24. A Little Love Goes A Long Way
A LITTLE LOVE GOES A LONG WAY
SUTTON
Ishould not make a habit of lying to Lake Capitano.
One, she scares me. Two, there’s no doubt in my mind that she’ll reel the truth out of God knows where if given the right incentive.
My lie is harmless, though. I’m doing this for her own good.
The woman doesn’t take a day off work, probably hasn’t gotten enough Vitamin D in weeks—the sun, not my dick—and has been living off a sad diet of protein bars and whatever prepackaged monstrosity they’re now carrying in the campus-wide vending machines.
I don’t want to say that we’re officially together, but we’re getting pretty fucking close. I don’t know what she wants out of this arrangement. I should openly communicate my feelings toward her. Yeah, that seems like a smart plan of action.
I want the deeper connection. I want the stupid labels that shouldn’t be a big deal in hindsight but are. We—we fucked in a locker room, for crying out loud.
And yes, it was the best sex I’d ever had. Not because we were humping against the lockers like horny teenagers back in high school, but because we were both so responsive when it came to one another. We’re both satisfiers. We don’t have a good time unless our partner is having a good time.
Am I worried about accidentally knocking her up?
No…yes? I don’t know, it’s never happened with any other girl before.
And before Lake, there weren’t many of them.
Short-lived talking stages here and there, sure, but nothing of substance.
I don’t actively seek out relationships.
A lack of effort on my part, but one that I can deduce has saved me from a multitude of terrible people.
It takes a lot to unleash a one-woman demolition team who can knock all my guards down, but when Lake wants something, she won’t stop until she gets it.
“You said Coach Lawson wanted to talk to me about my most recent article?” she repeats, sitting next to me in my Jeep with her hands steepled in her lap and a nervous bounce to her leg.
“It’s nothing bad!” I quickly save, though I think I’m a little late to the reassurance party. “He, uh, had a suggestion or something. Don’t know. The guy was very vague.”
“And he couldn’t wait to tell me on Monday? It’s Saturday.”
Shit. She’s on to me. She knows something is up. I can’t freak out. I have to stay calm. STAY CALM, DUDE.
Stomach turning like a backed-up cement mixer, I urgently crank the air conditioner up to cool the beads of sweat on my forehead.
If it wasn’t for the road’s unfilled potholes jittering the car each time—an actual safety hazard the town board reduced to an everyday nuisance—I’d wonder if she could hear my heart sprinting against my ribs.
“Right…okay.” Her tone possesses the tiniest shred of skepticism as she squints her eyes at me, though some of the tension does ease from her shoulders.
I like to think of myself as a pretty romantic guy, and I wanted to plan a date that would make her feel special.
The movies are a cop-out, a coffee shop is a bit too underwhelming for my liking, a hike is suspicious and definitely some form of cruel and unusual punishment, and if I told her to wear something nice, she’d sniff out the truth.
So, employing the single combined brain cell between me and my friends, we came up with the perfect idea. Knox suggested a picnic, and Crew suggested stargazing for when it gets darker. It’s low energy, and it’s intimate.
I packed all the necessities—probably too much, but better safe than sorry.
A fresh fruit platter that could be featured in a gourmet magazine, artisanal lemonade from this upscale grocery store down the street, a charcuterie board with an array of spicy pepperoni, homemade sourdough, and espresso lavender cheese, my famous chocolate chip cookies, and two massive prosciutto sandwiches for the main course.
So much has happened in the span of a few days—the Mustangs are going to the Frozen Four.
I’ve been training for this for months. I’ve known Lake for months.
She’s been writing articles about the team for months.
Realistically, we were only supposed to work with the school newspaper for a month or two, but that was before we made it to the national championship.
Now her boss has instructed her to cover the championship games.
All this good luck just gives me an excuse to spend more time with her, and that’s the biggest win of all.
I periodically glance over at her as she leans her head against the passenger window, staring out of the glass. Her face is rictus except for the way her teeth toy with her bottom lip. She’s still on high alert.
Maybe I should just tell her that I’m kidnapping her for the day. She won’t be mad, right? I mean, she did tell me she was free. I did anything a sane, levelheaded person would do: I planned a whole day just for her.
I’m about to spew my not-so-secret game plan when Lake’s stomach grumbles audibly and she sighs.
