His eyes flicker with emotion, desire, I think. He wants this as much as I do. I take a deep breath. “So . . . I was thinking maybe tonight we could see how far the seats recline.”
Nick gives a little laugh. “Let’s stick to the original plan.”
“You’re making me dinner?”
He smiles, and it’s like a heat lamp just hit my face. “Yeah,” he says. “I need some time with you when no one else is around.”
Oh, I need that, too.
“I cannot wait,” I whisper, moving in again and letting my lips linger on his for one more moment before I reluctantly back away. “See you in a few hours.”
“Okay.” He gives my arm a squeeze before he opens the car door for me. I slide in behind the steering wheel.
“Bye, Carson,” he says.
“Later, Nick.” She wiggles her fingers.
I turn the ignition, rev the engine, and peel out.
“Speed limit!” Carson yells over the wind rushing by.
I slow down. It’s one thing for me to chase after a rush, another when someone else is with me.
“He’s cooking for you now?” Carson asks.
“It’s nothing,” I say casually. “He’s making dinner.”
“With his parents?”
“They’re out of town.” I can’t stop myself from grinning so wide that my jaw aches.
“Shut up!” says Carson. “Are you sleeping over? Does your dad know? Do you have something special to wear? We need to stop and get you something sexy, something that will blow his mind. Victoria’s Secret. Turn right at the next light.”
I laugh at her rush of questions and commands. I knew she’d be excited, too. Nick and I have been dating for a little over a year, and last month I wanted to celebrate our anniversary by, um, taking the next step in our relationship. Nick, frustratingly, wanted to wait. Herein lies the problem with dating Southern gentlemen. They can be so . . . gentlemanly.
I take the right. “So you’ll help me pick out something appropriate?” I’m suddenly just a little nervous. I want everything to be perfect.
“Absolutely. I’m thinking red.”
“Nope. White. And lacy.”
“So virginal,” she says.
“Duh. You get to wear white honestly only once.”
Carson giggles. “He did ask you to stay over, right?”
“Well, not technically.”
“But he told you his parents would be gone, and he’s making you dinner, and anyone can plainly see that he looooves you.” She’s being the best best friend ever. “Oh, Callie, tonight’s the night!”
I’m glad the windows are up, because someone might call 911 if they heard the squeal she just released. Carson acts out what I feel inside. I never thought a guy would get to me, but Nick is definitely The One.
I’ve known him since kindergarten, but I didn’t notice him until ninth grade—the year he got serious about soccer. Nick Fisher was always a skinny, goofy kid who made people laugh. But freshman year, he sat in front of me in earth science, and I suddenly noticed how broad his shoulders had gotten over the summer, how the back of his biceps curved into a delicious, muscular shape, how his soft brown eyes lit up when he turned around to pass back a worksheet or ask me for a pen.
The best part is that he’s still that kid who makes people laugh. He’s smart and he’s kind and he has no idea how much every girl at our high school wants him. He just knows he wants me. At least, that’s what I thought until he told me he wanted to wait to have sex.
A one-year anniversary in high school is pretty much like reaching the golden fifty in real-world relationships, so I was more than ready to kick things up a notch. I remember what I told him as I tried to pull him closer to me that night. “You only live once,” I whispered.
But he didn’t give in—he wanted to wait. I’m hoping that my leaving for the summer will make him more accepting of a going-away gift from me. Because tonight, I’m determined not to take no for an answer.
I slam the front door as I leave, overnight bag in hand. Carson went home an hour ago after helping me get ready for the night. I took another shower—complete with Carson’s wild strawberry–scented body wash, which she swears is “like honey to a bear” with guys—so I’m extra clean and sweat-free. I feel a twinge of guilt knowing that my father would not approve of what I’m doing. I did tell him I was going over to Nick’s, but I may have left out the part about Nick’s parents being out of town. Still, there’s no way I’d give up tonight’s plan. Nick means everything to me.
When I get to Route 52, I put the BMW’s top down. The shadows of the giant live oaks along the drive make the air feel slightly cooler, but it’s the wind that really makes the heat bearable. I know my hair’s blowing all over the place, but Nick likes it when I look a little wild. I’m wearing almost-too-short white shorts and a red-striped boatneck T-shirt. I press my white espadrille platform down on the clutch and shift into fifth gear, feeling a blast of air as I speed up to seventy. I wonder if being with Nick—really being with him—will curb my need for other types of adrenaline rushes.
My phone rings. I know I shouldn’t pick it up while I’m driving, but I fish it out of my slouchy yellow Marc Jacobs bag anyway. I have to dig past a pack of gum, an extra hair band, and a sample of Chanel perfume that Carson made me take “for after.”
“In case you get all sweaty and stinky,” she said.
I find the phone and see his gorgeous face on the screen, all cheekbones and soulful brown eyes. “Nick.”
I glance at the clock—7:26 pm. I’m late.
“Sorrysorrysorry,” I say, putting my iPhone up to my ear.
“It’s okay. I mean, if you can’t make it, it’s—”
“I’m on my way!” I interrupt. “I was making sure I packed exactly the right . . . outfit.”
“Callie, you’re so—” he starts. And he sounds serious and sexy, but I want to save that for when I’m with him in person.
“Hold that thought,” I say, hoping he can hear the flirty smile in my voice. “I’ll be right there.”
I press down on the gas pedal, urging the speedometer up to ninety. There’s no traffic on the road, and I want to get to Nick. Now.
“Guess how fast I’m going,” I say, laughing.
“Callie, maybe you shouldn’t . . .” His voice catches then, he pauses, and I wonder at the emotion I hear. It sounds . . . strained, like something is wrong. And it scares me.
“Nick? What is it?” I ask, and the smile is gone from my voice.
“Not on the phone. We’ll talk when you get here.”
“Talking is not on my agenda,” I tease, trying to make this sense of foreboding go away.
“Callie—”
A truck suddenly looms out of nowhere, swerving in front of my car, and I slam on the brakes to avoid a collision. Every part of my body tenses and my senses heighten—I hear screeching tires, I smell a hint of magnolia over burning rubber, I see the flash of the truck’s metal grille in the setting sun, and a shock of fear slices through me. My head crashes into the driver’s side window and the windshield explodes, showering me with sharp glass. The whole world darkens; my body goes limp.
And then I’m gone.
Three
THE JOLT ISN’T PAINFUL; it isn’t horrifying. It’s a soft tug that becomes a strong pull, like when you slip your head beneath the water and the ocean current rushes by. But then a tidal wave grabs my ankles and drags me—fast, faster, beyond any speed I’ve ever known. A tunnel of white noise shifts and spins around me, like I’m in the middle of a cyclone, untouched by anything that might hurt me but at the very epicenter of an incredibly powerful force.