Stuck With You (First Kiss Hypothesis) Page 2

  “Well, okay, then!” I called after him. “Have fun with a two-timer!”

  He didn’t turn around. He just ignored me and kept on walking.

  A girl can take a hint.

  I’m not going to deny that the sight of him now, with his cool, smoldering, young–Matthew McConaughey vibes, still makes for a particularly volatile chemical reaction in my body, but when he left for Florida, I was finally able to forget about him.

  If he thinks he’s going to make me weak in the knees, he’s got another think coming. Not me. Not anymore.

  My knees are just fine as I confront the boy who is threatening to potentially ruin my entire senior year with a phone call to my parents. I wish he would say something. He never speaks quickly; he always takes his time. Just one of the many ways we are completely opposite.

  It’s not fair that in many ways, I am stuck with him. His parents and my parents have been friends since college and started the business together. Even my name, Catherine Winston Dixon—the Winston is after the first president of the University of Texas in Austin—and Caleb’s full name, Caleb Winston Gray, are intractably connected.

  We were raised together, and my mother and his mother have been plotting our marriage since birth. It was funny when we were kids, but I think they both still want it to happen, deep down, even if it’s incredibly awkward when they hint at it.

  And that business they started—oh sweet Jesus, help me—they named it the C&C Flooring Factory. Raise your hand if you’re one of the Cs. That’d be me. And the other? Not hard to guess. So even though I try my hardest not to give him much thought, I cannot fully escape Caleb Gray. Not ever, even when he’s moved to another state.

  “Give me my phone,” he says.

  “Caleb,” I say, “you cannot call Mom.”

  “Oh, I’m not calling her.” He makes his way around the table, finally dropping the duffel bag on his shoulder onto the tile floor. “You are.”

  My heart is stuck in my throat. I can feel it, a big throbbing lump of panic.

  “Fine.” I pull out my own phone and keep his in my hand for insurance. I dial, my mind spinning, trying like hell to come up with a believable reason that I am here, unsupervised, with my two best friends and Caleb.

  “Hey, Mom,” I say. I excuse myself to one of the bedrooms for some privacy, but Caleb follows me. He wants to make sure I tell her the truth and watches me like a prison warden.

  “Hi, how’s the lake?” she asks.

  “Mom,” I say. “Don’t get mad”—it always seems like a good idea to start with that—“but we’ve had a change of plans, and it was completely last-minute, which is why I didn’t tell you, because I knew you wouldn’t mind and…”

  Caleb is aggressively rolling his eyes when I glance at him.

  “We didn’t go to the lake house because the toilet is backing up, Mom, real bad. Like raw sewage bad. So I suggested we come here. I was gonna call but…”

  I don’t even finish telling her where we are when she huffs into my ear. “Catie,” she starts, “what makes you think you can make that call without consulting us? You are seventeen. Seventeen. Not an adult. You don’t get to make adult decisions.”

  I bite my lip and stifle a groan because I could be fifty years old and my mother wouldn’t consider me an adult, then I glance at Caleb and instantly know what will work. “Mom, I’m sorry, but I knew Caleb would be here, so I figured it would be okay with you.”

  The truth is, I had no idea Caleb would be here, but Ainsley knows this guy who goes to UT, and he told her that there was a big party this weekend on Bolivar and that she should come. I keep up with the news enough to know there was no way I was letting her do this by herself, so the three of us cooked up the idea to come here while Sunny’s parents are gone for a long weekend in New York City. I tried not to dwell on the risks because it’s not like I’ve rebelled at all in my life. Everyone counts on me to stick to the plan, whatever it is, and frankly, I need a break. So here we are.

  “I don’t remember telling you that,” Mom says.

  “Telling me what?”

  “That Caleb would be there.”

  “Well, you did,” I say. So many lies. I make eye contact with my nemesis, pleading with him. “I haven’t seen him in so long, and I figured you’d be okay if he was here to watch out for us.”

  “How is he doing?” I can hear the shift in her voice. Bingo. She loves Caleb. This might just work.

  “Fine, I guess,” I shrug.

