You and Miss Carpenter should totally go to prom! It’s sooooo cute when old people date!

OTP is One True Pair, by the way . . . and I hate myself for knowing that.

By Wednesday, they invent one of those celebrity, name-mashing nicknames for us. “Darpenter,” Dean tells me, barely managing to keep a straight face.

I sit back in my office chair. “You’re screwing with me.”

He’s pulled some pretty twisted practical jokes in the past.

He holds up his empty hands. “Afraid not. Kelly Simmons told me it’s all over the girls’ bathrooms and Merkle said two of her art kids engraved it on keychains.”

“Keychains?”

“Yep, you and Callie are officially relationship goals.” He makes the hashtag sign with his fingers. “Congratulations.”

Then he cracks up.

“Great—thanks.”

Darpenter . . . sounds like a chemical you use to strip off paint.

“It could’ve been worse, D. Could’ve been . . . Carret.” He reconsiders, “Carret’s kind of cute, actually.”

I give him the finger.

“So it’s official then?” My best friend asks, sobering slightly. “You guys are giving it another shot? I’ve lost my wingman?”

All this time, all these years, when it comes to dating I’ve been fixated on keeping my life my own—keeping it uncomplicated and drama-free. But it’s different with Callie—so easy to slip into that steady groove because we mesh . . . seamlessly fit together. We always did. She knows me, she gets me—and there’s not a single thing about her that I don’t adore.

My life is still simple, still easy . . . but it’s just so much better with her in it.

“Yeah, man. I mean . . . it’s Callie, you know?”

And I don’t need to say anything else. Dean gets me too.

“I’m happy for you. I hope it works out . . .” Then he snickers, “. . . Gallie.”

Dickhead.



~



“You’re the only person I know who doesn’t eat fruit to be healthy, but actually enjoys it.”