Prologue
I’ve been in love with Nate Riley since the seventh grade.
Maybe I was in love with him even before that, but it was during gym class when I was twelve, when he looked straight at me with those gorgeous deep blue eyes and proceeded to hit me with the dodge ball. Hard.
That was when I knew I had lost my heart. It was like he had strapped a piece of his own heart right to the red rubber ball and when it hit me, his heart collided with mine. From that day on, there was no one else for me.
Now, four years later, as my best friend, Emma, and I pull up to the address that Nate had scribbled on the back of his algebra homework for me—a piece of paper I vow never to destroy—I look up and see people funneling into the large house.
“I feel sick,” I say, as I press my face against the passenger window, trying to cool off my forehead on the glass.
“I don’t know what you are worried about, Lyn,” Emma says. “Nate is the one who asked you to the party. He already likes you.”
“He didn’t ask me, Emma, he told me about the party. Big difference.” I sigh.
“Whatever.” She rolls her eyes. “Telling you about a party is code for him wanting you to go so he can hang out with you. Don’t worry, he likes you. You’ll see.”
Emma is always so sure of herself. Maybe I would be too if I had a face that belonged on the cover of a fashion magazine. If I didn’t love her so much, I would hate her. But she is the sole reason I have made it this far in high school without jumping off a bridge.
I think that if we didn’t live next door to each other and hadn’t become blood sisters—actual slicing of skin and rubbing hands together blood sisters—when we were eight years old, then we wouldn’t even be friends. After all, I’m in the band and the science club, and she, well let’s just say she hasn’t ever had to carry her own books around school. Since kindergarten.
My heart skips a beat when I spot him by the front door as we pass the driveway in search of a place to park. He’s standing with some friends, Jake and Brian I think, from the baseball team.
He’s looking around at the faces that are passing him by as newcomers enter the party. He keeps shifting from one foot to the other like he has to pee. His right hand comes up to run his fingers through his dirty-blonde hair that curls up slightly at his collar and looks like he just rolled out of bed, but at the same time, perfect.
Sigh. If I didn’t know better, I would think he is nervous. Then again, the guy is a gorgeous baseball player and a senior on the varsity team with tons of colleges scouting him, so what could he possibly have to be nervous about?
Emma finds a spot to park a few houses down. “Ready?” She shuts off the engine and looks over at me.
“No . . . yes . . . no,” I vacillate.
“Maybe this will help.” She grins a Cheshire Cat smile as I see her hand reach under the seat and come up with a couple of those tiny bottles of liquor you see people drink on airplanes in the movies.
“What is that?” My eyes go wide and the surprised look on my face makes her crack up.
“Hmmm.” She looks them over ceremoniously. “Whiskey, scotch, vodka . . . does it really matter? They will all taste like crap but will get the job done.”
“Uh, what job is that?” I raise my eyebrows at her.
“The one that gets you to loosen up so you can talk to that sexy hunk of a baseball player without tripping all over yourself.”
This girl knows me all too well.
She hands me one and says, “Together, on the count of three?” Like we are about to grasp hands and leap off a bridge or something. Well, maybe we are. We’ve never done this before in all of our seventeen years.
I nod my head at her. “One . . . two . . . three . . . ” I hold my nose and drink back the liquid that I can only describe as tasting like gasoline—on fire.
After what seems like minutes of making faces that I pray no boy will ever see me make, I cry, “Ewww!” I look over at Emma to see her self-satisfied grin. What? Why isn’t she making hideous faces, too?
“You don’t really think I’m stupid enough to drink when I’m driving tonight, do you?”
“So, all of this was just for me?” I narrow my eyes at her, wanting to be mad but kind of in love with her a little more for being so damn responsible.
“Here.” She shoves the other bottle in my face. “Have this one, too. Just don’t drink much more at the party or you could end up throwing up all over Nate instead of sucking his face.”
I roll my eyes at her and reluctantly drink the second tiny bottle, which seems to taste even nastier than the first since I knew what to expect this time.
“At least give me a mint or something so I don’t smell like an alcoholic after that.”
She reaches into her bag and tosses one over to me. I stick my tongue out at her as I exit the car. Then we head back down the sidewalk towards the party. A minute later, I feel all warm and tingly inside and I wonder if it is the alcohol or my nerves.
I glance around as we approach the house and see that everyone has gone inside with the exception of two girls who are sitting on railroad ties by the front porch, both holding a cigarette. At least I hope that’s what they are holding. I wouldn’t want to be at that kind of party.
Going through the front door, it doesn’t take us long to locate Nate and his friends as most people have gathered around the large, open kitchen where there is a keg of beer.
