“I taught her,” Emory explains, shrugging. “She’s right, she’s pretty good. I’d rather see her drive herself than be someone else’s passenger. Uh, no offense, Reyn. You know how it is, can’t help it.”
I nod back. “I get it.”
Mr. Hall intervenes, “This is something we can discuss later.”
But I already know from the look on Vandy’s face that she’s going to win. Not because she’ll be eighteen in four months and won’t need their permission for anything, but because I was right. My girl knows what she wants.
And she’s not afraid to fight for it.
Not anymore.
On Wednesday morning, I wait for her at my Jeep, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes. Even begging off school and sleeping most of the day yesterday, I’m still working off a massive sleep deficit. It probably didn’t help that I’d been up late, video chatting with Vandy. At this point, sneaking through her window would be a stupid move. Beyond stupid. So we’re resigned to settling.
A sane person would have skipped school again to catch up on sleep, but then that sane person probably isn’t on thin ice with the administration for being arrested over the weekend. That sane person also probably isn’t dating Vandy Hall, because the sight of her in her uniform skirt tends to make me feel the exact opposite of sane. I prod my sore lip with my tongue as I watch her come toward me, my eyes dragging down to catch a glimpse of the skin beneath her hemline. The way her eyebrow quirks when she drops her bookbag on the driveway tells me she knows.
“Hey,” I say, reaching out to tug the waist of her skirt.
She falls into the space between my legs without hesitation, winding her arms around my neck, and if I start every day with her looking up at me like that—head tilted, smiling, eyes shining—then I’ll never get tired of it. “Your bruises look better today,” she notes, eyes tracking over my face.
I wrap my arms around her waist, trying not to feel nervous about the public display. The driveway is a lot more private than Preston will be. “Emory still looks like shit though, right?”
She rolls her eyes. “Yes, you big strong manly man, you won. Your ego can sleep soundly.”
Satisfied by this, I ask, “Did you talk to your mom?”
Vandy frowns, pitching forward until her forehead lands on my shoulder. “I leave next Friday. I’ll be back by Christmas, but it still sucks.”
The rehab program, I discovered, is out of state and strictly in-patient. That means Vandy has to leave for three weeks. I keep reminding myself that it’s a good thing. Vandy needs to get help from people who are qu
alified to give it. If things were perfect, I’d be everything she needs. But they’re not.
I brush her hair back. “We can video chat.”
She exhales loudly, pushing back to look at me. “You think we can find time? Like, before I leave? To…” Her cheeks flush a vivid pink and she scans the driveway. “To, you know.”
“Show you my stamp collection?” She fixes me with a look and I chuckle. “We’ll think of something. There’s always the treehouse, and failing that, the Kmart parking lot has a certain ambiance that I’ve found can really get you going.”
“This sucks! I can’t wait until you move.” She got over being upset about me moving approximately the same time she realized how much easier it’d be to come over when my house wasn’t in view of her own. She reaches down to straighten my tie, eyes averted. “Plus, I miss sleeping with you. I always have good dreams when you’re there.”
“Me, too,” I admit, aching just as much for that—a long, warm sleep with Vandy beside me—as I ache for other, far more naked things. “But hey, at least now we get to do this…” I hook a finger under her chin and tip her face up, pressing a soft, slow kiss to her lips. She curls her hand around the tie, tugging me closer, and our lips part. The kiss is lazy and unhurried, full of her warm breaths and the way I’m clutching at the small of her back like I can mold her to me.
“Okay, that’s a hard no.” We break apart in a flinch, turning to see Emory standing at his truck. “We’re going to have set some ground rules. Rule number one; no making out in the driveway. It’s gross and I don’t like it. Rule number two,” he goes on, throwing his bag into the truck. “No sex while occupying the same building. Rule number three—”
Vandy groans, “Oh my god,” and swipes her bag from the ground. “The amount of times I’ve had to see you sucking some poor girl’s face are unquantifiable.”
He barks, “AIS, V!” and climbs behind the wheel, craning out to give me a look. “You and I will discuss rule three later.” His eyebrows say that rule three is something meant only for me.
I’ll follow it, whatever it is.
I get into my Jeep and wait for them to back out before following closely behind. There’s going to come a day when Emory isn’t here to drive her to school. When that day comes, maybe I’ll be the one to do it. Hell, maybe she’ll just do it herself. But for now, this is their thing. I’ve always known that V and Em are a package deal. Some things might change, but that never will.
Campus is already buzzing with life when we arrive, pulling our cars into neighboring spots. It’s hard to imagine that the homecoming prank happened just four nights ago, but I can already tell that everyone’s still talking about it, drunk on the melodrama of mystery and mischief.
I get out fast enough that I can open her door, extending a hand to help her down. She doesn’t need it, but she lets me anyway, pressing our palms tightly together as she steps out.
Instead of letting go, we lace our fingers together.
“Can I walk you to class?” I already know I technically can. My no-tolerance no-contact regulation as it relates to Vandy has already been lifted.