  Caleb tightens the glare he’s giving me, and his full lips flatten into a straight line.

  “Let me talk to him,” Mom insists.

  Oh no, no, no, that will not do.

  “Mom, he can’t, he’s about to take Mo for a walk.”

  “Catherine.” She uses my full name, which is never a good sign. “Get him and put him on the phone or go straight to the car and come home.”

  I know that tone—there’s nothing I can do to stop her, so I hold out the phone toward Caleb with my hand over it so she can’t hear. I need to do some fast talking here.

  “Caleb.” My eyes latch on to his, a desperate attempt at some sort of mind control. “Just let us stay, okay? We’re going home Tuesday. Just a few days. We won’t be in your way, I swear. Please. Just go with it?”

  I try not to notice his wide chest expand and contract, the muscles straining his T-shirt. “Why should I?” he asks.

  Like I have time to explain any of this.

  “Just. Because. I need this. I need some time—away from home. Some downtime. To think. Please.”

  I’m not sure he’ll understand this—Caleb’s whole life is downtime. Even doing competitive sports, everything seems to come easy to him. I’ve never seen him stressed like I get. Except…there’s something in his eyes right now that is different, and I wonder if maybe that’s changed.

  He narrows those eyes. “You want me to lie?”

  I shake my head vigorously. “It’s not a lie.” That part, anyway. The last few months have been hard, and I’m moving into my senior year with college applications, and I’m having strange thoughts about the future. Thoughts that aren’t in The Plan our families have had for years, have never been in The Plan, and should not be even trying to take hold in my brain.

  He grimaces mightily, but I don’t have time for that, either. I thrust the phone at him again. “Please?”

  He takes it from me, and I swallow hard. Honestly, I have no idea what he’s going to say. He owes me nothing. I wish to God I had some dirt on him, some leverage to maybe blackmail him, but no. In addition to being easygoing, golden boy Caleb was born squeaky clean and will die squeaky clean. I have no idea how he manages to always come across so holy. I follow his Snapchat. He’s not on it often, but the boy isn’t afraid of a party, that’s for sure, and he never ever gets in trouble. And charming? Oh my God, the girls back home love him so much it’s seriously disturbing. He’s the kind of guy who holds doors open for old ladies, and then they stop to get his number for their granddaughters.

  He brings the phone up to his ear. I’m feeling faint.

  “Hey, Aunt Kathy. How’s it goin’?” He chuckles at her response. “Yeah. No.” He runs his eyes up and down me and lifts a corner of his mouth. I hold my breath, waiting for any fallout. I might just be turning blue. “Yes ma’am,” he continues. “Yes, ma’am.” He’s quiet for a long while, listening to her. The woman can talk. “Yes,” he finally starts up again with a frown. “But…yeah. All right. I’ll keep an eye on them.”

  Oh thank you, God, I think, but then he goes quiet again.

  “Oh.” His face turns gray. “But— Aunt Kath—” I know the look on his face well, the one I see on the faces of people trapped in a conversation with my mother where you can’t get a word in edgewise. Sort of a desperate cry for help. “Yes, ma’am—but—Aunt—yes…uh…”

  I step toward him. “What?” I whisper hoarsely. There’s no telling what she’s up to.

  “Okay,” he sa
ys, squeezing his eyes shut and rubbing at his temple. “Sure.” Another pause. “All right,” he says. “Okay, I love you, too. Yes, ma’am, I will.”

  The hand holding the phone drops to his side, and he hits me with the most annoyed look I’ve ever seen on him in my entire life—and I’ve seen a few.

  “What?” I ask.

  “What do you think?” He shakes his head and scowls at me. “Since you’re here and I’m here, why don’t they come up next weekend and we could have a good old-fashioned Dixon-Gray beach-house reunion?” He throws my phone onto the bed next to him in disgust. “She’ll call my mom and talk her into it.”

  My jaw drops involuntarily. My mother is actually insane. “What?”

  His scowl doesn’t let up, not even a little. “She’s not sure they can make it happen, the store’s awfully busy, but she’s gonna try her darndest.”

