Boys Like You(25)

“I’m not one of them,” she retorted.

I followed her, the grin still on my face.

She didn’t say anything else until we hopped up the steps onto her Gram’s porch. Here the shade was a bit cooler, but it was still nearing 100 degrees. I bet we could have tossed a few eggs onto the bottom step and the sun would have fried them in less than a minute.

“I’ll be five minutes or so if you want to come inside?”

“Nah,” I said. “I’m dirty. I’ll just wait for you out here.”

And then she was gone.

I stared down at my filthy work boots for a few seconds and then yanked them off, pulling out sandals from my bag. My T-shirt was pretty much drenched with sweat, and my hair was a crazy mess that stuck to my neck. Shit, maybe my dad was right and it was time for me to cut it the hell off.

I tore my shirt off and found an old baseball jersey that was wrinkled as all shit but at least it didn’t smell.

I’d just slicked back my hair when the door slammed open and Monroe appeared with a beat-up green cooler and some towels.

“Gram made us lunch.”

I was on my feet and took the cooler as Mrs. Blackwell followed her granddaughter onto the porch.

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“Good afternoon, Nathan.”

“Hey, Mrs. Blackwell. I hope you don’t mind I’m heading out early, but it’s hotter than a— ” I thought better of cursing in front of Mrs. Blackwell and stopped myself just in time.

“That’s fine, Nathan. Monroe says you’ve finished painting the fence around the family plot?”

“It’s all done.”

“Wonderful. And when are you starting on the main house?”

“Tomorrow, I think. My uncle needed to order some mate-rials before we could start rebuilding posts that are rotted on the porch.”

“Good.” She paused and I shifted as she changed gears.

“Where exactly are you taking my granddaughter?”

Her eyes were on me, focused and intense.

“I was thinking we could head out to Baker’s Landing.”

Baker’s Landing was on my grandparents’ land. It had the coldest, freshest, spring-fed water for swimming in the area, and on a day like today was the best place to cool off. I used to go out there a lot with Trevor and the guys, but so far this summer, I hadn’t been once.

“There won’t be any drinking.”

“No, ma’am.”

Mrs. Blackwell nodded. “All right, Monroe. But I expect you back for supper.” With one last smile, she left us alone on the porch.

“You ready?” I said to Monroe as I headed down the steps. I got to the bottom before I realized that she hadn’t followed.

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“Anything wrong?” I asked carefully, wondering how I’d screwed this up already.

She played with soft pink straps that were tied behind her head and I realized she’d changed into a bathing suit when she’d been inside. “Will there be anybody else there?”

“I doubt it.”

“I don’t believe you.”

I was quiet for a second, and then I got it.

“Rachel won’t be there, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Well, if she is, I’m leaving. I don’t want to get in the middle of your crap.”

“There is no middle, Monroe. There’s no me and Rachel, not anymore. There’s nothing.”

She didn’t answer but slipped into the driver’s seat and fired up the old Crown Vic. For the first time in a long time, I realized I was looking forward to something and it was all because of the girl inside the car.

The girl with the gray/green eyes.

The girl with secrets and pain and something inside her that felt familiar. It was something that was close to what was buried inside my chest. Inside my head and heart.

And I thought that, for the first time since the accident, I didn’t feel so alone.

And that was nice for a change.

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Chapter Thirteen


Monroe


There wasn’t a soul at Baker’s Landing.

Not one person or dog or even a bird flying around. There was nothing except a hot breeze, beautiful oak trees, an inviting grassy knoll near the water, and the most picturesque pond I’d ever seen. Seriously. It looked like something out of a Nicolas Sparks movie, and I half expected a bunch of white swans to float by at any minute.

Or maybe Ryan Gosling rowing his boat like he’d done in The Notebook, looking so hot and yummy and sweaty…

Kind of like Nate.

I watched him as he walked toward the water, Gram’s cooler in his hand, while the sun haloed him, giving him a surreal kind of look.

He moved like an athlete, long easy strides, and I could totally picture him on the football field, running plays and doing it really well. I thought that, if I lived around here, maybe I would go to his games. You know, if I liked football.

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