Page 131 of Crazy for this Girl

I fight back a smirk but still say plainly, “Yeehawww.” Then I look back down at his phone in my hand. “Do you have a country playlist in here? I’ll bet—” Cal seizes his cell out of my hand and scowls at me.

“You’ve grown up to be evil as shit.”

“I’m sure you have some God-loving, country-folk music you can play for me on there to save my soul, Mr—” Cal’s palm lands sharply on my upper thigh, squeezing the inside of my sensitive and soft flesh with the pads of his fingers and sending a surge of pure wanting right between the apex of my legs.

Unwanted and wanted goosebumps betrayingly trail up my arms and spine, causing a shutter to rock through my body as I suck in an even shakier breath.

“You promised, Laynee,” he voices, the sound low and, oh so fucking sexy. Fuck. “It wasn’t my fault my mom tried to damage my brain.”

His ring and index finger stroke the fabric of my dress, daring me to deny this man, challenging me to give this another go and—I hate myself, but—creating thoughts of heaving my dress upward so he can touch my naked skin.

“I think she still may have,” I utter, falling deep into his green eyes. He doesn’t pull away from my stare like I thought he would, holding it and daring the here and now to take me once and for all.

He’s my childhood crush, my first love, the one I dreamt about on more than one occasion.

I had plans for us, I imagined so many years together that the fall of his disappearance was so severe and painful that it crippled me for years.

He hits play on Without Me by Wind Walkers with his other hand, then picks up my discarded headphone, removing the contact off my leg and gently placing it back into my ear.

That’s when the stewardess comes back and bats her eyelashes at Cal, doing me a favor to break up the thickness of the air that’s clogging my lungs.

I don’t hear what she asks, but her expression goes from extremely delighted again to fearful within seconds before she’s quickly pivoting and scurrying to the front of the plane.

I’m watching her retreating body, clearly in a heated daze when hard plastic lands in my palm and Cal’s thumb grazes the side of my hand before retreating.

My drink is there, and I don’t bother looking over at him because I can feel him irritated at whatever just happened.

He just wants to listen to music and relax.

I want to do the same exact thing, but then he’s sending me a text message from my phone to his.

CAL: I’m sorry we had this argument. Didn’t I take you to Warped Tour? I’m disappointed that we had to have this talk.

LAYNEE: I’m still pissed that you didn’t take me to go see My Chemical Romance.

CAL: I didn’t make the line-up.

LAYNEE: If you would’ve gotten tickets in July, it would’ve happened.

CAL: I suffered through Simple Plan for you.

LAYNEE: Because you secretly liked them. I’m Just A Kid was your theme song growing up.

CAL: It definitely wasn’t. The only highlight of that set was the girl who flashed her tits.

LAYNEE: I should’ve joined her. Maybe I could’ve gotten you backstage passes to meet the band.

CAL: I would’ve dropped you on your ass. Holding you up during that show is why I have back problems.

I bark out in laughter and see Cal smiling out of my peripheral.

LAYNEE: If you would’ve busted my ass, you would’ve had to explain that to my mother at two in the morning when we got home.

CAL: Best night of your life.

LAYNEE: One of them.

CAL: What were the others?

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