Liam:Hey.
My fingers are still hovering over the little keyboard, trying to decide what else to text her—I should say it’s me, right?—when three dots appear.
Natalie:Original.
Natalie:How long did it take you to come up with that?
Liam:A while.
Liam:It’s Liam, by the way.
Like hell do I want her thinking she’s texting some dude from Alleghany.
My phone buzzes a second later, with a number I now know by heart flashing across the screen.
I answer but wait for her to speak first.
“Hi.”
“Hi,” I repeat.
“Do you want to come over?”
“ToAlleghany?” I haven’t crossed the town line since Sam came up with the idea to cover their football field with horseshoes.
“That’s where I live, Liam.”
“I know.” I pinch the bridge of my nose, warring with myself. “Is that a good idea?”
“Probably about the same as you texting me.”
“You gave me your number.”
“You used it,” she retorts.
I exhale. “Are your parents home?”
“No, they’re gone for the night.”
“Okay. Text me your address.”
“Okay,” she says, then hangs up.
A few seconds later, my phone buzzes with a new message from her. I climb off my bed and stand still for a minute, processing. Am I really going to do this? Go toAlleghanyto see agirl?
I am. And it was never really a question, which is concerning. Equally disconcerting is the cocktail of nerves and excitement heating my blood.
I want to see her.
There’s a curiosity unfurling inside me. I want to know if what happened between us on the Cape was unique to there. If it was a reaction to being in a different place around different people.
And there’s a heady dose of desire mixed in too. I told myself that night was my one opportunity. I haven’t so much as kissed another girl since. But the prospect of kissing her and touching her again? It’s not an unappealing one. I wanted to kiss her in the parking lot earlier.
I don’t change out of the shorts and t-shirt I put on after my shower earlier. I pull on anArlington Footballsweatshirt and spray on some cologne before heading downstairs.
There’s no second-guessing on the drive. Nothing sayingthis is a bad idea, even though I know it is.
The trip only takes ten minutes. The girl I can’t stop thinking about lives ten minutes away from my house. Under other circumstances, it would be cause for celebration. Instead, it feels like waving an open drink under the nose of an alcoholic. The closer temptation is, the harder it is to ignore.