Page 101 of Level With Me
“Blake,” she whispered, gripping my hand against her jaw. Her eyelids fluttered. “Are you always going to have this effect on me?”
“I sure as hell hope so.” I kissed her once more.
“Good,” she said against my lips.
We took full advantage of the absence of the others, and only when it became clear we were making a spectacle of ourselves did I pull back, grinning, and kissing her once more for good measure. Then I tucked her under my arm like she belonged there—because she did.
I looked out over the field and beyond, to the rolling hills of the valley and the Quince River sparkling below. Even from here I could see the tiny slip of land we’d found each other on. That was where I first caught hold of Cassandra Kelly, and maybe even back then I knew the truth: I never planned on letting go.
EPILOGUE
SEAMUS
I grippedmy condensation-wet glass of soda and grimaced as Eli howled at another of our teammates’ jokes. I would have laughed too—it was funny—but I didn’t want to be here on the patio of O’Malley’s pub.
It wasn’t just because we’d just been absolutely trounced by the Greenville Mastiffs in our final championship league game today. It wasn’t even because half the Mastiffs had decided to stay in Quince Valley for the night and had chosen the Blue Line bar across the street to celebrate in, rather than drive the two hours back to their hometown like a normal baseball team. Sure, these things sucked. But I didn’t want to be here because socializing made me itch.
I’d gone against my better judgment letting my best friend Eli Dunham drag me for drinks to mark the end of the season, when all I wanted to do was be at home, decompressing from the pressure of that game. I’d rather be kicking back on my deck, listening to the crickets and watching the glow of fireflies in the trees from the comfort of my hammock.
I loved that hammock. And I loved being alone, too.
Mostly.
“Seamus, you’re seriously not getting a beer?” Eli asked when the server left the patio with the team’s second-round orders.
“I’ve got better beer at home,” I said.
“Is it because we’re at Seamus’s?”
I narrowed my eyes at Eli and he laughed heartily. He knew it drove me nuts how half the team had insisted I had to come out tonight because the bar bore my name. It was stupid. Seamus at Seamus O’Malleys.
“Yeah, man. That’s exactly why.”
Eli let out another big laugh and clapped me on the shoulder. But I knew he wouldn’t put the pressure on me to join in. He knew it was a big enough deal that I was even here.
The truth was, I was also just bone tired. I’d been working my ass off all week at the mega-mansion my family contracting business, Reilly and Sons, was building up in the Hills. Throw a baseball game on top of it—one where we knew we were going to lose, but pulled out all the stops giving the league champions a run for their money anyway—and I was spent.
Eli turned back to the rest of the guys at the table. They were talking about how we’d come so close to schooling the Mastiffs (we hadn’t), and I told myself once I was done with this soda, I’d make my excuses and head home.
Across the street at the Blue Line, the door banged open and a couple of women stumbled out. They were in jeans and tank tops that hugged their torsos, and I said a silent prayer of thanks to summer. Not that I was ogling, but they were both cute, and I was a warm-blooded man who happened to not have gotten any for an embarrassingly long time. The women stumbled, laughing. They’d obviously had a couple drinks. More than a couple. The first one, who had red hair up in a ponytail, held something up in her hand and started singing.
Then the second one did a twirl, her chestnut hair flowing around her like a mermaid’s. When she stopped, she was facing me. Her eyes locked on mine, even though there was a whole street between us.
Then she waved at me.
Oh shit. I sat up straighter, my stomach doing a little dive.
That wasn’t just any woman. That was Chelsea Kelly, my best friend’s little sister.
I glanced at Eli, but he was deeply absorbed in the conversation next to him. I lifted up a hand—brief and noncommittal—then quickly turned back to the table, taking a long gulp of soda to try to shift my focus.
I knew if Eli saw his sister like this, he’d be pissed. He’d been telling me how Chelsea had been going a little off the rails. I’d noticed. I’d tried to ask her sister about it awhile ago, but I’d been so fucking awkward about it. Then she told me Chelsea had a boyfriend and it got even worse.
But I didn’t know if that was still going on, because Eli had been complaining about her again.
“I don’t know what the hell is up with her,” Eli had said, “but she spends more time out than at home.”
“You’re not her dad,” I’d said, wanting very much not to get involved again.
