As Much As I Ever Could
Page 14
He’d also begged Memaw to sell their Charleston house—the one where my dad grew up—immediately after and pursue their dream of living on the island, volunteering the last years of their lives in every near and dear cause. He didn’t make it to that part, but he implored her to “live the dream” for both of them.
So she did, and Dad flew off the handle in a rage, refusing to listen, accusing her of losing her mind, and then cut Memaw out of his—and consequently our—life.
“Your mother realized it was a bad situation, and I’m thankful every day she sent pictures and videos of you girls. I got to see you, even if I couldn’t be there.” Memaw’s bottom lip quivers as she swipes away a stray tear from her cheek.
“Are you and Dad talking now?”
“Only about you.” She reaches over and pats my hand. “I’m sure he thinks I’m doing a horrible job.”
At least he’s getting updates on me through Memaw. God knows he hasn’t taken any initiative to contact me himself. But if he thinks Memaw’s failing me, he’s wrong. The weeks I’ve been here have changed me.
Are changing me still.
I scan my room, the place I’ve come to consider home. “Ignore him. I’m right where I need to be.”
Memaw folds me into her arms, squeezing so tight her bracelet pinches into my skin. But this time, no shudder ripples through me. Memaw’s touch no longer crawls over my skin like a thousand stinging insects. Somehow, they—Jett and Memaw and Gin and Bo and the magic of this place—have found a way to break my walls, and instead of being scared, I’m happy. Content for the first time in months.
She heads to the door, pausing to dart her head back in, a wicked smile spreading her lips. “Oh, and CJ? When you talk to Jett today, please tell him it’s perfectly acceptable to use the back stairs and come to your door if he wants to visit you. That whole Romeo and Juliet shit with the ladder is going to destroy my siding.”
Take a shower. Jett. Clean my room. Jett. Read a book. (Okay, try to read a book.) Jett. Walk on the beach. Jett. My mind roars like one of Jett’s racecars going 100 mph in a loop.
I trudge through the sand to the pier and the beam where our names are carved. Mine, though still newer than the others, has begun weathering on the wood. It’s more natural now. Fits in like it was always meant to be there. I sit, my back against the post, and pull out my phone. There’s someone I need to share this moment with.
Jett finally contacts me a little after 8 p.m. I reread his text for the millionth time with a long face. He’s leaving for a week. Unexpected racing promo event. Again. And right when we’re finally making headway. Ugh.
Between my disappointment and Memaw’s volunteering on the night shift at the nursing home, the night’s a bust. I crawl under my covers. Might as well capitalize on extra sleep, but even closed eyes and a comfy pillow can’t shut off my wandering thoughts.
A week away from me. A week surrounded by all those fangirls Rachel mentioned. And Dani. Let’s not forget Dani.
I’m not insecure. Jett’s more than proven he’s interested. It’s just, this lifestyle was engrained in him long before I was in the picture. And even though we kissed—a lot—it’s not like we’re an “official” couple, so I don’t have any right to demand any sort of behavior. Still, I hope our connection proves stronger than any temptation he faces on the road. That he’ll be thinking of me instead. Our kissing. Our touching. Our—
Thump. Thump. Thump.
The hard rapping on the French door startles me. I jump to my knees on the mattress, yanking the comforter to my chin, when I spot him through the glass panes, his freshly-showered, still-wet hair spiked up in the front. He adjusts the backpack thrown over his shoulder then motions for me to hurry and let him in. I dart to the door, swinging it open wide.
“I thought y’all left already?”
“Fifteen minutes, but I couldn’t leave without doing this.” He steps across the threshold, dropping the bag to the floor, and presses his lips into mine, hoisting me into his arms. I tangle my hands in his hair and wrap my legs around his waist.
The sweet, gentle kisses from before fade into tonight’s hard and hungry ones, crackling over my nerve endings like a swarm from a kicked-over hornet’s nest. Every part of me screams out to touch him.
He lays me on top of the covers, pulling back and hovering above as we pant for air like two fish out of water, eyes fixated on the other, mouths hanging open. His gaze reflects the same whirlwind raging inside me, yelling for me to pull him back down, take control of this opportunity. But time’s running out. He has to go.
“Guess that’ll have to last me for a few days,” I whine, the mere thought of even one day without touching or kissing him hitting me like a bucket of ice water.
“That and this.” He grabs the bag, loosens the strap, and pulls out a glossy headshot of himself. “The proofs came back for the promo tour, so I nabbed one. Even autographed it for my best girl.” The orange and black jumpsuit skims his torso, the Ramsey Racing logo running lengthwise up the side of the arm. His jade eyes pierce the paper, still mesmerizing, but harder and edgier than they are with me. In the corner in black Sharpie, it says: To Cami. You drive me ______________. XO, Jett.
“I drive you what?” I glance over the paper’s edge, eyes narrowed.
“Depends on the day. Nuts. Crazy. Wild.” He drags out the “i” in wild and leans in to nuzzle my neck. That’s when his words finally register, and I yank backwards. He blinks rapidly. “What?”
