She watches me with soft eyes, her silverware hovering over her untouched food. "I'm sorry, Carter." The catch of breath she inspired when she stepped out of her house punches me again. I've heard those words from thousands of people: fans, family, coaches, doctors, and friends. From Jess, they are a balm to a festering sore. She is the medicine I needed, and I didn't realize it until this moment. "I hate you've lost something you loved so much. You were a force on the field. West caught me watching one of your games once. He sat down beside me and didn't leave until it was over. He said he'd kill to target you on the field one day ... shoot." Her tone is low. "I shouldn't have—"
I school my features, belatedly recognizing the scowl I'm wearing. "No, don't apologize." I tap her foot beneath the table since both our hands are occupied with dinner utensils. "I'm pumped as hell for Rutledge. I'm pissed he didn't decide to come back to football our senior year at Rossview, so I could have played with him. He’s ridiculous on the field, and I’m”—I clear the knot in my chest— “I’m pretty fucking honored he thought highly of me.”
Before Jules Blacklin entered his life, West and I had a tenuous relationship. We partied at the same places, but we weren’t friends. He was an ex-baller, having quit playing after his mother's death in middle school, so while we'd been rivals as kids going through Pop Warner, by high school we weren't. His best friend played for Hillsdale, though. Four years ago, Rossview and Hillsdale equaled hate. We are neighboring towns, but football is King in Texas, and when two of the best schools in the state are neighbors, the rivalry is bound to get ugly. The tornado changed much of that. There could be no competition without a school, and Hillsdale was destroyed.
Jess draws my attention with a giddy moan. "Oh my gosh, this is so good." Her wide eyes are bright as she holds her hand over her full mouth. "Try a bite."
"Good subject change." I spear a piece of chicken off her plate. "So, tell me about working with my mom. She’s not terrible, I hope?"
Our dinner continues the same way. Shared dishes—both amazing. Chase wins all the fucking brownie points for tonight's suggestion—shared conversation and shared moments of ogling each other across the small table. Persuading her to forgo dessert with the promise of a second stop, we leave the restaurant hand in hand and make a pit-stop at my car so I can grab a bag from the trunk before we walk toward Center Park.
We're three blocks away, and Jess is fighting for a peek into the bag I carry when music floats by on the breeze, serenading us with smooth summer beats. Jess gasps and bounces on her toes, grabbing at my forearm with her free hand. "Music in the park?"
Her exhilaration makes the prospect of sitting with a crowd of families listening to oldies worthwhile.
"Yep, but first"—I pause and jerk my head to the right— "I figured it was time I made good on my offer of a sundae."
The giant neon cone in the window illuminates us in shades of pink and white as it flashes, and Jess extends to her toes and kisses my cheek. "Best date planner ever," she says, her lips grazing the corner of my mouth, and I turn, capturing her lips in a loud smack of a kiss.
"Best date ever." I counter, holding her gaze, so she understands I mean her personally.
The date itself isn’t shabby. We find a patch of grass in the park, off from the rowdier crowd of kids dancing and chasing each other, and spread the blanket I packed. When I finish my cone, I steal bites of her sundae. It's sugar overkill, but I want her hands free so we can settle in. At last, she's done, and, like she knows what I'm thinking, she scoots her way between my legs and reclines into my chest. Tonight is perfection.
For an hour, Jess sings along and sways to the music. We chat between songs, laughing at kids, and pointing out the couples dancing up front under the spinning club lights. I rest on my hands, supporting her weight, but every other song I sit forward and brush her hair to the side or touch her hip, back, or arm. Touching her is as natural