You know how they say that when you get into an accident you see your life flash before your eyes? Well, the second my eyes find his and he smiles at me, I am walking up a flower-lined aisle, then holding a strong hand while beautiful dirty-blonde-haired children run around a meadow, then rocking in chairs on a porch, gliding gently while wrinkled fingers intertwine.
Wow, what just happened?
I take a peek at Emma next to me who is, graciously, pretending she doesn’t notice me blatantly staring and quite possibly drooling over the most perfect person ever placed on Earth.
She shrugs with a smug little expression on her face and nudges me forward with such force that I practically fall into Nate’s arms.
Correction, I fall directly into Nate’s arms.
“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry,” I say to him.
I can only assume a blood-red blush is creeping up my face as I send a nasty glance back at Emma, who is faking a whistle while looking anywhere but at me.
“It’s quite all right, Brooklyn,” he says, in a strong, raspy voice that is far too sexy for a seventeen-year-old.
Then he does a fist bump with his friend, who walks away shaking his head and smiling, leaving me alone with Nate.
“Call me Lyn.” I try to gather my composure like I didn’t literally just fall at his feet.
“But Brooklyn is such a cool name,” he says. “It’s so original. There are tons of Lyn’s but I’ve never known a Brooklyn before.”
Right this second, I decide I love my given name that has always sounded nothing but pretentious to me and that only gets used by my mother.
“So, Brooklyn,” he says, “can I get you a drink and maybe we could hang out and talk?” He raises his eyebrows awaiting my answer.
“Uh, I guess I’ll have a beer.” I eye his red cup half-filled with his own. “Let me tell my friend, Emma, where I’ll be.”
Looking around the room, I catch her watching my every move. She mouths, “I’ll be right over here if you need me,” pointing to where the rest of the baseball team has congregated.
How can she do that, just walk up and become part of a conversation without even trying? I nod my head at her and look back at Nate.
“I’ll be right back.” He winks, actually winks. I think I just melted a little. “You can make yourself comfortable on the couch if you want to.” He walks the short distance over to the keg.
I watch a couple of girls come up to him while he is getting my beer. They try to engage him in conversation but he looks back at me, smiles sweetly and gives me a slight raise of the chin. Damn it, he caught me looking. Again. I can’t help myself.
I look around to see who is at the party. I’m not surprised to find that, although there are familiar faces everywhere, Emma is my one-and-only actual friend here.
I’ve always been what most people call a band geek. I play the flute, which is not easy to do with braces by the way. I love to bake, which is about as un-sexy as it gets, and I run alone almost every day. I run to work off all those calories I eat when I bake and also, it clears my head.
Nate and I don’t exactly hang around in the same circle of friends which is why I’m probably so nervous being here. I am totally out of my element.
“Here you go.” He pulls me back from my thoughts. “Don’t drink it too fast. And don’t take a drink from anyone but me or your friend, Emma, okay?”
Oh, he’s trying to protect me, that’s nice. But what if he put something in my drink? Not that he would have to go to such extremes to be with me. I’m his for the taking.
Uh, wait . . . where did that come from? Would I really be with him, I mean, do it, like, for real? I think if he calls me Brooklyn with that sexy voice of his one more time, I would do just about anything with him.
Over the next hour or so, he tells me about baseball and his dream to play in the major leagues. He tells me a little about his dad, who is an architect, and his mom, who owns a small boutique and spa on the other side of Savannah.
But mostly, he asks about me and what I like to do and where I see myself going in life.
I don’t know if it is the alcohol or the fact that we seem to be hitting it off, but I feel compelled to tell him about my dream.
“I know it’s silly, but one day I see myself opening a small bakery right here in Savannah.” I look over at him with trepidation and see that he not only doesn’t laugh at me, but his mouth is hanging open slightly as he contemplates something.
“You’re kidding, right?” he questions. “Or are you just messing with me?”
Huh? Now he’s lost me. “Messing with you how?”
He studies my face. “You really don’t know that before every home game, I have to stop by that bakery on Fifth Street to get a red velvet cupcake?”
He scrunches his nose just a bit which is freaking adorable, then chews on a fingernail while awaiting my response.
“Umm . . . no. How would I possibly know that?” I ask.
“Yeah, I guess you wouldn’t,” he acquiesces.
He goes on to explain how lots of baseball players are superstitious and that two years ago he pitched a no-hitter after eating one of those red velvet cupcakes. So now, he has to do it every time. Every. Single. Time. Or he will lose his edge. “Now who’s the silly one?” He sighs.
He’s waiting for me to laugh. Or say something in response.
“No, it’s not silly. I do the same thing when I have a solo.” I shake my head. “Well, not eat a cupcake, but I have this thing I do. It’s stupid I know, but I twist my hair like this.”
I show him how I get a thick chunk of hair by my right ear and twist it until it looks like a wrung towel. Then I add, “I have to do it five times. I think it’s the counting and doing something with my fingers that relieves the tension or some psycho-babble like that.”
