Curiosity gets the better of me. “Well, haven’t you asked him?”
A snort answers my question before his words do. “We’re guys, Livie. We don’t talk about feelings. Ashton’s . . . Ashton. I know you think he’s a dick, but he’s a good guy when he wants to be. He’s had my back more times than I care to admit. You remember that story about me in the rowing boat? You know . . .”
“Ass up? Yes, I remember.” I giggle.
Dropping his head with a sheepish grin, Connor admits, “I think Coach would have kicked me off the team if it hadn’t been for Ashton. I don’t know what he said or did, but he bought my pardon somehow. I know I joke about Ash being a lousy captain but he’s actually a good one. A great one. The best we’ve had in my three years here. All the guys respect him. And it’s not just because he gets more action than all of us combined.”
That earns my eye roll. I’m hating the idea of Ashton with anyone—girlfriend or otherwise—more each day, and that comment created a stomach-wrenching visual.
“Anyways, sorry for bringing Ashton up. I love the guy but I don’t want to talk about him. Let’s talk about . . .” He rolls around to grasp my waist with his hands. Leaning down, he slides his tongue into my mouth with a kiss that lasts way longer than anything we’ve ever done before. I find I don’t mind it, though. I actually enjoy it, allowing my hands to rest against his solid chest. God, Connor really does have a nice body and, clearly, other girls have noticed. Why are my hormones only beginning to appreciate this tonight?
It’s probably the beer.
Or maybe they’re finally starting to accept that Connor could be very right for me.
“I did warn you,” I remind her as I stretch my calf muscles.
“You can’t be that bad.”
I make sure she sees my grimace in response. Outside of required track and field at school, and that time Dr. Stayner had me chasing live chickens at a farm, I’ve avoided all forms of running. I don’t find it enjoyable and I usually manage to trip at least once while doing it.
“Come on!” Reagan finally squeals, jumping up and down with impatience.
“Okay, okay.” I yank my hair back into a high ponytail and stand, stretching my arms over my head once more before I start following her down the street. It’s a cool, gray day with off-and-on drizzle, another strike against this running idea. Reagan swears that the local forecast promised sunshine within the hour. I think she’s lying to me but I don’t argue. Things have still been kind of strange between us since her dad’s party. That’s why, when she asked me to go running with her today, I immediately agreed, slick roads and all.
“If we take this all the way to the end and turn back, that’s two miles. Can you handle that?” Reagan asks, adding, “We can stop and walk if you flake out.”
“Flakes are good at walking,” I say with a grin.
She sniffs her displeasure. “Yeah, well, you probably lose weight when you sneeze.”
It takes a few minutes but soon we manage a good side-by-side pace, where my long, slow strides match her short, quick legs well. That’s when she bursts. “Why didn’t you tell me about your parents?” I can’t tell if she’s angry. I’ve never seen Reagan angry. But I can tell by the way she bites her bottom lip and furrows her brow that she’s definitely hurt.
I don’t know what else to say except, “It just never came up. I swear. That’s the only reason. I’m sorry.”
She’s silent for a moment. “Is it because you don’t like talking about it?”
I shrug. “No. I mean, it’s not like I avoid talking about it.” Not like my sister, who shoved everything into a tomb with a slow-burning stick of dynamite. Since the morning I woke up to find Aunt Darla sitting by my bed with puffy eyes and a Bible in her hand, I’ve just accepted it. I had to. My sister was barely alive and I needed to focus on her and on keeping us going. And so, at eleven years old and still half-dead from a flu that saved me from the car accident in the first place, I got out of bed and showered. I picked up the phone to notify my school, my parents’ schools. I walked next door to tell our neighbors. I helped Aunt Darla pack up our things to move. I helped fill out insurance paperwork. I made sure I was enrolled in the new school right away. I made sure everyone who needed to know knew that my parents were gone.
We run in silence for a few moments before Reagan says, “You know you can tell me anything you want to, right?”
I smile down at my tiny friend. “I know.” I pause. “And you know you can tell me anything, right?”