Playing Hurt - By Holly Schindler Page 0,44

not a star or anything,” I say.

“An eternity symbol is definitely more than a star,” Gabe protests. My heart twists painfully, feeling tight and tiny and desperate inside my chest.

“I bought it after prom,” I say softly, my hand turning into a fist around the receiver as I think of the black titanium ring I’d purchased with the lazy, sideways “8” carved into it. “After you traced the symbol on my shoulders—”

“—while the sun rose,” Gabe says. “First thing I thought of when I saw it.”

My tongue is melted. I’ve forgotten how to speak. Please, Gabe, don’t suspect.

“You all right?” he asks. “You sound funny.”

“Fine,” I say. “My cell gets crummy reception around here, and I’m on this old pay phone. That’s why—why I wasn’t carrying my phone. Why I haven’t called more.”

“Yeah. You told me that in an email. I just really wanted to talk to my girl on my birthday. Haven’t taken my present off since I unwrapped it, though,” he says, and I’m eternally grateful he’s decided to make a u-turn in the conversation, veering away from my lame excuses. “You know, I got pretty nostalgic tonight. Dug up that old picture Brandon took of us the night we went out for the first time. You remember the one, right? I swear it probably sounds all mushy, but the way we’re looking at each other, it’s like we knew, even that first night, that we’d found something special.”

Okay, now I’m not so grateful. I can feel the tracks of Clint’s lips shining like glow-in-the-dark paint against my mouth. My eyes tingle, and I know I’ve got to hang up before I say something completely stupid. “You sound tired—I should—let you go—you’re probably working really hard.”

“Yeah. I just couldn’t let my birthday go by without talking to my girl. Love you, Chelse.”

“I’ll—I’ll call more. I promise. Everybody at the resort has to share the same pay phone, and I just—happy birthday, Gabe.” I hang up and gasp all in the same motion. I probably look like a near-drowning victim who’s just broken the surface of the water.

I hurry out of the lodge and start to drag myself back up the trail to cabin number four when it suddenly hits me—this is the first time in more than a year that I’ve ended a phone call to Gabe without actually using the words I love you.

Has the thought occurred to Gabe, too?

God, I hope not.

Clint

neutral zone trap

Can’t kayak, maybe, but you can canoe,” I say, really slathering on the chipper voice. That’s it, Clint. Just pretend nothing happened last night. “No exercise like rowing.”

But the truth is, I just keep replaying the whole scene—cabin number four, the open door of the GMC, Chelsea’s body pressed against my own. The way my heart sprung open when I felt her lips on mine. And as I remember, the devil hovering over my shoulder tells me to drive Chelsea down to the edge of the lake, where summer love always blooms along with the water lilies and occasional lady slippers.

“Good for core strength,” I tell her, trying to turn my ear away from the devil on my shoulder. He knows that just looking at Chelsea is making my entire body vibrate. “Rowing, I mean.”

The Rainy River flows gently, barely moving at all, less than a foot from where we stand. Luckier folks are at Clementson Rapids, whitewater rafting down a more exciting branch of the Rainy. Of course, when I’d suggested it to Chelsea, she’d immediately started shaking her head.

Now, I’m stuck spending the day on a float trip—which isn’t exactly all that exciting. And it also isn’t going to take my attention away from how insanely pretty Chelsea is.

“Or paddling, at least,” she teases.

“Paddling?” I repeat.

“Yeah. Core strength? Hello—” she says, pointing at the two short wooden paddles I’ve placed inside the canoe.

“Right,” I say. “Rowing—paddling. Core strength.”

I help her into the boat, only to find that her skin is more enticing than the Rainy on a hot day. Just touching her makes me want to immerse myself, put my head completely under the surface of her. I want to drift, to let her carry me away, down her current.

Once she’s seated, I settle into the canoe, too. As soon as I sit down, I notice the way her shorts have ridden up her thighs.

Concentrate on something else—the feel of the paddle in your hands, I tell myself. The way the wood’s worn smooth from so much use.

Too bad, I think,