Chapter 34
LENNON
T he loud blare of Caleb’s alarm wakes me up—long before I’m ready to be conscious. I roll over, smushing my face against the warm, hard planes of his chest.
“Morning,” he murmurs, running his fingers through my hair.
It feels amazing. I groan, both from the pleasure and the realization the rest of me feels awful.
I don’t drink and I don’t go to bed late.
Last night, I did both. Caleb and I didn’t come up to his bedroom until after two a.m. I think the last time I stayed up that late was our graduation party.
And I only had one drink and half of Caleb’s beer.
But since my alcohol tolerance might as well not exist, I’m pretty sure my dry mouth and pounding head means I’m hungover.
Caleb slides out from under me and climbs out of bed. I bury my face in his pillow, promising myself I’ll never drink or stay up past midnight again.
“Len.” Something nudges my elbow a little while later. If I didn’t feel so terrible, I’d probably be asleep.
I roll over reluctantly, blinking at the bright sun. Caleb is fully dressed, holding a sports drink out to me.
“It’ll help,” he promises. “Take this too.”
Caleb hands me a small white pill. I sit up to swallow it with the red liquid that tastes like cherries.
“You okay?” He takes a seat on the mattress, watching me with a mixture of concern and amusement.
I lean forward and into him. He smells so good. Like fresh laundry and soap. Clean and masculine. I snuggle into the curve of his neck, my lips brushing his throat.
“Yeah.” I sigh. “Just sleepy.”
But I’m awake. I suck at a spot on the side of his neck and Caleb goes rigid, like I electrocuted him. I move to another spot, and he exhales a harsh breath. “I have practice, baby. I’m already running late.”
I pull back and pout.
He grins. “You know, I was thinking I should never let you drink again. But if this is how you act in the morning, maybe I will.”
I finish the sports drink and set the empty bottle on the side table before falling back against the sheets. I’m not wearing anything under the T-shirt I pulled on last night, and I watch him realize that.
Beneath the hangover symptoms, I feel giddy.
This feels like such a normal morning, but it’s the first time we’ve woken up in bed together after attending a party the night before.
I’ve experienced a lot with Caleb, but this is a first. And frankly, something I never thought I would experience with him.
Caleb takes baseball very seriously. Every time we talked while he was at Mayfair this past summer, he was just coming back from the field, hours after the session had technically ended. I heard the background commentary on his end of the line, the jokes being made about all work and no play.
So, I’m expecting him to kiss me goodbye and head to practice.
Instead, he stands and tugs down his baseball pants, just low enough to free his growing erection. Caleb grins, probably at my shocked expression, then crawls over me.
We both moan when our bodies align, the hard press of him rubbing against sensitive skin.
“I’m already late. So this is going to be hard and fast, Matthews.” That’s all the warning I get, before he’s sliding inside.
Caleb hooks my right knee over his hip, spreading me open and sinking even deeper. Before I’ve fully adjusted to the new angle, he’s withdrawing and then stretching me again, hitting the magical spot that causes my mind to go completely blank.
His thrusts are relentless, building the pleasure higher and higher until it explodes.
I come with a loud cry and then he’s kissing me, muffling the moans with his mouth as I feel the warmth of his release fill me.
He keeps kissing me, even after we’ve both finished. It’s not until his phone begins buzzing that Caleb moves away, pulling out of me and climbing off the bed to zip up his pants.
I stay exactly where I am, sprawled on the mattress half-naked and completely content. I need to go to the bathroom and get cleaned up, especially now. But I soak in the sensation a little longer.
After years of feeling like I was letting Caleb down—living three hours away and never visiting, causing problems between him and his parents—I finally feel like I’m enough for him.
Caleb has never made me feel less, and reasonably, I know that it’s not my fault I needed to take care of Gramps or that my parents made certain no one in Landry would associate the name Matthews with anything positive.
But it still feels really good, to have Caleb looking at me like I’m his whole world and feel like maybe that’s exactly what I am.
He’s mine.
“I’ll talk to you later.” One final kiss, and then he’s gone.
I climb out of bed a few minutes later, stretching before I pull my clothes from last night back on. I’m glad I called Cassie for advice. This isn’t the outfit I would have picked out myself.
Walking downstairs is strange. I’ve never been in the baseball house before without Caleb.
Remains of the party are littered everywhere. I toss a few used cups into the trash as I pass through the living room.
