The Truth About Letting Go (18 page)

As if on cue, my date reappears with a bag of marshmallows. “Every time I turn around, there you are,” he says.

“Stop turning around,” Jordan quips. I try not to grin.

“Not bad, Stretch. But she’s still with me,” Colt catches my hand and pulls me away toward the woods.

Jordan’s brow lines as he watches us go. “Program starts in fifteen minutes,” he calls.

“Don’t wait for us,” Colt yells back.

I’m only half-heartedly into disappearing with Colt, but I follow him across the clearing. We’re headed toward the entrance and he pulls me close, wrapping his arm around my waist. “Marshmallow?”

“I’m not really a fan.”

“You will be when I’m done.” He smiles in a way that makes my stomach squirm.

Internally, I try to fan the flames. I don’t know what happened to the heat I used to feel whenever he said things like that. Our encounter in the truck seemed to have thrown a permanent boatload of cold water on us—even after his apology. Even after learning I’m apparently the clueless one. Mandy was practically offering me handcuffs for our next encounter.

I think about the first time I saw him running on the track.
Hot
. I think about our hook up in the gym and in the closet at church.
Sinful hot
. I’m distracted when I look up and realize we’re at the small cabin farthest away from the large meeting hall.

Colt slows and turns to me, pulling me against his chest and finding my mouth. The first drops of rain hit our faces, and he stops to look up, eyes closed. I study his blond hair, sharp chin, strong neck. I’m still admiring when he returns his attention to my lips. Our mouths are just opening as the storm turns from a sprinkle to a full-on downpour. Faint screams and laughter float to us from the bonfire area. Colt’s got me by the hips and we’re rocking side to side, slowly inching toward the cabin as the rain soaks my hair, my shoes, and my white shirt, turning it transparent.

He breaks away and smiles at me. My mind rebelliously skips back across the clearing, wondering what’s happening at the bonfire. Are they leaving? Is Jordan still there? Will he be gone when we get back?

“Come on,” Colt whispers, taking my hand and leading me up the steps and into the cabin.

“It’s unlocked?” I say, but he moves me over to a small table in the center of the room and drops the thin plastic bag on it. Then he digs out a chocolate bar and holds it up smiling.

“Chocolate
is
one of my favorite things,” I say. He tears it open and breaks off a small rectangle, putting one piece in his mouth and the other in mine. The sweet richness melts over my tongue, sending a warm tingle down my back.

I close my eyes and Colt’s mouth is on mine again. We both taste like sugar and chocolaty goodness. I notice his hand is searching for the marshmallow bag. I pull back, and he takes out a big white puff, popping it into his mouth and smiling. I frown as he pulls out another one and touches it to my lips. I hesitate before opening them, and he pops it in mine. Then a third he holds in his hands and starts to move my knees apart.

“Hang on,” I manage to say around the giant, sugary ball filling my mouth. I swallow hard. “What’re you going to do?”

He grins and leans in for more sugary kisses. His arm goes around my waist and he lifts me up to sitting on the table. He’s back between my knees, and I feel his hand fumbling with my wet skirt. It clings to my skin, causing him to have to force it up my sides. I’m holding onto his shoulders telling myself I’m into this. I want this to happen. I’m not distracted and thinking about someone else. And a girl with short brown hair…

Fingers fumble with the side of my panties. He’s easing them down and my heart’s beating faster. I think of Colt’s perfect body running on the track. The lines in his torso. My body starts to warm, and I search for his skin through his wet shirt. I trace my fingers down his sides, and my touch brings his attention higher. He leans back to unfasten the top button of my shirt, then the next one. He kisses the side of my jaw and places the marshmallow in the front of my bra.

“For starters,” he whispers. His mouth returns to my chin and slowly he trails his lips down my neck. I shiver as his hands slide around my waist to my bare back, and he pulls me closer to him. Burning kisses lead the way to the hidden treat. My padded bra helps keep it in place, and I drop my head back as he finds it. It’s soft and warm, and his tongue sends tingles skittering down my legs. I slide my hands to his cheeks and wrap my ankles around his hips, pulling our bodies completely together.

“Not too close,” he whispers in my ear. “The next one goes there.” I feel a flush of heat as I now understand the marshmallow trick. He kisses me long, and his tongue tickles the roof of my mouth. I hear his hand fumbling in the thin, plastic bag again.

