NINE

 

“Hey, Punkin.” It was the first time I’d heard my dad’s voice in a week.

I held the phone tightly to my ear, wishing I could see his face on my cell phone screen. “Hey, dad,” I croaked, emotion welling up in my throat.

“How’s your weekend so far?”

“Good.” Wild. Bizarre. Amazing.

“The game?”

“It was okay.” I leaned my back against the wall in the kitchen. It was ten, but I was still in my pjs. I slept in, waking up kinked and sore, and I hadn’t had the energy to do much yet.

“I never thought my little girl would be a cheerleader.” Dad chuckled. “Remember when I used to take you to that gymnastics class when you were little?”

“How could I forget?” My lips tugged at the corners, grateful that this was a memory I had knowledge of. “I used to come home with bruises all over me.”

“Guess you’ve grown up a lot since then?” He sounded sad, far away.

I wanted to reach into the line and yank him home. “When are you coming back?”

“Not for at least another two or three weeks.”

My heart sank. I didn’t even know anything about the job he was on. Couldn’t have been the same one from 2018. “Big job, huh?”

“Yeah.” He yawned.

“Tired?”

“Very,” he said. “Your mom around?”

“No. She and Kelly went out this morning. The gym, I think.”

“Your brother?”

“Not sure.” I hadn’t seen him since I woke up. “Maybe he went with them.”

“Okay. Well, tell them I said hi.” I waited for him to add in that he loved them. I waited for him to tell me to give Mom a big hug like he usually did. Only the words never came. “Have a good day, Punkin.” At least he still called me “Punkin.” I was glad that hadn’t changed.

“You too, Dad.”

After putting the phone down, I took a shower and got dressed. I figured Mom and Aunt Kelly would be home by the time I was ready, but they weren’t. The house was still quiet. Empty. I missed my phone. My computer. My iPad.

Ava.

I flipped through the TV channels, but nothing was on. No Netflix. No HBO. No On Demand. Just a bunch of old shows I’d never watched before. Most I’d never even heard of. Sighing, I tossed the remote down. This sucked.

Trudging back up to my room, I flicked on the radio. A Madonna song came on, and I was glad it was something I recognized. Singing along, I danced around my room. When I got close to the window, I glanced down toward Nick’s house out of habit. My heart stopped when I caught a glimpse of him. I stopped dancing and walked forward. The hood of his car was open, and he leaned over it, tinkering with something inside. This was all so familiar, and I had a bizarre sense of déjà vu. Ever since I’d woken up in the nineties, everything felt different. Except this. Me, standing here at my window drooling over Nick Sinclair as he worked on his car, wasn’t new. This was something I’d been doing for months.

He stood, stretching his arms. There was a tool in his hand and his palms were caked in black grease. As he stretched, his shirt rode up a little, showing off his taut stomach. I sucked in a breath. His head bounced up toward my window. Our gazes met. He smiled. My heart picked up speed. Oh, great. He’d caught me staring. I was about to duck my head when he motioned me downstairs with his hand.

Well, this was a first.

Embarrassment vanishing, I smiled and nodded.

Biting my lip, I hurriedly shoved on a pair of shoes and raced downstairs. It wasn’t until I was heading across my front lawn that I realized my hair was still damp from the shower and I hadn’t put on any makeup. Crap.

Subconsciously, I smoothed my hair down with my palms. Not that it would make any difference. By the time it dried, it would be a frizzy mess. I had to go back inside to blow-dry and curl it.

“Hey, you.” Nick leaned against his car, flashing me a dimpled smile.

 “Hey.” Or I could stay right here. When his smile deepened, my mouth dried out. Yeah, I think I’ll do that.

“Watcha up to?” He asked in his deep, smooth voice.

“Nothin’ much.” I shrugged. “What about you? Working on your car?” Oh, geez. Duh. Of course he was. Maybe now was the time to go back to the one-word answers.

“Yep.” He glanced back at the hood. “It’s old, so something always seems to go wrong with it.”

“And you can fix it?” I was impressed.

“Usually,” he said.

“That’s amazing. My dad knows nothing about cars. If we have any issues he takes it straight to the mechanic.”

Nick laughed. “My dad’s the same way.”

“Then who taught you how to fix cars?”

“My grandpa.” His eyes sparkled, and my heart skipped a beat. “This is actually his. Gave it to me before he died.”

I blew out a breath. “I’m so sorry.”

He waved away my sympathy with a shake of his head. “It was a few years ago.”

