If you’re ever presented with the opportunity to go tubing with a guy so hot he makes your knees weak, by all means, do it. There are two options at the rental counter: single or double. Take double. Sure the tube is bigger, but there is zero—I repeat, zero—way to ride that thing without some part of your bodies touching. And as we all know, practice makes perfect, so by the sixth or seventh run I’d figured out the optimal way to both protect my knee and make sure the highest percentage possible of Blake’s body was pressed against mine.
When we go inside for lunch, Blake loops his arm through mine as we hobble our way through the line, then pays and carries our tray to the lounge area. No private table today—we’re jammed at the end of a long table in front of the windows, surrounded by several groups of teenagers and a family of ten all wearing matching ski hats.
Sophia insisted I keep her posted so I send her a text once we’re settled at a table. I am a smitten kitten. I pop a fry in my mouth.
Blake rests his head on my shoulder and peeks at my phone. “Who are you texting?”
I jerk it away before he can see, but can’t stop the blush that seems to be a permanent fixture on my face since we met. “Sophia. My best friend.”
He raises his eyebrows but doesn’t say anything.
“My dad says we’re joined at the hip. She was supposed to come on this trip with us but her mom got upset at the idea of her being away from home for Thanksgiving and not seeing her grandparents so—” Blake’s eyes grow wider and wider and I realize I haven’t taken a breath. “Sorry. That’s where you’re supposed to say ‘punctuation please.’ It’s a joke with my dad.” Oh my god, Cally, shut up.
He smiles, and I let out the breath I’ve been holding. “So you’re pretty tight with your dad?”
I lean back in my chair. “Yeah. After Mom died, me and Dad kind of became the two musketeers. Dad had always been involved in my life, but suddenly he was solely responsible for an eight-year-old. He made up this buddy system where we could call each other any time, any place, no matter what we needed, and that’s what got us through those first months. The other stuff...” I hesitate, unsure if I should continue. Sophia’s the only one outside the family who knows the rest of this story.
“What?”
I glance away for a second. “It’s stupid.”
His eyes search mine. “I’m sure it’s not. Losing someone is hard.” He pauses like he’s going to say more, then he smiles and the moment passes.
I barely know this boy but something tells me to trust him. I take a breath. “I refused to ride on the left side of cars since that’s the side Mom was on when she died. Technically, I still don’t, but I don’t tell people why. And when I’m with Dad he’s driving so he doesn’t notice.”
Blake’s lower lip pushes out ever so slightly, and I’m momentarily distracted. “I guess we all cope in our own way.”
I force out a laugh. “Let’s just say I got really good at calling shotgun.”
He smiles. “And I’m guessing you’re not in a hurry to visit England?”
“Or Australia or Ireland, or like half the Caribbean Islands.” Part of me thrills that he put two and two together, but isn’t making me feel weird about it. “Fortunately the places with snow all stick to the right side of the road. But enough about me...” I take a huge bite of my burger, making it impossible for me to say another word, and raise my eyebrows at him as I chew.
He pushes his fries around in the paper basket. “Let’s see. I got my license in September, I hate sushi, and I don’t normally drive that snooze-mobile—”
“Ooh, what’s your car like?”
The dark expression from yesterday flashes over his face and I immediately regret asking.
“I don’t mean that like ‘ooh, what do you drive?’ I’m just curious. I’m hoping Dad gets me a Wrangler for my sixteenth but he hasn’t committed yet.” I slap my hand over my mouth and point at him. Hello, foot-in-mouth disease. “You talk.”
He takes a sip of his soda and clears his throat. “I didn’t take it that way.”
I don’t believe him, but I keep my mouth shut.
“Actually, I have a Wrangler.”
“For serious?!” I clap my hands and several people turn to stare. I give them a cheesy smile and turn back to Blake, my voice low. “Tell me what color.” If it’s orange, it’s settled. I’m having his babies.
He takes a bite of burger and chews slowly, making me squirm in anticipation. “I’m kind of afraid to say now.”
I shrug. “It’s totally not a big deal.”
He laughs. “Yeah, right. What color do you want yours to be?”
“Orange.”
“Huh.” He takes another bite and chews slower than a brontosaurus. Or stegosaurus. The one with the long neck that only eats plants. And now he’s drinking again.
“You’re killing me smalls.”
“Sandlot. Nice.”
That’s it. I pick up a burned fry—I’m not wasting the good ones—and bounce it off his chest. “Why do you hate me?”
He winks, and my heart races. “I was just thinking how cute our matching Jeeps would be.”
“It’d be borderline sickening.” My smile fades. “But I have to get over the left-side thing if I ever want to drive one.”
“When’s your birthday?”
“Not ‘til this summer. July.”
“You’ve got time. Have you practiced at all?”
