Read Online One Southern Night by Marissa Carmel - Free Book Online Page B

though I insisted.
    “I can’t believe your father let you walk out of the house without meeting me. It feels rude. I didn’t even get to shake his hand.”
    “One, my father’s in New York. And two, he only shakes the hands of guys I believe are going to stick around.” She shuts the passenger’s side door.
    “You have the wrong impression of me, Lemon.”
    “Well isn’t that what tonight’s for? To prove that impression wrong?”
    “Yup.” I throw the truck into D and pull away.
    “Where are we going, anyway?”
    “For a little drive.” I grin slyly.
    “You know when you say that to a New Yorker they become extremely paranoid.”
    I look at her funny.
    “That’s a mafia joke.”
    “Oh. I don’t think we have any Soprano’s in these parts.”
    She snickers.
    I drive around for about a half hour before we pull up to our destination.
    “The football stadium?” Laney looks at me confused.
    “Yup.” I park off to the side, in the dark so my pickup isn’t noticed. I’d like to avoid any interruptions. Laney and I get out of the truck, and I grab the two blankets and cooler from the cab. She follows as I walk down a dark path.
    “Are you sure I don’t have anything to be worried about?”
    “Not when you’re with me, Lemon.” I slip through an opening in the fence. It’s by the dumpsters so there’s not the most appealing smell in the air, but we will be far away from it soon enough. “Every year there’s a field party thrown by the seniors. This is how we sneak in.”
    A few minutes later we’re walking onto the end zone. Laney does a little turn, looking up. “God, you never see this many stars in the city.”
    “Beauty of country living.” It’s dark on the field, but the sky is twinkling with a billion platinum dots and a huge full moon that’s casting a silvery light. There’s just enough illumination to see and still enough darkness to hide us.
    “And it’s crazy the Wolverines have their own stadium. Most schools just have a field.”
    “We’re not most schools. We’ve won state nineteen times.”
    “Quite a legacy to leave behind,” she comments. I frown. She has no idea, especially if I’m never going to play football again. I walk Laney across the field over the ten, twenty, and thirty-yard lines until we finally reach the fifty. The dead center of the universe. Well, my universe. I lay out one of the blankets and drop the cooler. It’s colder than one would expect an Alabama night to be, but the smell of the fresh-cut grass is as potent as ever. I inhale deeply—it’s almost as heady as Laney’s exotic scent.
    I motion for Laney to sit. Once situated, I open the cooler and pull out two cups and an orange Gatorade water bottle. Laney gives me a skeptical look.
    “I promise it’s not what you think.” I pour her a cup, then one for myself.
    “Okay, I trust you.”
    I pause. “Nice to know we’re making progress.” I clink my red Solo cup against hers. “To trust. And forgiveness.”
    “And playing football,” Laney adds.
    I die a little death. “You certainly played your heart out today.”
    “I didn’t want to make the infamous number seven look bad.”
    “You could never make it look bad. You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to see you wear that number.”
    “Since the first moment you met me?” She bats her eyelashes.
    “Something like that.” I take a sip trying to hide my smile, and Laney does too.
    “Mmm, what is this?” she asks curiously, looking into the cup.
    “You like it?”
    “Yes.” She takes another sip.
    “Iced tea vodka and lemonade.”
    “Much better than sweet tea,” she comments.
    “You don’t like sweet tea?” I ask, a little shocked.
    “You didn’t notice I never drank anything at dinner when we were studying?”
    “I did. I just never thought … I mean I can’t imagine anyone not liking sweet tea.”
    “I felt bad telling your mom I didn’t like it.”
    “You really are a Yankee,” I tease.
    “Born and