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She looks at the door. When she turns back to me, there’s a sneaky smile stretching across her face. “I think the real question is, would your death be worth it?”

I grin. Oh, it’d be worth it. So worth it. I’d die happy. Painfully, sure, but happy.

“So?” she asks slowly. “What do you say?”

I say that you only live once. Might as well take the shots while you can
. I hop off her bed and hold my hand out for hers. “You in?”

Her eyes shine as she slips her hand into mine. We head downstairs, where light spills out from the living
room. I gesture for her to go ahead. She not-so-gently pushes me forward.

“You ask,” I whisper.

“You,” she whispers back. “You’re the guy. Man up.”

I narrow my eyes. “Really? You’re pullin’ the girl card right now?”

She raises an eyebrow. She has a point. Dang it. Taking a deep breath, I continue on to the living room, pausing in the doorway. Her parents are side by side on the couch, watching TV. Her mom smiles at me, but her dad remains stone-faced. I guess “liking me” doesn’t mean much when he was five seconds away from catching me on top of his daughter.

“Dr. and Mrs. Marlowe,” I say, smiling. “I’m wondering if it’d be okay to drive Marisa out to the pond? It’s about twenty miles out.”

Her dad barks out a laugh, and her mom chuckles right along with him. I’m no pro, but I’d say that’s not a good sign. Marisa squeezes my hand. A little help here would be nice, girl.

Okay. Time for super-manners. I clear my throat. “I promise, I have nothing but the purest of intentions with your daughter.”

Marisa slaps her hand against her forehead. “Oh my God,” she murmurs.

I shrug at her. What does she want me to say? And come on, it wasn’t
that
bad.

Was it?

Her dad’s laughter finally subsides. “Right,” he drawls. “That pretty much means the exact opposite. Nice try, though.”

“What if we’re back by eleven?” Marisa chimes in. About time.

Her mom shifts on the couch. “Ten,” she says right as Dr. Marlowe opens his mouth. He shoots her a glare, but she focuses on Marisa.

“Ten-thirty,” Marisa says.

Her mom looks between the two of us, her gaze lingering on me for a moment before she nods. “Done. But you better be in this house by ten-thirty. It’s a school night.”

I’ll have her back at ten-twenty-nine as long as they stop looking at me like that.

Marisa backs out of the room, pulling me along with her. “Bye!” she calls as I stumble behind her. Before I can say a word, she’s sliding on her flip-flops and hurrying out the door. I run outside behind her.

“You didn’t give me a chance to tell them thanks,” I tell her.

Her flip-flops clap against the driveway. She glances over her shoulder while heading for my truck. “I was doing you a favor, Pure Intentions Boy.”

Fine. Maybe it was pretty bad.

She kicks her feet up on the dashboard while I back out of the driveway. I hit the button for the windows, and the cool night air whips through the truck. Her hair flies around as she leans her seat back and closes her eyes, relaxing.

We may not have long, but some time alone is better than none. For the past couple of months, it’s been a bunch of baseball, school, work, and, well, hospitals. As much as I love ball and as much as I’ve loved watching her switch into tutor-mode to save my sorry ass, we need something different. Something fun. Something crazy.

Once we hit the dirt road that leads to the pond, Marisa sits upright. I park beneath the old oak tree and look over at her. My heart skips a beat. She’s gorgeous. And now more than ever, I’m sure that I really, really love this girl. But the words stay bottled up, because there’s no way I can tell her that. Not yet. The last thing I need to do is risk screwing this up. She wants slow and steady, so I’ll give her slow and steady. Even if my pulse is anything but that.

“Why’d you want to come out here tonight?” she asks.

Because I love you
. “Because I’m crazy about you,” I say. “And with everything that’s happened lately, I wanted to tell you that I’m crazy about you. Alone. Away from parents and work and school crap.”

She smiles. “Crazy is good. I like crazy.” She looks out at the water through the windshield. “We’ve come a heck of a long way since the last time we were here.”