It’s going to happen. It’s going to happen now, and my super-heated body is onboard with the situation. His hand touches my thigh, and I open my legs. I want him to do what he’s planning. He looks up at me again, and I’m ready to let my head fall back. To close my eyes…

But something happens. I feel like something’s here with us.

Colt’s fingers tease my sensitive skin, but instead of heating up, my stomach knots. It’s like I can see my dad’s face, somewhere behind him in the dark. Visible, but invisible, watching us. I pull my legs away, turning to the side. Colt rocks back on his heels and frowns.

“What’s wrong?” He looks at me, and I’m sure I can feel my dad here. He’s asking me why. Why am I doing this?

I don’t know the answer anymore. I blink a few times at the darkness. What I
do
know is I’m seriously losing my mind.

“I can't,” I whisper in a shaky voice. “I’ve got to go.”

I start to slide off the table, but Colt catches my thighs and holds me up. “Wait, wait. So no foreign objects in sensitive places. Okay, I get it.”

He leans in and kisses my neck again, but I’m pushing back on his arms. “I have to stop,” I say. “I can’t do this anymore.”

His hands come up and catch my wrists, wrapping them around my back. “Can’t do what, partner in crime?” He’s grinning, holding my hands back, and I realize my shirt’s still wide open.

“I’m not into it,” I say, but he slides both my wrists into one hand again as he lowers his head to my neck.

“I can get you into it,” he murmurs between kisses, but in that instant, I twist and pull an arm free. I catch him with a push to the chest and then jump down, running to the door. All I want is to get out, away from whatever's happening here and back to Jordan.

“Dammit, Ashley! I hear something hit the wall, but I don’t look back. “That’s the last time.”

I charge out into the rain again running past the trees in the direction of the bonfire. At that moment it occurs to me that Colt was my ride to the park. If everyone’s gone, I don’t know how I’m getting home. I run harder, hoping there’s some sort of clean-up crew that involves Jordan. He invited me, after all. He’s always with Dr. Andrews. He’s got to be part of the leadership committee.

Rain’s falling in sheets, and I can’t see much in the darkness. The bonfire’s smoking and smoldering. I wipe my eyes, and just glimpse a tall figure in a hooded nylon windbreaker running toward the stack of wood. He grabs the last chair and starts back for the parking area.

“Jordan!” my voice is a high-pitched squeal. The figure freezes and turns in my direction.

I’m still running toward him, but now tears are blurring my vision. I think of Colt back in the cabin and how he probably thinks I’m a complete psycho. I think he might be right, but I don’t care. All I know is I don’t want him. I want this tall, skinny guy running toward me. The one who believes in everything I hate and who will most certainly drive me crazy. The one who talks to me about good things, about my dad, and who wants to make a difference in the world. The one I want to hold and kiss and be with every minute.

“You’re soaked.” Jordan’s holding my shoulders, and I’m laughing and crying, reaching for him. “Your shirt… What happened to you?”

I pull the sides of my wet blouse across my body and fold myself into his chest. He slides down the zipper of his raincoat and wraps it around me along with his arms. My shirt’s plastered closed, and I snake my arms around his waist, holding onto him. His arms tighten, and I can feel him kiss the top of my head. I shiver even though it’s warm. Our bodies pressed together are even warmer, and it feels so good. So safe. He pulls me in the direction of the car.

“You left your bag by the fire,” he says as we go. “It’s all wet, but I have it in the car.”

I nod against his arm. “Thanks.”

“Here, I’ll take you home.”

* * *

Nobody greets us when we get to my house. Jordan and I slam into the mud room off the side of the kitchen, and I go into the bathroom to grab two thick, white towels.

“Just hang it on the peg there,” I call out as I reach into the cabinet.

Then I see myself in the mirror. Black smudges are under my eyes and my hair is plastered to my head. I quickly drop the towels and scrub my fingertips over the black. Better, but my hair needs major help. No time. I whip the hand towel off the ring and wrap it around the ends. It’s not great, but it’s at least presentable. Spa chic.

Jordan’s sitting on the long bench waiting when I step back out. I love that he’s here. It’s silly, but now that I’ve stopped fighting it, I just want to be with him. All the time.

