One Northern Morning (A Novella) (Southern Nights Novella Series #2) (5 page)

Dangerous, emotional, heated door that warns Enter At Your Own Risk.

“It’s getting late. You should probably get some rest.” I move to stand, but he snatches my wrist.

“Can you stay with me?”

I crease my eyebrows. “Kam, I don’t think—”

“Come on, Laney. This is probably the worst day of my life. I don’t want to be alone.” He looks at me with raw emotion.

I know it took a lot for Kam to admit that. And he must really be hurting if his defenses are down.

“Okay.” I give in. How can I say no to such a bleeding plea? “Lie down.”

Kam situates himself on the three-cushioned couch so I can slide up next to him. I rest my head on his chest as he wraps both arms around me. He smells like rain. We’re scrunched pretty tightly, but somehow we make it work. We lie there just listening to the storm. Thunder cracking and lightning brightening the room every now and again.

After a while, I start to drift off, warm and secure in Kam’s embrace.

“Hey, Lemon,” Kam says just before I fall asleep.

“Yeah?” I murmur.

“Nice shirt.”

T
he relentless buzzing wakes me up.

“Shut it off,” Laney mumbles sleepily, swiping at my face.

“It’s across the room.” I snuggle up next to her in an attempt to go back to sleep. I’m too comfortable to move. The buzzing eventually stops, and I drift back to sleep.

It then starts again. Shit.

“Kam,” Laney whines, and I finally give in. It’s annoying the crap out of me, too.

“Fuck, okay.” I clumsily uncurl myself from her body. It’s not exactly easy to maneuver in just a towel, but I eventually make my way off the couch without flashing her and swipe my phone from the top of the washing machine. I groan. Fifty missed calls and umpteen text messages. A majority of them from Sam, some from my parents, and a few from my coach. As I hold the phone, it rings again. ‘SAM THE MAGIC MAN’ flashes across the screen. I growl aggravated. I just don’t want to deal.

“Sam?” Laney asks sprawled out on the couch. I have to take a few deep breaths. She looks beyond edible wearing only my practice jersey. I can’t believe after all this time she still has it, let alone wears it. It was a pleasant surprise when she opened the door last night. I honestly didn’t know where else to go, and I knew Laney would be the one person who wouldn’t hound me. She’d make me feel like a normal person. She always has. She never was caught up in the celebrity, or the status, or the juggernaut that is ‘Kamdyn Ellis.’ She’s always just seen me.

“The one and only.” I make my way back to her.

“What are you going to do?” She pulls her legs up so I can sit, and I catch a peek of her skimpy boy shorts when she shifts. What I wouldn’t give to just lose myself in her body for a few hours. The way I used to.

“Kam?” She pulls me from my daydream.

“
Going
to do?” I answer distracted. “I have no idea. I know what I would
like
to do.”

“And what’s that?” Laney sits up straight. Her long, dark hair is messy and tangled; it looks like we spent the night doing more than just sleeping.
I wish.

“Disappear.”

“So, why don’t you? Maybe some time to yourself will be good for you.”

“I don’t want to be alone,” I say unwaveringly.

She stares at me as if she knows exactly what I’m getting at. Her big blue eyes twinkling. I want to disappear—
with her.

“We could go to your father’s cabin by the lake. It’s remote,” she suggests without skipping a beat.

“We could do that.” The use of the word
we
makes me feel lightheaded. Laney and I spent a bunch of weekends up there the summer we were together. Both with and
without
my father. “You’re okay with getting out of here?” I want to make sure this is what she wants and it’s not just some pity party for me.

“I’m good.” She grins. “I could use a change of scenery.”

“What about
Steve?”
I ask.

“I don’t think Steven will care. He broke up with me last night.”

“Sorry.” I tell her.
Not really.
Really, I’m fucking elated she got rid of that Yankee idiot.

“Don’t be.” She sighs. “I didn’t see a future with him anyway.”

I shoot her a shit-eating grin.

“Don’t even go there.”

I can’t help it. “Told you so.”

“Put a sock in it all-star,” she says sourly. “If we’re going, let’s go.”

“Decision made.” I try to sound upbeat, but worry, doubt, and fear are slowly oozing through the cracks of my resolve. I don’t want to lose my entire career—everything I worked for, my lifelong dream—because of some stupid bullshit that never even happened. I rein in my anger and focus on Laney’s face. If anyone can ground me, it’s her.

“Let’s get dressed.” She nudges me with her foot, then stands. I just follow her with my eyes. Does she know how grateful I am? Do I even have the courage to tell her?

“Thank you.” I clear my throat as she hovers over me, her bare thighs right at eye level.

“What are friends for?” She smiles, then disappears into her bedroom.

Friends . . . ?

#AlabamaAllStarAssault
is trending on Twitter. My life as I know it is over.

“Give me that.” Laney snatches the phone from my hand. “We are disappearing, remember? That means no phones or computers or Twitter or Facebook.”

“How shall we ever survive?” I jest, glumly.

“We’ll eat, drink, and be merry,” she says dryly as she turns on her car. It’s a little red sporty thing with two doors. Definitely not conducive for a six-foot-three college athlete. My knees are practically touching my chest. “There’s a reason it’s called comfort food.” She pulls out of the parking lot.