I immediately launch into fix-it mode. “You’re not eating enough,” I tell her bluntly, though my delivery could’ve used some consideration.
She slowly side-eyes me with a muted anger that’s usually reserved for opinionated boyfriends. Her voice fractures a register while she probably imagines biting my head off in the middle of driving. “Now you’re keeping tabs on my eating habits?”
“No, I’m sorry. That came out wrong. I…”
Sensing that I just stumbled into a metaphorical thicket of bad decisions, I pop open the center console as an apology, imploring her to look over and see the emergency stash of pink Starbursts I’ve been hoarding for a moment just like this.
Her eyes widen. “Where the hell is all your stuff?”
I ignore her question. “They may not be nutritious, but at least it’s enough to hold you over until we get—”
Oh, fuck.
Suddenly, Lake sits up straight, straining against her seatbelt. She’s like a fearful little cat that just realized we’re heading to the vet instead of the Starbucks drive-thru for a kitty cup. “Get where, Sutton?”
Her tone is surprisingly calm considering I just popped the thin membrane of our fantasy.
“Um.” The nerves in my gut have a vendetta against me.
DO NOT RUIN THE SURPRISE.
“Where are you taking me, Sutton?” she presses again, glaring at me with unblinking eyes, looking more murderous than she usually does.
Hah, I’m very much in danger right now.
I miss the exit for the college. She notices I miss the exit for the college.
“It’s a surprise?” I offer weakly.
“A surprise?”
Luckily for me, the clearing I’ve scouted for our date is only a few more minutes down the road. I don’t really know what kind of reverse psychology she’s subconsciously thumbtacked into my brain, but my anxiety lets like blood from my body.
I lay my scruples to rest in an unmarked grave. You know, considering I practically kidnapped her.
“I promise this will be better than having to work on your article. You deserve a break, and I doubt you would’ve taken one if I’d suggested it,” I coax.
Lake opens her mouth to discredit my statement before slamming it shut.
She knows I’m right. She doesn’t stand still in one place for very long, and I don’t hold it against her.
I think she feels like she constantly has to be working to make up for her mother’s lack of effort.
She’s going to burn out, and it’s my unofficial duty to make sure that doesn’t happen.
An indignant frown drips from her lips. “Pish, I would’ve taken a break. I love breaks. I love not being productive and letting my responsibilities pile up.”
“Mm-hm,” I mumble, unconvinced.
A copse of trees accelerates in my periphery as we near our destination, my warmhearted yet annoyingly persistent disposition wearing down the invisible stones of worry on Lake’s shoulders.
Protectiveness curls in my belly when I toss a fleeting glance her way, and she unwraps an emotional support Starburst before popping it into her mouth.
She taps her foot restlessly against the floorboard of the car, and I reach out to squeeze her knee. “If you don’t have fun within the first ten minutes, I’ll take you back home, okay? I just want you to enjoy yourself.”
I see the first hint of a half smile debut on her face, and it’s not a parody to simply please me. Her leg stops its violent onslaught against the edge of her seat as her factory setting reboots itself.
Either she waves the white flag because she knows I’m right and arguing would be pointless, or she’s slowly starting to believe that she deserves more than strict deadlines and stress-sleep night sweats. “I’m sure I’ll love it. And thank you for the Starbursts.”
“Anytime.”
When we round the corner into our own designated safe haven, she practically glues her face to the side of the window, whispering in awe at the beauty of nature’s alcove.
A dense tree line separates us from the rest of the world, wrapping around a small, wildflower-littered meadow that seems untouched by the greater public.
It’s quiet, peaceful, and there’s not a single soul for miles.
I try not to fluff my feathers at the prospect of metaphorically holding the title for best date planner, though it feels fucking fantastic to watch Lake’s grumpy expression smooth over in real time.
She jumps out of the car as soon as I kill the engine, letting a gust of clean, undiluted air fill the interior of the space, further confirming my theory that this vacuum-sealed utopia has flown under the radar of many wanderlust travelers.
No exhaust, no smog, no inexplicable greasy sheen over everything humans have ruined.
When I duck out of my side door, I hear the faintest babble of a brook somewhere to my left, most likely hidden away in a moss-felted recess of river stones—packed earth and plant fragments used as spackle for the underdeveloped spaces.