My chest tightens. The past few months have been nuts, but I’m not entirely sure I’d have it any other way. Stuff happens for a reason, even the bad stuff. If there’s any fraction of a silver lining, it’s that all of this brought us closer. And she’s here. She’s still here. That’s what matters.

I reach over and grab her hand, bringing it to my lips. She glances at me out the corner of her eye. Smirks.

“The water looks nice tonight,” she says.

There’s something else buried under those words. It’s in her voice. I follow her gaze to the pond. And now I’m smirking. I take in her gym shorts and T-shirt.

“How pissed do you think your parents would be if you came home with wet clothes?” I ask. “As long as it’s by ten-thirty?”

She turns to me. “Again, I think we know the real question here is, would your death be worth it?”

Those really are words to live by.

We hop out of the truck. She leads the way to the pond, kicking off her flip-flops along the way. I yank mine off and toss them over my shoulder. No tellin’ where they went. Don’t really care.

I catch up to her at the water’s edge, where she’s stopped. There’s hesitation written all over her face. The air’s pretty crisp, maybe a toasty sixty degrees, and the water’s a lot colder, but that can be solved
with body heat. I’m more than willing to help her out with that.

“You in?” I ask.

She chews on her lip. “How deep is it?”

I shrug. “Right here? About eight feet. It’s shallower on the other side—”

She jumps right in, plunging into the water with a splash.

“—of the tree,” I finish. Damn, that girl’s amazing.

I jump in after her, swimming up to the surface. She treads water toward me, her hair clinging to her skin, her mouth hanging open.

“I thought Southern water was supposed to be warm,” she says breathlessly.

Grinning, I grab her hands, leading her to the shallower part of the pond. Once my feet hit the bottom, I pull her against me. Her legs hook around my waist, and I wrap my arms around her, holding her tight. Water drips from her skin as she drops her forehead to mine.

“Better?” I whisper.

She smiles. “Much,” she says. And when she presses her lips to mine, all I know is the water on my skin and the taste of her lips and that she is so, so perfect for me.

I pull away just enough to look into those pretty green eyes. Crickets chirp all around us, with millions and millions of stars shining down as the breeze blows softly. This place, with this girl, is a special kind of heaven. More and more, this town grows on me. Right before I’m about to leave.

“How many ponds do you think there are in Columbia?” I ask.

She laughs lightly. Shakes her head. “I don’t know. But we’ll find them all.”

We’ll
find them. “Can’t wait.” I swallow, unable to tear my gaze away from her. “I really am crazy about you,” I tell her, barely above a whisper.

Her lips twitch into a tiny half-smile. “If you’re crazy, then I’m insane. You make my heart so, so happy, Austin.”

Closing my eyes, I kiss her again, deeper this time. With her chest pressed against me, her legs squeezing my waist, her lips against mine like she’s kissing me for a final breath—I’m freakin’ done for. And damn it, if I do die tonight, at least I’ll go out with a bang.

chapter twenty-five

Weddings out in the boondocks of South Carolina are kind of a big deal, especially when those weddings involve Felix Torres, the pitcher who once held Lewis Creek High’s homerun record.

(Guess which pitcher broke that record. But I digress.)

Standing in front of the bathroom mirror, I adjust my blue bowtie and straighten my black sports coat. Momma knocks on the bathroom door and pushes it open. She closed the shop for today so she can celebrate with everyone else in town. Considering she and Marisa spent hours on the wedding’s floral arrangements, she deserves a day off. With her hair all pulled up and her makeup actually done, she looks like a million bucks. Heck, a gazillion.

“You’ve already broken rule number one of male wedding guests,” she says. “You’re not supposed to be more handsome than the groom.”

I snort and flip off the light, following her into the hallway. “Please.”

She stops. Turns to face me. And proceeds to burst into tears. I run back to the bathroom, grab the toilet paper, and hand her the roll. She rips off a piece and dabs at her eyes, waving me off.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Your dad would just be so proud of you, all cleaned up and turnin’ things around. School’s so much better; your game’s better than ever.” She squeezes my shoulder, and dang it, now I’m trying not to cry. “
I’m
proud of you.”