I think about all the times I’d seen him out here with this car. “That’s why it’s so important to you,” I mused.

He nodded. “My parents are always saying I should get a new car. Something more reliable. But this is my car, you know? I don’t want another one.”

“I get that.” I wasn’t super close to my grandparents, but I was close to my parents and Aunt Kelly. “When I was a little girl, my dad used to have this box of his old stuff. You know, like toys and stuff from when he was a kid? In it was this bobble head of his favorite baseball player. It was kinda creepy looking, and I don’t even like baseball. But I’ll never forget the way his eyes lit up when he showed it to me. The next time he had to go out of town for work, I took the bobble head out of the box and put it on my dresser. For some reason it always reminded me of my dad, and that’s why it’s been sitting on my dresser ever since.”

“That’s awesome,” Nick said. “I love baseball.”

Of course he did.

“Do you know what player it is?”

I shook my head. No idea.

He laughed in an amused way. “You’ll have to show me sometime.”

My heart sank. The bobble head wasn’t on my dresser anymore. Not in 1993. Why had I brought that up? I wasn’t used to having to censor myself all the time. I wanted to connect with Nick. To be real with him. To show him I cared, and that I understood. Instead, I kept screwing up. Swallowing hard, I forced a nod. “Yeah. For sure.”

“That’s cool that you and your dad are close.”

“Yeah.” My lips started to curl upward until I noticed the dark expression on Nick’s face. “Are you not close with your dad?”

He shrugged. “I mean, I don’t hate the guy.”

Not exactly a declaration of love. “What about your mom?”

“She’s okay.” His sad expression gutted me. I’d spent years envying Nick. Watching him from afar, thinking he had this perfect life. Was I wrong? It seemed unfathomable. Also, weren’t his parents the one who uprooted their entire lives to move here for him? I was missing something. Same way with his sister. I only wished I knew what it was. “But my grandpa and I were tight. We hung out all the time.” His gaze flickered to the car again. “I have so many dope memories in this car.”

Reaching out, my fingertips grazed his skin before my palm rested lightly on his arm. I didn’t mean to. I didn’t even think it through. Simply acted on instinct. His head whipped in my direction, his eyes widening slightly. I wanted to yank my hand back, but then he smiled, his gaze searing into mine.

I got that weird, fluttery feeling in my belly again, and I froze, unable to move. He stepped toward me, one arm lifting and curving around my waist. I wasn’t sure if he’d wiped off the grease, and honestly, I didn’t care. I’d bathe in the stuff to have him touch me. Goosebumps rose on my flesh as his head tilted lower.

“Not so crowded here, huh?” he mumbled.

“No,” I breathed out, my pulse quickening. Hair fell into my eyes, but he reached up with his free hand and brushed it back. My face felt like it was on fire, and my stomach was such a mess of activity it was like a village of people had taken up residence inside.

His palm slid against my cheek, his face nearing mine. The closer he got the more labored my breathing became.

Nick’s gaze slid over my shoulder at the sound of an approaching car. His brows furrowed. “I think that’s your mom.”

I groaned. My stomach dropped. You’ve got to be kidding me.

“Oh. No, it’s not.”

As I listened to the car drive past, I exhaled. Silence spun around us.

Nick smiled.  “We’re alone again.”

“So, we are.” Reaching out, I wrapped my arms around his waist. Our bodies meshed, our chest pressed together. I hoped he couldn’t tell how fast my heart was racing. He lowered his head again. His mouth hovered mine. I licked my lips, ready.

When his mouth finally pressed against mine, I closed my eyes and melted into it. Into him. It was easy, allowing him to take the lead. I matched him, move for move, as his lips moved deftly over mine, his fingers tangling in my damp hair.

His other hand played with my spine, causing tingles to shoot up and down my back. I didn’t dare move my arms, instead keeping them firmly locked around his middle. His mouth was warm, his lips surprisingly soft. Everything about the kiss felt good. Right. And for a moment, I forgot that this was Nick Sinclair, a boy I’d thought was unattainable for years. A boy I’d crushed on for longer than I could remember. Right now, he was just Nick. A boy I liked, and who liked me. He was my neighbor. My friend. And with him, I felt safe. Cared for. Understood.

Tires rumbled on the asphalt. A cat meowed in the distance. But I shut it all out, only focusing on his hands, his lips, his tongue, his body, his touch.

A car door slammed.

“Remy?’

I froze.

Nick drew back. “Oh, this time it is your mom.”

Crap.