  His tone is so ripe with sarcasm I can practically taste it. I’m used to him aiming it at me, but not at anyone else.

  “Like I always say,” he continues, “where there’s a will, there’s a way, and Kathy Dixon always gets her way.” He kicks his duffel bag, still at his feet.

  I frown. This is very unlike him. “Caleb?” I say before I can stop myself. I want to ask what’s wrong with him, but I can’t. He’ll just sass me and walk away. I know the drill.

  “What?” he snaps without looking up.

  I should let it go, but I can’t. “What’s wrong?” I can’t help myself. I have to know.

  He hits me with a serious glare. The intensity is electric. He runs a hand through his hair, longer than his usual clean-cut length, and lighter now. I’m guessing the change to an outdoor sport has caused that, as well as the killer tan he’s got going on.

  “You haven’t changed a bit, Catie,” he grumbles.

  My frown deepens. I’m…offended? I think. “What does that mean?”

  “Nothing.” He picks up the bag and whistles for Mo, who bypasses him and sits beside me. Caleb presses his lips together tightly, frowning at his dog.

  I cross my arms. “Well, whatever the reason, don’t worry about me and the girls. I’m not staying the whole week, no matter what crazy plan my mom cooks up. We’re leaving Tuesday night. Ainsley works on Wednesday.”

  “Nope.” He crosses his arms, too. “Your friends can go, but you’re staying. Mama’s orders.”

  What, I’m supposed to stay here with him? Even after my friends go home?

  He keeps talking in that agitated, clipped way that he saves just for me. “This is so typical. This was supposed to be my week. Time that I need. Without having to watch over a bunch of”—he’s searching for the perfect insult—“high school kids.”

  I make fists with my hands and stick them firmly on my hips. I no longer care what’s wrong with Caleb. I just want him out of my way.

  “Oh, please,” I say. “You literally just graduated a month ago. You’re no different than us, so do me a favor and get off your high horse.”

  My body floods with triumphant adrenaline as I stalk past him out of my bedroom and into the main hall. Ainsley and Sunny are hovering near the door, eavesdropping. They high-five me on the way out.

  “Come on, ladies, let’s get out of here!” I say loudly to make sure he hears every word.

  My girls straighten up and follow me to the front door where we dropped our things when Caleb scared the crap out of us. We’d just been about to head to Swede’s for ice cream, and also maybe to try out our newly minted fake IDs.

  Breaking the law is not really our style, but I’m ready to shake things up. Junior year was intense. I cemented my ranking in the top 5 percent and a high SAT score, which means automatic acceptance into UT Austin. I’m supposed to major in business management, live at home so that I can help take care of my sweet grandfather who has Parkinson’s, eventually get my MBA, and someday run the family business.

  It’s been the plan for a long while, and it’s a good plan if they want to keep C&C in the family. They’re counting on me. Even if Caleb might end up working for us one day, he can’t be counted on. All everyone talks about is his freakishly natural athletic ability and where it might lead him.

  So while he tears up whatever field he’s on and makes a living as a professional sports guy, my entire future is set out before me. I’ve always been on board with it.

  Until recently.

  Now? I’ve got another option. A long shot, but I can’t stop thinking about it.

  No one suspects a thing—I haven’t even told Sunny and Ainsley. There’s no reason anyone should suspect it, either. I’ve done everything in high school. I’ve been in all the clubs: Accounting, Key Club, NHS, Pep Squad, Student Council. I even played the bass drum in the marching band freshman year. Then, I took journalism. This year I’m news editor of the daily school broadcast.

  All of those other things were fun, but journalism is more than fun. It feels like it’s in my blood. I love sniffing out stories, asking questions, digging deeper. My favorite movie is All the President’s Men, about the journalists who brought down President Nixon. I’m a huge fan of Christiane Amanpour, the amazing newswoman who travels the world covering breaking news. I’m a sucker for a hard-hitting interview, and there’s no one better than her. I seriously have pictures of her up on my wall.

  My parents know I enjoy journalism and am obsessed with the news, and they probably wouldn’t fight me if I took a class or two at UT, but as far as they’re concerned, it’s no different than that freshman year bass drum experience. A hobby. A year ago, I might have agreed with them.