I shake my head. “Dad’s forced me into the car a couple times but it didn’t go well.” To say that I had a meltdown would be an understatement. As soon as I put my hands on the wheel, images of Mom getting hit head-on filled my vision and I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t move. According to Dad, I didn’t stop screaming until he pulled me out of the car and dragged me back inside the house. That was two months ago. He suggested seeing a psychiatrist but I convinced him I’ll be okay. “Maybe I need to move to a big city where driving isn’t necessary.”
Blake rests his elbows on the table and levels his gaze on me. “After the flip I saw you do, I have a hard time believing that you’re scared of anything.”
“Believe it.”
“Okay, so no driving. But how do you feel about the left side of the tube?”
A shiver of excitement ripples through me at the thought of being close to him again. “That I can do.”
***
At the top of the hill, I throw the tube on the ground and crouch behind it.
Blake squats next to me. “Headfirst?”
I raise a brow. “Chicken?”
“Hardly.” He grips the tube, steadying it. “You first.”
I rest my good knee on the edge and bounce a couple times before flopping onto my stomach. Between my snow pants and the ski jacket that hits my upper thighs, there’s little chance Blake is able to check out my ass, but I can’t help feeling exposed until he flops down next to me. I jostle into him—completely unintentional, I swear—and he pushes off with his feet.
I scramble for the handles as we rocket over the crest of the hill. “I wasn’t ready!”
His arm clamps over the middle of my back, keeping me in the tube but upping his chances of getting dumped on the first bump, which we’re quickly approaching.
“You better hold on!” We hit the bump, catching a little air, and laughter bubbles out of me. Dad’s called me an adrenaline junkie since I was a kid, and he’s totally right. There’s something about flying downhill on the edge of losing control while the wind blows my hair all over the place that makes me feel alive.
“Oh, shit,” Blake mutters under his breath. He’s still holding the back of my jacket and I tighten my grip to stay on the tube. We hit the ground with a thud. The toes of my boots slam into the packed snow and my teeth smack together. Blake manages to stay on without letting go of me, and he’s definitely closer to my side now.
I’m still laughing. “You okay?”
“I didn’t need that kneecap.”
I glance at him to gauge if he’s hurt, but his dimple is out in full force. He adjusts his position as we fly down the hill, and we pick up speed. He shifts again and the tube spins so we’re sideways with his body closer to the bottom of the hill.
“What are you doing? You’re going to make us—”
We hit the next bump and before I can say the word ‘flip’, the front of the tube dips faster than the back, sending me flying into the air. Blake pulls me tight against him and we land hard on the snow. Well, he lands on the snow. I somehow end up on top of him, chest to chest. His arms wrap around me as we come to a stop. My heart’s pounding so hard I’m sure he can feel it through our jackets.
His eyes search mine. “You okay?”
I’m super aware of how close we are, is how I am. “I think we lost the tube.”
He glances down the hill—the tube slides over the next bump and comes to a stop in front of two little kids, who look around before climbing in—then drags his gaze back to mine. They’re so blue it’s like the sky is reflecting inside them—or maybe the sky is so blue because of his eyes.
I move my arm so I’m leaning on an elbow and he rolls me so we’re both on our sides. His dimple is still on display but I barely notice because his lips part and before I realize what’s happening his head’s leaning in and those perfect lips are pressing against mine. His touch is so soft I’m sure I must be imaging this, but no, Blake, the boy I met yesterday, is kissing me on the middle of a tubing hill.
My eyes close and my gloved hand drifts to his chest. His hand slides to the back of my head as his lips move against mine. I mimic his movement and wish there was a subtle way I could yank off my glove so I could feel his hair against my skin, but I don’t want to do anything to distract him from kissing me.
But I don’t have to worry. Shouts erupt from behind us and I open my eyes as Blake tucks me against him and rolls us down the hill. An overloaded tube lands where we just were and hits Blake in the back, pushing us into the snow.
A flurry of high-pitched squeals bombard us.
“Oh my god!”
“Are you okay?”
“Were you, like, making out?”
“They were totally making out.”
I laugh against his chest. “Did that just happen?”
We push ourselves into a sitting position. Four girls my age stand in front of us, hands on their hips. One of them checks out Blake then catches my eye. “I’d make out with him in the middle of the hill, too. Nice work.”
A fierce blush rips up my throat and over my face as the girls jump onto their tube and take off down the hill.
Blake grabs my hands and pulls me to my feet. “Either we jack a tube from the next people or it looks like we’re walking.”
I slip my hand into his and tug him down the hill. “Come on. We need to do that again.”
His eyebrows pinch together like he’s not sure which I mean—the kissing or the tubing—but as he walks alongside me, I don’t care. I can’t remember the last time I felt so happy.