Play On - Michelle Smith Page 0,82
cheeks. “Oh my God.” She fans herself.
I grab a napkin and shove it into her hands. “What?”
Her shoulders rise and fall as she wipes at her eyes, the napkin coming away with black crap all over it. Is she—shit, is she hyperventilating?
Over her head, I see Jay’s eyes widen. “The hell did you do?” he whispers.
I shrug. Holy crap, what did I do?
“Do I need to apologize or—?”
Marisa’s gaze softens. Her hand slips into mine. And even though her lip’s still quivering, I think she’s trying to smile.
“Austin?” she says.
I’m almost too petrified to utter a word. “Y-yeah?”
“You, my dear little country boy, have officially proven that there is such a thing as a Southern gentleman.” She squeezes my hand and leans forward to kiss my cheek. “Don’t ever change.”
A grin sneaks across my face. “Told you I’d be a good date.”
She scrunches her nose playfully. “Yeah, you’re not so bad.”
And now, time to go for the kill. I wrap my arm around the back of her chair. “So would not-so-bad be a good enough reason for prom?”
Her eyes widen. Her lips part, but instead of saying anything, she shakes her head. My stomach sinks, but I somehow maintain a shaky smile. I know she hates the dance thing, and I know it’s a longshot, but it’s my last year. My last prom. And call me nuts, but I actually kind of sort of want to go. With her.
If she stops staring at me like I’m certifiable.
“There’s still a while to decide,” I add. “If you need to think about it or whatever.”
She inhales deeply. “Depends,” she finally says. “Will you try to get in my pants?”
“Irrelevant. You won’t be wearing pants.”
She shoves my shoulder. “You’re so lucky my dad wasn’t around to hear that.”
The girl’s got a point.
“But yes,” she says. “Even though I maintain that dances are evil, if I’m going to suffer through a night of blisters and terrible decorations, there’s no one else I’d rather suffer with.”
Not exactly what I was going for, but I’ll take it.
A streak of sunlight flashes across the wall. I turn right as Pastor Perry walks out the door, letting it slam closed behind him. Well, damn it. I look over at Brett and Jay. They’re both silent, staring down at the table. Any color Brett had regained is gone.
Immediately, two sets of heels click against the floor, heading in our direction. Mrs. Torres and Mrs. Perry approach the table, coming to stand between Jay and Brett. With one hand on her hip and the other on Brett’s shoulder, Mrs. Perry smiles at the rest of us.
“This is an awfully good-lookin’ table,” she says. “Do y’all mind if we borrow these guys for a minute?”
Brett gnaws on his bottom lip, his forehead creasing. “Momma,” he begins, glancing up at her. “I’m sor—”
She cuts him off with a shake of her head. She bends over slightly, until she’s looking straight into his eyes. “You’ve got absolutely nothing to be sorry for.”
“But Dad.”
Though the words are quiet, they still make their way across the table, weighing tons. Mrs. Perry holds his gaze for a moment before saying, “If you remember anything, you remember this: your daddy loves you more than anything on God’s green earth. He’ll be just fine. You will be fine.” She looks over at Jay, and when she smiles at the guy who walked in holding her son’s hand, I’m pretty sure she gives Brett the strength not to crack in front of hundreds of people.
Mrs. Torres holds her hand out for Jay’s. Mrs. Perry holds hers out for Brett’s. And as they lead the guys onto the dance floor, I hope to all that’s holy that the scoffers and eye-rollers in this room see what I’ve known for years.
People can hold hands with whomever they want. And that’s okay.
chapter twenty-six
On our way back to Marisa’s house, she’s quiet, staring out her window for the entire drive. It’s late and we’ve had a long day, so I’m sure she’s exhausted, but there’s something else radiating off her. Not sadness or anything. I just can’t put my finger on it.
I pull into her driveway and cut the engine. She finally moves, only to unbuckle her seatbelt. I grasp her hand as she does. “You all right?” I ask.
She nods and pulls her hand away. “Mostly. But let’s walk and talk. I need air.”
I step out of the truck along with her. She walks around, meeting me at my door. This time