“Come on,” I say, going through the side door down to the basement. “Will left some of his clothes here. You can toss your shirt in the drier—”

“I wasn’t going to stay,” he starts. I turn quickly and we bump into each other. He catches me, and then drops his hands, looking away from my still-transparent, wet shirt.

“Sorry,” I wrap my towel around my shoulders like a cape. “Please stay. Just til your shirt’s dry.”

He hesitates for a half second before smiling. “Okay.”

I do not squeal. Out loud. Jordan follows me down to the basement, where I dig through the laundry basket sitting on top of the drier. I hold up my brother’s navy tee.

“You can wear this, and I’ll run upstairs and change.”

He nods and I pause at the door, watching as he pulls his wet shirt over his head. Jordan’s skinny, but I still get a little thrill seeing his stomach flex as he struggles with his clothes. He lowers his arms and catches me. “What?”

“Come upstairs when you’re done.”

Five minutes later we’re in the kitchen. The white towel is over his shoulders, and I’m in terry shorts and a tank. I drop my soaked clothes in front of the door to the basement. My wet bra is safely hidden in my bathroom, but my panties are MIA. I frown thinking of where they might be, but when I look up and see Jordan, I decide to worry about that later. He’s here, and everything feels different and right somehow.

One big change in our house over the last few months has been the reappearance of junk food. I turn my back on the church, and Mom turns her back on green living. Processed foods, chips, and Nutella have gradually popped up next to the quinoa, ground flax, and certified local honey. I grab a bag of bugles and slide up onto the granite-topped island in the center of the room.

“Your house is huge,” Jordan says before leaning forward on his arms beside me. I pass him the bag and he grabs a handful of the cone-shaped chips.

I put one on the tip of each finger and pretend to grasp his nose. He catches my hand and bites off one of my fake “fingernails.” I close my hand around his and slide closer as he crunches.

“Thanks for saving my bag,” I say.

“It was the least I could do.” He winks then looks around. “Your mom’s not here?”

I shrug, remembering our fight. “We haven’t really been talking much. Since the thing with dad.”

“As in a few weeks or six months?”

I pull my hand away and fish for another bugle fingernail. “The whole time.”

He rubs the top of my knee. “That’s not good. You need your mom.”

“Tell me about it. But it’s her deal. She’s always leaving and staying gone all hours.”

“What’s she doing?”

“She says she’s working, but I don’t know.”

We’re quiet, and Jordan walks over to the fridge where a picture of me and Will is stuck with a magnet. “Your brother’s a good guy. Can he help?”

“Not from school,” I say, crunching another bugle nail and desperate to change the subject. “So now my turn. What did your parents think when you told them you wanted to be a missionary?”

He smiles. “I’m not going to be a missionary. I’m just helping them for the summer.”

“And reporting back.” I jump down and run over to the fridge to grab us both drinks. “You’re a spy!”

“I’m not a spy.” He cracks the top off a Coke, and I hop back up on the island.

“Will your stuff be printed nationally?”

“Don’t think so. Don’t know. I’ll send it to Dr. Andrews, and he’ll decide what to do with it.”

“No wonder you’re kissing his butt.”

Eyes roll. “He’s my mentor. And it’s cool. I go with him on hospital visits, and we visit people at their houses. Mostly old ladies. Widows and stuff.”

He’s back, leaning beside me on the bar, and I reach over to slide his bangs to the side. I can’t seem to stop touching him.

“You really like doing it.”

“It changes how you see things when you stop worrying so much about yourself. You see how everybody walks through hard times, and it’s more like we’re in this together. Helping each other.”

Everything about him is focused and inspired as he talks. His eyes meet mine, and I can’t help it. I lean into him, slip my hand to his cheek, and touch my lips to his. He doesn’t move, and for a moment, I simply feel the wonderful, warm sensation of our lips touching. Then I lower my hand and look down.

He clears his throat. “So what happened out there?” he asks.

I sit up, fiddling with another bugle. “Colt and I sort of… parted ways, I guess.”

Saying we broke up makes it sound like there was more of a relationship than there was. Jordan doesn’t answer, but his warm hand goes to my foot. He gives it a squeeze, and my eyes flicker to his. When I see his expression, my stomach tightens. A smile is playing on his lips, and I catch the hem of his shirt and pull. He moves to me and leans in for another kiss. My hands go around his neck as our mouths meet, and when our tongues touch, we instinctively pull closer.