Out of My League - Sarah Sutton Page 0,101
late November, it seemed insane that Walsh and I were out here. But as the wind tipped us slowly forward and back, I found I couldn’t care less.
We both wore jackets, a heavy blanket over our legs, and Walsh’s body heat enveloped me. I was more than content. “She just likes to do things the hard way.”
“Like someone else I know,” Walsh teased, pressing his mouth against the crown of my head. His warm breath caused a shiver to break out over my skin, slipping down my spine. “Your article in the Blade last week was one of your best ones yet, Sophia.”
The internship at the Bayview Blade originally started out as a learn and write on your own sort of deal, but once the editors read more of my work, they gave me a little column in the back twice a month. This past week I’d written an open letter to my selfish self at the beginning of summer. “It felt strange writing it after everything that’s happened.”
“I loved reading it.”
I made a face. “You say that about every article.”
“That’s because I love everything you write,” he murmured. “You’re my favorite author.”
I snorted, cupping my hands over his. “That’s an easy pedestal to stand on when you don’t read.”
Walsh lightly tickled my side and I yelped, grabbing his fingers to get him to stop. They were icy to the touch, and I exhaled onto them, much like he had once upon a time. “When are we leaving to meet Edith and Zach?”
We were going to see a movie down at Buckley’s Theatre for a double date, something we tried to do once a week. Edith and Zach had come a long way from where they’d been at the end of the summer. Their whole “just friends” spiel lasted until the beginning of October, until they both realized how stupid they were being. Thankfully. They were so adorable together.
I grabbed at Walsh’s wrist, pushed his jacket sleeve up, and exposed his forearm to look at his watch’s face. “Probably leave in ten minutes.”
“Probably?”
“I like sitting here with you.” I snuggled deeper, glancing up. “I may never move.”
His cheeks were red from the cold, making his skin look ten times paler, but he grinned down at me like I was the sun sitting beside him. “I love sitting out here with you.” And he grinned, tracing the frame of my lens with a light touch. “And I love your glasses.”
I rolled my eyes at him. “You always have to one-up me.”
He kissed the tip of my nose. “Is your family still coming over for Thanksgiving dinner next week? Mom has been researching recipes for the past month.”
“Hopefully ‘turkey’ is on her list.”
“Sounds familiar,” he chuckled. “It’s been keeping her busy, which is good. When she came home from the rehabilitation center, they told her to take up a hobby. I guess cooking was her choice.”
“Janet will just have to be housekeeper/nanny/therapist now. Take the title of ‘chef’ off.”
“As long as she still bakes her cookies.”
I turned back to face the street, settling against the steady heartbeat that thumped along my spine. “We’re still coming—we wouldn’t miss it. And I wouldn’t miss Janet’s peach pie.”
“Right.” Walsh dragged the word out. “Her peach pie. That’s all you’re coming for.”
The swing creaked slightly as a small gust of wind knocked it backward, and I shivered against Walsh. “I’m surprised you didn’t freeze your butt off today. Practicing in this weather must suck.”
When Walsh called the coach of the Fenton County league the Monday after the final baseball game, Tom had immediately asked him if he’d like to play for their team for the following season. Of course, Walsh said yes, but on one condition. He needed a promise that they played for the love of baseball, not for the love of winning. They’d said that they admired his honesty and sportsmanship, and loved that he did the right thing rather than just join in.
“It’s not too bad. We’re moving to a gym once snow falls.”
“Probably a good thing.” I smiled. With those words, I pushed up from the swing, tearing the blanket from my legs and standing. The cold air hit me, and I fought back a shiver as I turned to stretch my hands out to him. “We should go.”
Walsh’s golden eyebrows were pulled together as he looked up at me. “It definitely hasn’t been ten minutes.”
“I know, but Edith will get mad if we’re late again. You know how she gets if she misses a preview.”
Walsh swiped my hands up in his, but instead of standing, he pulled me down into his lap. The porch swing groaned as it swung backward, rocking us closer. Walsh gave me a wicked grin, his blue-green sea eyes heating deeper, pupils threatening to swallow the color. “We still have a few more minutes,” he insisted, voice pitching lower. “Besides, it’s payback for all the times they’ve been late.”
I was going to tell him that most of the time it wasn’t her fault—her volleyball practices had kept her later while they were still in season—but I pressed my mouth against his instead. I loved that a spark still electrocuted my skin when we touched, when we kissed, the air between us zapping to life as if struck by lightning. I wanted to stay like this for hours, just him and me.
Walsh tugged his lips only a centimeter from mine, chest rising and falling in an uneven breath. When he smiled, it was wide and terribly cute, filled with a happiness that I’m sure mirrored the budding I felt inside. His words brushed my lips. “I love you, Sophie.”
Four words filled with so much emotion it made my head spin and my skin flush. Walsh Hunter gave me the grin that was designed just for me: a smile that lit the sun, put a glow to the moon, and ignited all the stars.
I moved to press my lips to his, speaking softly against them. “And I love you.”
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WHAT ARE FRIENDS FOR?
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