Cora Carmack: All Lined Up

She grips the back of my T-shirt, pulling me in even closer.

“The things that scare me . . . It might take some time .”

“We’ve got plenty of that. Why don’t you make a list?” I grin. “We can just check off one thing at a time.”

“A list, huh?”

“Mmhmm.”

“I do like lists.”

“That’s something that we have in common.”

She pulls her head back from my chest, and I tip my face down to meet her eyes. She says, “Honesty?”

I nod back. “Always.”

“Honestly . . . I want you more than I ever thought possible, and sometimes that makes me want to run because I don’t know how I would survive losing you. Sometimes I hold people at arm’s length, so that it’s harder for them to hurt me.”

“I’m not at arm’s length now,” I say.

“No.” She cracks a small smile. “No, from the very beginning I couldn’t resist letting you in. That’s why you terrify me so much.”

“Listen to me, Daredevil.” I smooth a hand over her cheek, then across her forehead, wanting to wipe away the worried lines there. “You asked me once what fixes me the way dance fixes you. I’m still not sure I’ve found that thing that pulls me together, but I’ve found who pulls me together. You’re the only thing that makes me feel better when I’m tired or frustrated. You’re the thing that quiets all my worries and doubts and fears. You’re it for me. So run if you’d like, but I’ll follow. You can try to hold me at arm’s length, but I’ll never stop trying to pull you close. Be scared if you must, but you’re not going to lose me. Not unless your dad comes in and finds me here, then neither of us will have a choice.”

She laughs and leans up to press her cheek against mine.

“You’ve got me awfully close to saying those three big words that we’re probably not ready for.”

“Is that so?”

“Just warning you, so when I slip up you’ll know I tried.”

She’s parroting my own words back at me from the night we met. I kiss her again before pulling myself out of her arms and back to the window. Before I make my exit and head home to rest for the night, I whisper across the room, “I look forward to that slipup.”

I can’t sleep after Carson leaves. I’ve got this stupid grin on my face, and for the first time I feel the sting of being trapped back in my childhood home. If I were still living in the dorm, I could have gone with him . . . spent the night wrapped in his arms.

I hug one of my pillows close, but it’s not the same. I add another, trying to make a more Carson-sized lump, but there’s no replicating his warmth or the hardness of his muscles.

Also . . . I feel massively pathetic.

That doesn’t stop me from reaching for my phone on my bedside table and dialing him.

He answers on the second ring¸ his voice low and gruff and oh so perfect.

“Dallas? Are you okay?”

“Did I wake you?” I ask.

“No. I just laid down. Is something the matter?”

“Yes. I can’t get my pillows to be Carson-shaped enough. It’s a problem.”

He chuckles, and I wish I were there to hear it rumble through his broad chest. “Good. I would hate to find myself one day replaced by pillows.”

I don’t have anything else to say, and I’m just over here smiling, but he can’t see that. And now I feel like an idiot for having called him.

“Does the team have to be at the parade in the morning?”

I hear rustling, and imagine him shifting in his bed.

“No. That’s more of a fraternity and sorority thing. And it’s too early on a game day to convince any of the players to be there.”

“Oh.”

I’d already told Stella I would go. I’m meeting her on campus at 7:30 A.M. so we get a decent spot. I was shocked Stella was actually willing to roll out of bed before nine, but she’s pretty adamant about getting the full college experience. Now that I know he won’t be there, I’m much less excited.

Floats schmoats.

“I know one player who might be convinced to attend, if you were going.”

“Oh really? Is he cute? Is he a receiver? I’ve always kind of had a thing for receivers. Torres seems fun.”

He actually growls on the other end. “Don’t make me come back over there, Cole.”

If only.

“Did I say receiver? I meant quarterback. Silly me, I get all those positions mixed up. Football is just so confusing.”

“Riiiight.”

“Yep. I definitely meant quarterback. There’s this one . . . tall and kinda gorgeous—”

“Kinda?”

I roll my eyes. “Someone is needy tonight.”

“Who tried to make a pillow version of me?”

“Anyway, so, tall and gorgeous quarterback. Is he by chance the one who might make a parade appearance?”

“If he did, where might he find one tall and gorgeous redhead?”

“The brick wall around the quad, on the Fifth Street side, at seven thirty.”

He groans. “So early. You’re lucky I love you.”

The line goes silent. I squeeze my eyes shut, and I’m unsure whether this is the best or worst thing that’s ever happened. I’m unsure whether he means it or if it was just an accident.

He says, “Huh. Guess it was me who slipped up.”

Neither of us speaks for several long moments. With my eyes still tightly closed, I say, “I do feel pretty lucky. I’ll see you in the morning?”

“Yeah. I’ll be there. Good night, Daredevil.”

“Carson?”

“Hmm?” He sounds tired, and I feel a little bad for keeping him up, for making him wake up early, especially when I know how hard he works himself.

“I think you’re pretty lucky, too.”

“Oh, I’ve never doubted that.”

I smile, and my constrained heart feels fit to burst.

We say good night again, and then after a bit more pillow arranging, I manage to fall asleep.

I SHOW UP at the dorm thirty minutes early, and Stella is still drooling on her pillow when I open the door.

I flip on the light, and she groans.

“Turn it off.”

“You’ve only got half an hour until we’re supposed to be down at the quad.”

“Mornings have got to be the love child of Satan and . . . something else really bad that I’m too tired to think of. Leave me alone.”

“Oh no, missy.” I walk over and pull back her covers. “This parade was your idea.”

She whines and makes a grab for the covers. “And I’m known for my terrible ideas. You know this.”

Pulling her pillow over her head, she flops over so that she’s facing away from me.

“Don’t make me do it, Stella.”

Muffled by her pillow, she calls back, “Do what ?”

“I’m calling in a stamp.”

Her pillow goes flying, and I only barely manage to duck. Even so, it skims the top of my head.

“You’re using a stamp on this ?”

“Yep,” I say, popping the p, and crossing my arms over my chest. “You’ve got to learn to follow through on your commitments.”

“Hello!” She draws a circle around her face. “Commitment-phobe. You know this, too.”

I look at my cell phone. “Twenty-six minutes now. And we need to leave at least five minutes early.”

Scowling, she throws her legs over the edge of the bed, wincing when her toes touch the cold tile floor. “Mornings are the love child of Satan and you .”

“Love you back.”

Despite her grumbling, we manage to leave a couple minutes before seven thirty. With her short hair, she can get ready incredibly fast, unlike me and my monstrous mane.

When we stroll up the sidewalk toward the quad, I spot Carson already there waiting for us.

Stella shoots me a sly grin. “Now I get why you used the stamp. So I take it you had a pleasant surprise at your window last night?”