Play On - Michelle Smith Page 0,78

heck of a long way since the last time we were here.”

My chest tightens. The past few months have been nuts, but I’m not entirely sure I’d have it any other way. Stuff happens for a reason, even the bad stuff. If there’s any fraction of a silver lining, it’s that all of this brought us closer. And she’s here. She’s still here. That’s what matters.

I reach over and grab her hand, bringing it to my lips. She glances at me out the corner of her eye. Smirks.

“The water looks nice tonight,” she says.

There’s something else buried under those words. It’s in her voice. I follow her gaze to the pond. And now I’m smirking. I take in her gym shorts and T-shirt.

“How pissed do you think your parents would be if you came home with wet clothes?” I ask. “As long as it’s by ten-thirty?”

She turns to me. “Again, I think we know the real question here is, would your death be worth it?”

Those really are words to live by.

We hop out of the truck. She leads the way to the pond, kicking off her flip-flops along the way. I yank mine off and toss them over my shoulder. No tellin’ where they went. Don’t really care.

I catch up to her at the water’s edge, where she’s stopped. There’s hesitation written all over her face. The air’s pretty crisp, maybe a toasty sixty degrees, and the water’s a lot colder, but that can be solved with body heat. I’m more than willing to help her out with that.

“You in?” I ask.

She chews on her lip. “How deep is it?”

I shrug. “Right here? About eight feet. It’s shallower on the other side—”

She jumps right in, plunging into the water with a splash.

“—of the tree,” I finish. Damn, that girl’s amazing.

I jump in after her, swimming up to the surface. She treads water toward me, her hair clinging to her skin, her mouth hanging open.

“I thought Southern water was supposed to be warm,” she says breathlessly.

Grinning, I grab her hands, leading her to the shallower part of the pond. Once my feet hit the bottom, I pull her against me. Her legs hook around my waist, and I wrap my arms around her, holding her tight. Water drips from her skin as she drops her forehead to mine.

“Better?” I whisper.

She smiles. “Much,” she says. And when she presses her lips to mine, all I know is the water on my skin and the taste of her lips and that she is so, so perfect for me.

I pull away just enough to look into those pretty green eyes. Crickets chirp all around us, with millions and millions of stars shining down as the breeze blows softly. This place, with this girl, is a special kind of heaven. More and more, this town grows on me. Right before I’m about to leave.

“How many ponds do you think there are in Columbia?” I ask.

She laughs lightly. Shakes her head. “I don’t know. But we’ll find them all.”

We’ll find them. “Can’t wait.” I swallow, unable to tear my gaze away from her. “I really am crazy about you,” I tell her, barely above a whisper.

Her lips twitch into a tiny half-smile. “If you’re crazy, then I’m insane. You make my heart so, so happy, Austin.”

Closing my eyes, I kiss her again, deeper this time. With her chest pressed against me, her legs squeezing my waist, her lips against mine like she’s kissing me for a final breath—I’m freakin’ done for. And damn it, if I do die tonight, at least I’ll go out with a bang.

chapter twenty-five

Weddings out in the boondocks of South Carolina are kind of a big deal, especially when those weddings involve Felix Torres, the pitcher who once held Lewis Creek High’s homerun record.

(Guess which pitcher broke that record. But I digress.)

Standing in front of the bathroom mirror, I adjust my blue bowtie and straighten my black sports coat. Momma knocks on the bathroom door and pushes it open. She closed the shop for today so she can celebrate with everyone else in town. Considering she and Marisa spent hours on the wedding’s floral arrangements, she deserves a day off. With her hair all pulled up and her makeup actually done, she looks like a million bucks. Heck, a gazillion.

“You’ve already broken rule number one of male wedding guests,” she says. “You’re not supposed to be more handsome than the groom.”

I snort and flip off the light, following her into the hallway.