My phone buzzes with a text.
Caleb: Left the truck keys on the counter .
I smile as I head into the kitchen. It hadn’t even occurred to me, until just now, that I had no way to get back to my dorm.
The keys are sitting on the counter, just like he said.
It’s still pretty early, but there are some signs of activity when I walk outside. There’s a middle-aged man walking a yellow lab across the street and a girl who looks to be my age jogging ahead on the sidewalk.
This isn’t the first time I’ve driven Caleb’s truck, but it’s the first time I’ve done so somewhere unfamiliar.
All the fancy features that are supposed to make it easier to drive just stress me out.
I have to turn on the car to adjust the seat electronically, and an alert begins beeping as soon as I back out of the driveway.
I clear out the oil change reminder and continue driving toward campus.
The first thing I do when I return to my dorm room is take a shower. I feel more like myself when I’m back in jeans and a T-shirt rather than a short skirt and lacy top.
Eric texts while I’m brushing my hair, letting me know he’s leaving and asking if he should pick me up. I reply, telling him I’ll meet him there.
I’ve only been downtown a couple of times before, but I find the tiny theater that showcases independent films easily. Eric is standing outside with two girls and one guy when I approach.
“Hey, Lennon!” Eric greets me with a wide grin.
“Hey, Eric. Hi, everyone.”
“Guys, this is Lennon,” Eric states. “Lennon, this is Amanda, Abby, and Joe.”
“Nice to meet you all,” I say.
Abby and Joe are holding hands, so I assume they’re a couple. Amanda’s sporting a friendly smile and a short bob.
“Nice to meet you, Lennon. Although Eric hasn’t shut up about you, so I sort of feel like I know you already,” Amanda teases, nudging Eric’s arm. His ears go red.
“Eric has been great,” I say, trying to alleviate his embarrassment. “It’s really nice to have someone to ask all my journalism department questions to.”
“Good job, Eric,” Abby says, grinning.
“The school should pay you for driving around the welcome wagon so well,” Joe adds.
I hide a smile. It usually takes me a while to warm up to strangers, but their light-hearted banter is easy to feel at ease among.
“So what made you choose Clarkson?” Amanda asks once we’re inside the theater, waiting for tickets. “Transferring for senior year must have been a hard decision.”
“Uh, yeah, it was,” I reply. “But my old school didn’t have a great journalism program. Plus, my boyfriend goes here, so that’s helped with the adjustment.”
I pretend I don’t see the disappointment flicker across Eric’s face.
“Oh, cool,” Amanda replies. “You should have brought him along.”
I’m tempted to laugh at the thought of Caleb sitting through the documentary we’re about to watch. If it’s not baseball or an action thriller, he couldn’t care less.
“Not really his thing,” I respond.
“Joe didn’t want to come either,” Abby says. “I basically dragged him along. Some feminist you are,” she tells her boyfriend.
“I am a feminist!” Joe insists. “I believe in equal rights. So much so I was going to support a women ’s sports event.”
Abby looks unimpressed. “You were going to stare at Sophie St. James, you mean.”
“Sophie St. James?” I repeat.
“She’s on the women’s soccer team. Looks like a supermodel. I have yet to encounter a guy on campus who doesn’t have a thing for her,” Amanda supplies.
“Oh.”
“It’s impossible to keep track of all the sports teams, but there are a few athletes you can’t help but hear about. Over and over again.” Amanda’s voice makes it clear she’s not an avid fan.
“Oh,” I say again.
We get our tickets and then head inside the dark theater. The documentary is engaging, splicing news coverage and reporter research on issues like healthcare, racial injustice, and voting rights. It’s the exact sort of work I’d love to be doing but never thought I’d be able to.
As much as I resent Landry’s elitism, I recognize it just represents one microcosm of society.
Big, important newspapers hire graduates from big, important universities.
I didn’t have a prayer of getting hired anywhere beside the Landry Gazette with a degree from Richardson Community College.
Like it or not—and I don’t—that’s simply the way the world works.
But now…I will be the graduate of big, important university.
And Matthews Farm sold.
I haven’t told Caleb yet. I found out right before his scrimmage yesterday. The realtor called to tell me. It sold for a mind-boggling amount of money. I’m rich , by most people’s measure. I’m no longer tied to Landry and I have the funds to live in a big city on a journalist’s salary.
I have options, and depending on where Caleb gets drafted, I also have decisions to make.