“Momma—”

“I’m sorry.” She takes a deep breath and smiles. “Happy day. It’s a happy day, so we’re going to be happy and talk about happy things. I’ll see you at the church. You heading out to pick up Marisa?”

I nod. As she starts toward the stairs, I duck into my room and grab the single rose from my dresser. My lips twitch. Marisa’s going to love it. Considering how long it took me to track down a shipment of these things, let’s just hope so.

Momma’s sliding into her car as I walk out to my truck. I feel bad for her on days like this that are full of couples and all that romantic stuff. It can’t be easy to watch. She’s a trooper, that’s for sure.

When I pull into Marisa’s driveway, she’s already standing on her front porch. With her dad. I’m still not his favorite person. Bring a man’s daughter home soaked, and suddenly you’re the bad guy. But Marisa’s stunning enough to look past the slightly terrifying giant. She strolls down the driveway as I step out of the truck. Grinning, I hold out my hand for hers. She takes it and twirls, making her purple sundress flare at the bottom.

“Looking good,” she says. “But a bowtie? Really?”

I stand a little taller and straighten my jacket. “Please. All the cool guys wear bowties. It’s a Southern wedding rule.” I wave to her dad. “Hey, Dr. Marlowe.”

Nothing but a steel glare. Luckily, the night at the pond was so, so worth that glare.

Marisa gestures to my truck, her heels clicking against the driveway as we walk around to her side. “You washed the truck.”

I open her door for her. “I did wash the truck.”

“And you talked to my dad.”

Somewhat.

She looks up at me. “You’d be on your way to good date status if you’d brought flowers.” She
tsks
and climbs into the truck.

I glance to her porch, where her dad’s still standing. Still watching. Maybe now’s not the best time to prove her wrong. I slam her door closed.

The church is packed when Marisa and I walk inside. Some little girl in a super-puffy white dress is running up the aisle, screeching at the top of her lungs, with a woman chasing her in foot-tall heels.
Ouch
. We head for the right side of the church, where half the team’s crammed into one pew. Momma, who’s sitting behind them, smiles as Marisa slides in beside her.

I squeeze in between Brett and Eric, making sure not to knock Brett’s arm, which is still in a sling. “How much longer in confinement?” I ask him.

“At least another two weeks,” he says, staring straight ahead. I follow his gaze to Jay, who’s standing up front with his dad, brother, and their priest.

“How are y’all?”

“Haven’t talked in a few days,” he says. “He called to check on me Wednesday. Not a word since.” He blows out a breath. “A lot of people started askin’ questions after the game. A break’s good. Low profile and all that.”

A small hand grasps my shoulder. I whirl around, finding Marisa leaning forward. She nods to the rest of the guys on my pew. “Maybe I was wrong. You guys and your bowties are pretty darn handsome.”

I grin. Curling my finger, I signal for her to lean in closer. “You know, you missed your memo. You’re not supposed to look better than the bride, Marisa.”

She rolls her eyes, but smiles and settles back in her seat.

“Good for you, man,” Brett mutters. “Good for you.”

I slap his knee and toss my arm across the back of the pew. “You can do it, too,” I say just loud enough for him to hear. Jay’s eyes flicker to us. Brett tenses.

“You said beatin’ that pitcher was worth breakin’ every bone in your body,” I continue. “Are you actually going to show that guy and everyone else that their opinions mean shit?”

Marisa smacks the back of my head. “Church!” she whispers loudly.

I glance over my shoulder. “Woman—”

She cocks an eyebrow and shushes me.

Noted. I turn back around. Remembering what Jay told me that night at his house, I add, “That said, the ball’s in your hand. This is your call. You do what makes you happy. If you’re not ready, don’t push it. He gets it. He loves you, man.”

He inhales sharply. Jay looks away. I swear, if I end up being the one with the normal relationship out of all of us, I’m buying five thousand lottery tickets.