Page 74 of Kiss Me Tonight

Suck it up, big guy.

The dark water sucks the kayak forward with the retreat of the current. Waves crash against my knees. The clouds part and the moonlight illuminates the surface of the water, revealing the swell of Levi’s hips and the nip at her waist. Blonde curls tangle their way down her back, disheveled from sleep and the gentle wind coming in from the east.

I wish I could take a picture of her in this exact moment.

Her toned arms work to power the oars, relieving me to walk along behind her as the water rises to my waist and then up to my rib cage.

A chill settles in my chest as I kick off the sand, the burst of sudden momentum propelling the kayak deeper into the bay.

Levi’s chest folds forward, then straightens again. “We should stop here,” she says, sounding nervous. Her head swivels to the right and then the left as though she’s trying to gather her bearings.

“A little farther.” Where the ocean floor isn’t directly within reach and I’m forced to sink or swim. “Don’t let go of the oars.”

Because this swim is meant to satisfy us both—me diving off into the unknown while she finds harbor in the familiar.

Another few yards and then I tell her to stop rowing. I kick my feet behind me, swimming until I’m alongside the kayak’s profile instead of its rear. With one hand holding onto the edge so we don’t separate, I tread water. Then I dunk my head backward, welcoming the water as it splashes over my face and wets my hair.

“What’s your earliest memory of football?” Levi asks when I come back up for air.

Slicking my hair back and out of my face, I think on that, searching through the memories. Feel the blow to my gut when it surfaces because I don’t . . . I don’t want to share that piece of myself with Levi. I’m not proud of the way I lived my early years. I had a chip on my shoulder the size of the White Mountains and I made sure everyone around me knew it.

I ran with the wrong crowd.

Stole from good people who didn’t deserve my bad behavior.

My earliest experience with football was just after I got out of my first round in juvie. I was an eleven-year-old punk with a tracking monitor locked around my ankle. I felt its weight with every step. Knew what would happen if I stepped outside of the marked perimeter of foster home number three.

Neighborhood kids played football in the street, just out of reach, while I watched from the kitchen window. They laughed and they shot the shit, and I don’t really know how long I stood there, like a ghost seeking a connection with the living, except that eventually the elderly Mrs. Ramirez used her broom to swat at my feet, warning me that if I made one wrong move I’d find myself homeless.

Again.

“I’ve had football at the forefront of my life since I was a kid,” Levi says, saving me from my own silence, the way she always tends to do. I appreciate her intuitiveness more than she’ll ever know. “I used to think Dad was disappointed in the fact that I wasn’t the baby boy the doctors promised him and my mom.”

Feeling grateful for the reprieve she’s given me, I swim a little to the left so I can better see her face. “Is your mom still alive? You never mention her.”

Levi smiles wide. “Alive and kicking. She’s always busy. The life of a social butterfly, I guess. She belongs to about a gazillion different clubs around here and if it weren’t for Topher, I’m pretty sure I’d never see her.”

“She sounds like a character.”

“She’s Mom.” Her shoulders lift in a nonchalant shrug. “I can’t complain. At least she loves me more than she loves Willow.”

At the mention of her younger sister, I tip my head to the side in curiosity. “Your mom actually tells you that?”

“Tells me what?”

“That she loves you more than she loves your sister?”

Feminine laughter mingles with the rippling waves sweeping against the hull of the kayak. “Oh my God, no. I’m totally kidding. Even if she does have a favorite—and I think Willow and I both annoy her equally—she doesn’t pick sides. She never has.”

I’m suddenly beyond thankful that we’re taking this swim in the middle of the night instead of the middle of the day. This way she can’t see that my cheeks are burning red with embarrassment. Family interrelationships are pretty much out of my realm of expertise.

“Right.” I splash the water with a flat palm. “Sorry. Stupid question.”

The kayak tilts toward me as she leans her weight in my direction. “You know when you have a million things you want to say,” she says gently, “but none of them sound right, even in your head?”

All the goddamn time.

“Talking isn’t my strong suit.” I reach up to grasp one of the oars. The kayak shimmies, twisting toward the left in a semicircle. “As you’ve probably figured out by now.”

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