“Best girl?” It was almost a verbal nod to my deepest fear.
“Only girl.” He kisses me, but my lips stall. He sits on the side of my bed and grabs my hands, his palm hot against my skin. “Don’t start that whole Rachel-blowing-smoke-up-your-ass stuff again.”
I drop my eyes to his picture, now lying on the covers in front of me. My gut tells me to trust him, but every time I make that commitment, Rachel’s nagging voice pops into the background. Like that annoying angel/devil thing. Except without the angel.
“You know my story now. How important trust is to me.” He tips up my chin with his finger. “Rachel’s right about my disappearing at these events, but I’m not hooking up with anyone.” He huffs out a long, hard breath. “It’s overwhelming sometimes. Too many people. Too many expectations. So, I escape…and draw.”
Huh? That’s unexpected. My nose crinkles as I consider his revelation. “Draw? Like portraits?”
“Buildings. Houses. House plans, more specifically.” He nods, eyes wide, but I can’t seem to unfreeze my face from its What the hell? expression. Jett snort-laughs. “Why are you looking at me like that? Yes, I have other interests outside of racing.”
Of course he has other interests. But architecture? “No…it’s cool. Just surprising.”
>
“Everyone assumes I’ll follow my dad’s footsteps. No one knows I want to go to college, get a degree in architecture with a specialty in sustainable design. Someone’s got to figure out a way to keep growth from destroying all this.” He pans his hand toward the window and all the natural beauty of Edisto.
Every time I’m positive there’s nothing else to learn about him, he surprises me again. “There’s so much I don’t know about you, Jett. So much I want to know.”
“We’re just getting started.” He takes my cheeks in his hands and plants a kiss on my forehead. “My Cami.”
This time, he doesn’t have to make the first move. I grab his shirt and wrench him to me, smothering his lips, face, and neck with a gazillion kisses, never letting up until the alarm on his watch beeps. Our fifteen minutes are over, and he has to go. But not without one last kiss and a promise to be back as quickly as he can. He disappears into the night, and I’m alone, not only with my memories but also with the hope that when Jett gets back, we’ll finally be a true couple.
“You better put on sunscreen. Your legs are looking lobsterish.” Gin snaps the lid closed on the tube of sunscreen with one hand and tosses it in my lap while smearing thick white cream across her chest.
“I’m pale with freckles. When do I not look like a lobster?” I laugh, stretching out on the blue beach towel for a better look. When I press my fingertip into my leg, the skin turns white then quickly fills back in with a rosy hue. Obviously, the SPF 30 from earlier didn’t do its job.
It’s the first time in days I’ve been to the beach only because it’s been the first opportunity. Five days without Jett meant five days with too much time on my hands, obsessing over every tiny detail of those last moments between us and agonizing over the prospect of what’s to come. Sitting around like some loser-stalker-freak and wallowing in self-pity wasn’t happening, so I begged Mrs. Baxter for extra shifts. And because the crowds are piling in due to the upcoming Fourth of July holiday, she obliged. Win-win.
As I recoat my legs, Gin pops up from her chair and bounces toward the foamy edge of the water, boogie board in tow. The incoming tide’s waves are much bigger than the puny ones from earlier, and she convinces Bo to go out with her and catch a few. I snap the sunscreen lid closed and push the tube back into her pink polka-dot bag, using my slick, newly-lotioned legs as an excuse to sit this one out. Convincing at any rate, but not quite the truth. I bite my lower lip, peeping over my shoulder at the beach access and the deserted road beyond it.
No one.
“CJ?” Bo calls my name, and I jerk my head back in his direction. He’s standing in front of me, arms crossed, one eyebrow jacked in a wicked triangle. “Quit stressin’. He said he’ll be back today, and he will.”
I didn’t figure on being so transparent, and the words fumble off my lips. “I…uh, I…wasn’t waiting…looking for…Jett…uh, I was just…”
“Uh-huh.” Bo’s smart-ass tone is echoed by the knowing glint in his eyes, which mocks my feeble attempt to cover up the obsessive waiting game. Bo laughs and runs out into the surf, trailing behind Gin to a calm area beyond the breakers where they kneel, boards in hand, waiting on the big one.
Em’s the only one I’ve told about my make-out sessions with Jett. Not a word to Gin and Bo. Sure, they’ve asked—especially after the party debacle—but I’ve smiled and held them at bay with that same old we’re good friends and everything’s a-okay routine.
I want to tell them. Hell, I want to shout it from the rooftops. But the water’s still muddy around the particulars of our relationship status, and like hell will I be the one to go around speculating without Jett first spelling it out. Besides, these are his life-long buddies. If he wants them to know, it figures he’ll be the one to spill the beans.
Five minutes and fifty-million over-the-shoulder-peeks later, the only person coming from the beach access is some old geezer in a Hawaiian-print shirt over black Speedos with a Pekingese on a leash.