“Wow! We’re two of a kind then.” He smiles a gorgeous smile that is all teeth as he reaches out to touch my arm gently.
I could swear sparks ignite on my skin at the very place that he is touching me.
“And I’ve heard you play a few times when the team walked by the auditorium. You are really good. Great, in fact,” he says with . . . pride?
He’s heard me play?
Somehow we have managed to inch a little closer to each other over the course of our conversation and now his thigh is touching mine. I can feel the heat from his skin right through our clothes, and it’s making me feel even more tingly than the stuff Emma made me drink earlier.
Since I don’t pull away, he leans into me a little more and places his hand on my leg, a little above my knee, over my skirt, but not too far up on my thigh. I can’t pull my eyes away from his hand on my leg.
Nate Riley has his hand on my leg. Nate, hot-and-sexy-senior-baseball-hero, is rubbing little circles on my leg with his thumb sending twinges of electricity right to my core.
“Is this okay?” he questions when he finds me so obviously staring at that large, calloused, tan hand of his.
Is this okay? Don’t move that hand. Ever!
“Okay, but when I kiss you later, I might have to move it around to your back or something.” He smirks.
Holy crap, did I say that out loud?
I could die from embarrassment.
Uh, hello? Did he just say he’s going to kiss me later?
“Brooklyn . . . ,” he whispers, all hot and breathy into my ear, and that’s it, I’m dead. I’ll do anything for this boy. I hold my breath and wait to see what he says next.
“Lyn!” I practically jump off the couch when I hear Emma call my name right behind me.
Wait, what was he going to whisper in my ear? Damn, Emma! If she would have waited two seconds . . .
“Huh?” I look up at her with my what-the-hell-could-possibly-be-so-important-that-you-interrupted-me-while-Nate-was-whispering-in-my-ear look.
“I’m so sorry to do this to you but I have to go pick up my mom. Her car broke down and she can’t reach my dad on his cell. I would bring you, but with my two-seater it would be really cramped and kind of illegal.”
She looks at Nate but continues talking to me. “I guess I could come back by and pick you up after I go get her and take her home. But I would hate for you to miss curfew because of me.”
“Um . . . ,” Nate interjects, “why don’t I just drive you home later, Brooklyn? I’ve only had one beer all night and it would be kind of a waste of gas for Emma to drive all over town and then come back and get you.”
I look up at Emma and see her visibly exhale the breath she was holding in. “That would be so nice of you, Nate.” She smiles. “Lyn, you okay with that?”
She stares me down and I know better than to argue with that look. I begin to question whether or not her mom really has a situation.
“I guess.” I look at Nate. “Only if you’re sure. I mean, I don’t mind waiting around for Emma.”
I immediately curse myself for giving him an out. Why would I want to do anything to jeopardize alone time with Nate Riley?
Please say you’re sure, please say you’re sure.
“Yes, I’m sure, Brooklyn.” He smiles sincerely and now I’m both nervous and excited to spend another few hours with him.
I hug Emma goodbye and whisper in her ear, “I will so get you back for this.” But what I really mean is, ‘Thank you.’
Shortly after Emma leaves, the party starts to get out of hand. Someone falls over and breaks a table. A few girls are getting really drunk and suggesting strip poker. I am so uncomfortable here.
Why did I agree to stay without the one person who can handle all of this? I’m about to get up and use the phone to try and get Emma back here when Nate leans over and says, “Brooklyn, this is getting kind of crazy, do you want to leave and go for a drive?”
Thank you.
~ ~ ~
We drive around town and talk for a while. I’m surprised at how much we have to talk about given we are so different.
Turns out, we have the same taste in music; we both like scary movies; we both must dip our fries in a chocolate milkshake; but most importantly, we both hate Mr. Goodwin, the advanced biology teacher who never looks at you when he talks, and who apparently doesn’t believe in wearing deodorant. We laugh telling stories about him and some of the other teachers that he had last year and I have this year.
He takes me for ice cream and pays.
Is this a date?
Then he asks if it is okay if we head down towards The Bend. The Bend is a secluded place where kids sometimes hang out late at night. It is along the Little Black River, just this side of the South Carolina border.
There is a place where the river curves around like a hairpin, thus it earned the name The Bend. I’m not even sure it is officially named that or if some kids just made it up. All I know is that legendary things have happened there and I’m about to go there with none other than the gorgeous captain of the baseball team.
We pull into the small makeshift gravel lot to see the place devoid of other cars. He looks around at the empty lot. “We can leave if you aren’t comfortable being out here alone.”
What, is he crazy? That’s exactly why I want to stay!
“No, it’s okay, we can stay.”
“Good.” He smiles. “Because I’ve been dying to kiss you all night.”
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