“I don’t think much is going to comfort me,” I say as we drive past my house. I pull my hood over my face and slouch down as she speeds by. There is still an entourage of reporters camped out on the large front lawn.

“Vultures,” Laney spits.

“Appropriate comparison,” I add disheartened.

It takes two and a half hours to get to the cabin, but we need to stop for food and supplies if we are going to disappear comfortably. About an hour and a half into the drive, Laney pulls up to a food store. She knows it’s the closest grocery chain for miles.

I feel some apprehension when we walk into the busy market. I don’t want anyone to recognize me. And luckily, no one seems to take notice of us as we start to stroll the aisles.

“What do you want to eat? What will make you feel
comforted?”
Laney jokes.

I grin. What a loaded question that is.
You—stripped naked in the freezer aisle.

“Um . . .” I keep my dirty thoughts to myself. “What’s that sandwich your dad used to make?”

“Which one?” she asks as she throws a couple bags of chips into the cart.

“The one with the cheese and the sauce he used to bake.”

“Oh, Reuben.”

“Yeah. That one.” I snap my fingers.

“Okay, I’ll grab the ingredients and some other stuff for lunch and dinner. I’ll stock up just in case we are missing for a few days. Can you grab another cart and get drinks?”

“Sure.” Missing for a few days with Laney?
Yes, please.

We meet up at the checkout aisle. She has a cart full of food that looks like it will last us a few months, not days. And I have enough Gatorade to hydrate an elephant. I grabbed Laney a few bottles of Snapple Iced Tea because I know she likes that brand. No southern sweet tea for this girl.

I will never understand.

Once the groceries are loaded into the car, we make the last leg of our trip to the cabin. It’s midday by the time we get there. The house is nothing extravagant, but it sits right on the lake and has a killer view. There’s even a boat dock. I couldn’t tell you how many nights Laney and I hung out on those wooden planks just talking and gazing at the stars.

“Well, you wanted to disappear. This is definitely as close as it gets,” Laney remarks as I open the front door. The inside décor still has my mother’s touch. Flower-patterned furniture and plush throw rugs over the hardwood floor. In the divorce, my mother got the house I grew up in and my father got the lake house. He doesn’t come here often—I think the last time was Fourth of July last year. The town puts on a huge fireworks display over the lake that’s pretty impressive.

“Okay.” Laney slaps my back. “You grab the bags, and I’ll start lunch.”

“I can do that.” It takes me three trips to bring in all the food bags. By the third trip, Laney is practically done with prepping lunch.

“You’re fast.”

“I’m hungry.” She pops a piece of lunchmeat into her mouth.

“How come I only like the Reuben sandwich that your father makes?” I grab a piece of meat for myself. “I’ve tried them a few times, and they’re never quite the same.”

“Because he uses pastrami instead of corned beef, Russian dressing instead of Thousand Island, and Munster instead of Swiss.”

“Is that it?” I eat another piece of pastrami intrigued.

“Yup.” The oven beeps.

“Ten minutes and lunch is served.” Laney picks up the sandwiches she constructed on a baking sheet and pops them in the oven. She washes her hands and then comes to lean against the counter next to me, staring at the oven.
Now what?

There’s some heavy-duty silence as the seconds tick by. I watch her as she watches the oven.

“What are you looking at?” she asks with an uncomfortable smirk.

“Nothing . . . you. I guess.”

“Why?” She glances over at me.

I can’t help it. I have to ask. “Were you wearing anything besides panties under my jersey last night?”

“It’s
my
jersey,” she corrects me. “And why do you care?”

“Because I’m curious.” I smile. “Do you wear it often?”

Laney fights not to look at me again. “I wear it often enough.”

I turn toward her. Our bodies an inch away from each other. “Do you think about me when you wear it?” I probe.

“Think about you how?” She turns her head and wets her lips. My blood simmers.

“You tell me?” I lean in closer; her sweet scent and seductive mouth have a magnetic effect.

It takes Laney an eternity to answer, trapping us in this oppressive stare.

“I never stopped thinking about you,” she admits, timidly. The one thing I have always loved about Laney is her self-confidence. She’s tenacious, and independent, and assertive, but what never fails to make me crumble is her honest vulnerability. I’ve only seen her expose that side to one other person—her father. So I feel privileged when she’s brave enough to open up to me.

“I never stopped thinking about you, either,” I more than willingly divulge. I don’t even give her a chance to process my response as I grab her by the neck and smother her with a hot, hungry kiss. A kiss I have been suppressing since the moment I laid eyes on her at the beginning of the semester.

In true Laney fashion, she doesn’t back down or try to break the connection. Instead, she opens up to me almost like a flower waking up to the sun.

She moans as I grope her body, putting my hands wherever I damn well please. Wherever they are yearning to touch. A blast of possessiveness shoots through me as we tear at each other’s clothes. There’s no rhyme or reason at the moment, just blinding passion and insatiable want. I rip her T-shirt as I yank it off her, exposing her perky little breasts and silky skin. Like I’ve never touched a woman before, I attack her neck and fondle her over her bra. It’s a little black lacy thing I’m positive she wore just to drive me crazy. Speaking of teasing, I skim my fingers along the lace, yanking it down to free one nipple. I twist and roll it relentlessly until Laney is clawing at my back, begging for more.