  But now, I don’t know.

  What they don’t know is that just before the school year ended, a counselor from Northwestern University came to the college fair. Northwestern is super competitive and far away—just north of Chicago, which might as well be on the moon. The counselor told me about their journalism program, and that with my grades and test scores and extracurriculars, I maybe could get some scholarships. She told me about the opportunities I’d have access to, the connections that I’d be able to make, and I got really excited.

  A few months later, I haven’t gotten less excited, and it scares me.

  That’s why I needed to get away, if only to get some distance from the secret file of Northwestern information in my bedroom and to remind myself that majoring in business at UT makes sense. My future is there. They’re all counting on me. Mom and Dad, Caleb’s parents, Gramps, the company, probably even Caleb, although I don’t much care about that.

  So sue me if I want to sneak away to the beach, hang out with my friends, maybe flirt with some cute boys, and talk myself out of any other options. It’ll be a fun, stress-relieving weekend, and when I get home, I’ll start working on my UT early-decision application, and the future I’ve always planned will begin.

  So too bad for Caleb and his time. He’s not going to open up to me, and I’m not going to open up to him. I need this time, too.

  I grab the keys to the golf cart and open the front door. The Gulf of Mexico is out there in the darkness, spread before me like an endless black blanket.

  “Can we trust him not to tell our parents?” Sunny whispers in my ear. She stands to get in a lot of trouble from this little side trip, too.

  “Yes,” I say, though I’m not certain.

  “Oh, come on, it’ll be fine,” Ainsley insists. Easy for her to say—she’s the youngest of six, and her parents are older and may not even notice she’s gone.

  “Where do you think you’re going?”

  We all turn to see Caleb following us into the living room. I hold up the keys and point them in his general direction. “Don’t worry, Dad, we’re just off to scout for men and booze.”

  Sunny gasps and elbows me in the ribs. I know it’s a mistake to talk to him this way. He has the power to shut this whole weekend down and rat us out to our parents.

  “Wait.” He fills a bowl full of water for Mo, places it down on the floor, then ambles across the wide room slowly
, his long legs muscled and so tan.

  I don’t want him to, but wow, he takes my breath away. Can I help that? No. I cannot. That doesn’t mean I have to act on it.

  He walks up to us—me, specifically—and smiles that unmistakably cute grin…and yanks the keys out of my hands.

  “In that case,” he says, in that smoldering drawl, “you’re gonna need a chaperone.”

  Chapter Three

  Caleb

  “Give those back,” she says.

  I stand in front of the door like I’m waiting for the ref to blow his whistle to start the play, knees bent slightly, core engaged, ready for anything. With Catie, you gotta be. “Before this weekend gets going,” I say, “I’ve got some ground rules.”

  “Wait a minute,” Catie says. I know she’s about to lay down the law, to try and tell me how it’s going to be, because that’s how Catie Dixon normally rolls. She’s always in charge and gets to ask all the questions.

  This time, though, she has zero leverage.

  “No. You wait,” I say. “All I gotta do is make one phone call and y’all are busted.”

  “But Caleb, please, please, you can’t,” Sunny insists.

  I know Sunny Mathews. Pretty girl, with lots of dark hair and long legs. I know her brother better—he and I go all the way back to peewee football.

  “Hey, Sunny. How’s Marcus?”

  Her worried forehead smooths out, and she smiles back. “He’s real good. Gonna play football at North Texas.”

  “Good, good.” I smile and nod. Marcus is a hell of a running back. “Looks like the Eagles are gonna have quite a team this year. Tell him I say ‘hey.’”

  “Sure.”

  I keep right on smiling when I say, “So. You wanna tell me something, Sunny?”

  Her eyes widen in total panic. “N-no?”

  I’ve watched enough crime shows to know that she’s guilty as hell.

  “Here’s what I’m thinking,” I say to her. “You tell me if I’m wrong. I’m thinking the backed-up septic tank at the lake house was a bunch of bull? I’m guessing that coming to the beach was the plan all along?”

  She winces. “Please, Caleb.”