I get up, dusting the sand from my suit, and walk to the water’s edge where the cool surf gurgles around my toes. What if he doesn’t show? I burrow my big toe under the sand then kick my foot, sending a clump of sand flying just as I’m pulled off my feet and spun around in a dizzying spiral.
My squeals draw every eye on the beach. On the third or fourth revolution, the sand and ocean blur together and my stomach gnaws. “I’m gonna throw up!”
Suddenly, the bottoms of my feet hit sand, and I brace myself, my upper body still swaying with the momentum. As the motion eases, so does the nausea. He leans into me, coming so close his chest hugs into my back, his breathy words tickling my ear. “I’ll hold your hair back if you do.”
I glance backwards over my shoulder and meet his green eyes, sparkling in the overhead sun. “Wait, you’ve already done that.”
“I’ll do it again. And again. And again. And again.” With each “again” he kisses my temple, ear, cheek and slope of my neck while his hands grip my hips, creating a firestorm in all the places beneath my suit.
“Everyone’s watching,” I whisper, pressing into him and inhaling his coconuts-and-gasoline scent. The lean muscles in his chest squeeze into my shoulder blades, bringing to life the secret fantasy that’s played in my head for weeks now.
“Let ‘em.” Jett presses even closer, his lips hovering so close to my face they brush across my temple as he speaks. I tilt my head, and he plunges his lips into mine, erasing everything and everyone around us until…
“Get a room!” Bo yells as he stomps out of the water.
Jett and I pull apart, words flying from my head, and the excuses for why I haven’t told them come out in a jumbled mess. “Oh…I uh…we were just…I mean, I didn’t…”
“Save it. We’ve known all week.” Gin walks behind Bo, giggling, and jumps up and down. “And you thought you were smooth.”
Jett snickers and tugs me to his side, my shoulder lodging underneath his armpit. His grip’s protective yet gentle, and the way he trails his fingertips over the dry-weave fabric of my long-sleeved suit scatters chills over my body, prickling every hair straight to my toes. “What did you tell them?”
“I told them we kissed…a lot.” Gin and Bo laugh out loud, but Jett leans to my ear and whispers, “Nothing personal we discussed.”
Bo nudges my shoulder. “Come on, CJ. Jett’s my best friend. You know he had to tell me.”
I slap his arm, then wag my finger at Gin. “Then why did y’all keep asking me all those stupid questions?”
“It’s funny watching you squirm.” Gin giggles as she and Bo nod in unison. “Just like y’all both have since CJ got here. Trying to be all secretive about your obvious feelings for each other.”
Jett squishes his mouth, nose, and brow together, mocking them. Then he gets serious and says, “That’s all over. Cami and I have no secrets anymore. We know everything there is to know.” Jett smiles at me, a shimmering hint of his gold tooth making his smile look like one of those hokey toothpaste commercials.
The double meanings in his words aren’t lost on me. We share more than feelings. We share personal truths, secrets no one else knows, hesitations no one else appreciates. But it’s through our fears we understand each other. Maybe that’s all we ever really needed.
Chapter Seventeen
Jett’s lips are a drug whose side effects include the euphoria of floating on a surreal wave, rising and falling, opening and closing, each one new and adventurous but also homey and familiar. I love that the first thing we do now when seeing each other is move steadily together, as if magnetized, meeting in the middle, moving in perfect rhythm.
An addiction.
A necessity.
I pull back, his mint Chapstick burning into the creases of my skin, and wipe my thumb across his swollen bottom lip, rubbing away the remnants of my glittery pink lip gloss. The ride from Memaw’s house to Jett’s made two miles feel like an eternity as I sat in the passenger seat, secured tight in my seatbelt, gazing no
n-stop at his lips. The ones I’d devoured in Memaw’s driveway. The ones I attacked as soon as we pulled up in front of the brick-and-iron gate of the Ramsey Compound.
He captures my hand in his, bringing my palm to his lips, and then slides it down, holding it open against his chest, his heart thumping beneath the muscle shirt. “What took us so long to start doing that?” he whispers.
I lean across the console and bury my face in his neck. “I don’t know, but I never want to stop.”
“Then don’t.” He cups my chin and pulls me into another kiss. His eyes are closed as his lips move over mine, his tongue jutting out to part my lips slightly.
I swoon, my insides like melted wax running down and pooling in my toes. I could stay here all day in his car, nuzzled into the curve of his body, except for the fact that we’re parked in front of his parents’ house and his dad’s truck sits just inside the gate. I tear my lips from his and glance over my shoulder. There’s no one in the yard or standing by the windows, but it doesn’t take a genius to figure out what’s going on when we’re parked here, not getting out.
“Maybe this isn’t the best place,” I hint, ticking my head toward the house, and Jett opens his eyes, following my direction.
“Eh, they don’t care. But if it’s privacy you want,” he says, a mischievous grin lighting his face, “I’ve got the perfect place.”
He pop-kisses my forehead and hops out, running around the front of the car to hold my door open. I slide out across the leather seat. “About that. You said to dress for a day on the beach. Why are we here?”