“Do you get along with your parents?” I asked.
“I do,” he said. “They were opposite in the age department when they settled down to have kids. Did the career thing first. Mom was forty-five when I was born. Forty-seven when she had my brother, Noah.”
Wow, that makes his mom . . . sixty-three. I decided not to point out the obvious.
“What’s he like? Your brother.”
“He’s a bit hard to mesh with.”
“How come?”
“He’s a bit arrogant, defensive,” Leroy said. “Makes it hard to have conversations with him that don’t end with him acting the victim. He likes to tell me that I’m the favorite son, too, which is bullshit. I just decided to follow the family career tradition and he didn’t. Somehow, he’s conjured up this idea that dad is disappointed in him. No matter how often Dad tells him that he’s not.”
“Sounds like he needs more hugs.” I tapped his hand when I remembered an earlier question. “Oh, you never did tell me what you’re doing at Baylor?”
“College football,” he said. “I’m aiming for the NFL.”
I grinned. “That explains the bod.”
“The bod?”
“I know that you know I’ve been staring at your arms all night.”
He laughed, and with a quick shift of position, he was on his hands and knees, hovering in front of me, so close that I felt his breath fanning my face. “You should know,” he murmured, his gaze moving between my mouth and eyes, “that I’ve been staring at all of you. All night.”
My heart thumped. It was almost painful how fast it was beating as he moved in closer. I was sure that he was going to kiss me. I wanted him to kiss me. But being me, my mind went into overdrive.
“You’re leaving tomorrow,” I said, causing him to pause. “I mean, you’ll be back. But—”
“We don’t have to do this, Ellie.” He started to distance himself, but before he could move away, I wrapped my hand around the back of his neck, holding him in place as I fought through rapid breaths.
And then I pushed our mouths together before I could talk myself out of it and I was so glad I did because this kiss felt like no other. His response was immediate. His mouth pushed mine open as his hand came up and wound in the strands of my hair. Every lap of his tongue, each gentle caress of his fingertips against my waist or neck, it was all igniting.
We made out for . . . a while. I was sure that I’d end up with a make-out rash, but nothing else seemed important. I’d ended up underneath him and his hands explored every inch of me. I was beyond wound up with need. I was still a virgin because I hadn’t found someone who made me feel enough to want to take that step. But with Leroy, I felt it all. I felt so much need that I couldn’t imagine stopping him when his fingers popped open the button of my jeans.
“Leroy,” I gave him a gentle push and smiled when he gave me an apologetic glance. “I’m—I’m a virgin.”
His brows raised but he tried to hide his surprise. “I’m sorry. I should have asked.”
He tried to sit up and move away but I held him in place, wrapping my legs around his waist. “No, no. I just. I just wanted to tell you that. Full disclosure. But that doesn’t mean that I don’t want to . . . do it . . .”
He cupped my face and his eyes locked with mine. “I don’t want to do anything that you don’t want to do. We can stop right now.”
I leaned up and kissed his soft, sweet lips. “I want you, Leroy.”
ONE MONTH LATER
Leroy
My leg bounced under the table while I ate a bowl of oatmeal with so much speed that I barely tasted it. In fact, I half-expected to choke. That’d be just how my summer with the woman of my world begins, dying at the breakfast table, being found facedown in a bowl of breakfast mush that doesn’t even have sugar on it because my nerves are so damn fried as it is, sugar would have made it worse.
“Where’s the fire, son?” Dad wandered into the kitchen, still half-asleep, in his boxer shorts and a tank top. The alarm on the coffee machine had been blaring but the noise was nothing but a hum in the background until the world came back into focus. He switched it off and poured himself a brew.
“Ellie’s plane lands in two hours.”
“Ah, Miss Ellie.” Dad dragged his feet until he was sitting at the table, steam rose from his mug and he inhaled, staring out of the kitchen sliding door. The morning sun reflected off the pool surface, still and flat like glass. “You sure you didn’t deposit that letter in the wrong mailbox the morning after that party?”
“Dad,” I groaned, same joke, different day. After I’d told Dad that I had hand delivered a letter, addressed to Ellie, in her friend’s mailbox after our night together, he came up with the joke that I’d put it in the wrong mailbox. So hilarious.
“Maybe you’ve been talking to some other girl all month, huh?” he roared with laughter. “You’ll show up at the airport and there’ll be some stranger running into your arms.”
It was ongoing. Every other day when he knew that I’d been on the phone with Els, he said, “How’s Ellie Maybeston?” It made me laugh, but I didn’t show him that. Instead, I waited until I was alone so that he didn’t get a big head.
“Good morning,” Mom smiled, her hair done, makeup on, and her clothes immaculate. She kissed Dad and me on the head and went to pour a coffee.
Dad’s exhaustion was intensified next to Mom who was, in every sense, a morning person. That had to do with the fact that she was still working as a news anchor. Dad had retired a while ago and he’d adjusted to sleeping in. There was once a time when both were up at four a.m. But after Dad retired from coaching in the NFL, he was at home a lot more. He did the school runs. He helped with the homework and, of course, the weekend football practice in the back garden. Truth is, I knew I’d miss having breakfast together when I was off at college in a few months.
“The spare room is organized for Ellie,” Mom said, coming to join us at the table. “Fresh sheets and the drawers are empty. I can’t wait to meet her.”
“You’re acting like the boy has never had a girl around here before,” Dad said as he ran a hand over his tired face.
“This is different, I know it is. She sounds like an absolute sweetheart. It’s serious. Isn’t it, darling?” Mom looked at me, cup in front of her chin. “It’s serious. I can tell.”
“I care about her a lot,” I admitted.
Noah came wandering in, his dark-brown hair standing up. All he wore was a pair of boxer shorts. The conversation continued.