I can’t help wondering what she sees when she looks at me.
Quarterback. Golden boy. Full-ride scholarship. The guy everyone thought would escape this town without a scratch.
And now?
Just another busted version of what I used to be.
I lean forward, elbows on my knees, staring at the dirt floor. Straw and dust cling to my boots. I should keep my eyes down. I don’t.
Something in my chest pulls hard, magnetic. I glance over, just for a second. Just enough.
Memories crash in. The library. Senior year. Hidden between the shelves where the lights barely reached. Her back against the bookcase, my arm braced above her head. Way too close. Not close enough. I wanted to kiss her so badly it made my hands shake. I can still feel the heat of her body, the way her breath hitched when our noses touched.
I remember following her back there with the excuse of a Government assignment. I remember the surprise on her face when she turned and found me blocking the aisle. I almost smile at that part.
Then Drew ruins it.
He leans toward Sandie Sampson with that same stupid grin. Please, god, no.
“So,” he says, “you come here often?”
Sandie doesn’t even look up from her phone. “Wow. That line never gets old.”
“Good thing I don’t either.” He winks.
She finally glances at him. “What are you, Peter Pan? I don’t date little boys, weirdo.”
I shake my head. “You’re embarrassing yourself, man.”
He shrugs, unfazed. “Practice makes perfect.” Then he wiggles his eyebrows toward Val.
I follow his gaze. Val pointedly ignores us, staring straight ahead like we’re nothing more than faulty farm equipment.
That stings more than it should.
Because I don’t want to avoid her.
Not again.
And judging by the way she keeps shifting, by the tension in her shoulders, I don’t think she’s as unaffected as she wants us to believe.
Fred clears his throat, snapping the room to attention. “All right, listen up. We’ve got a lot to do before the festival tomorrow. I don’t want excuses. I don’t want laziness. We’re setting up stations, decorations, and games, and I expect it doneright.”
His eyes drag across the group, weighing us like we’re defective tools. He lingers on Drew for a beat longer than necessary.
Spoiler alert, Fred. You found your problem.
Drew stretches his legs out on a crate beside me, humming off-key like he’s auditioning to get fired. Sandie stays glued to her phone, thumbs flicking like she’s afraid it might escape.
Fred nods once, satisfied that we’re all trapped, then folds his arms. “Let’s do quick introductions.” He motions for the young kid to start.
“Uh, I’m Cole.” He shoves his thick-framed glasses up his nose. “Junior at Ballard Memorial High. I’m here for community service hours for my college apps.” He rubs his palms down his faded jeans and sneezes hard into his elbow, dark curls falling into his face. “I’m also allergic to hay.”
I skim the surrounding area covered in hay. Poor choice of community service there, bud.
Fred grimaces. “More than I needed, but thanks.” Then he turns toward Val.
My pulse kicks up, sharp and sudden. I haven’t heard her voice in over a year, but my body remembers it just fine.