Page 92 of Blocked Score

My heart stutters. Hearing him use that word with unwavering confidence and comfort as if we’ve been dating for years gets me high.

A happy feeling beats through me. I feel the strangest mix of emotions, contrasting but somehow complementary. It’s like my feet are on more solid ground where our relationship is concerned, while at the same time I feel like I’m floating on air.

“Is that so?” I reply.

“It’s very much so,” he nods.

“Well, it feels pretty good being your girlfriend, too,” I say, the word in my mouth tasting sweeter than any dessert. “But I don’t have a national championship to compare it to,” I continue, fixing a look of mock contemplation on my face. “So maybe, like, being the national champion in competitive ski jumping would feel better.”

Lane’s brow lowers, but he has to purse his lips to keep from smiling. “Boy, you sure know how to stroke a guy’s ego.”

I plant my hand on his bare chest and slowly drag it down his torso. “I’ll make up for my lack of ego stroking by stroking something else,” I tease as my hand descends.

My grip wraps around the hot, hard length pulsing between his legs. I keep my gaze locked on his face while it goes taut as I stroke him slowly. The way he bites his lower lip as groans of pleasure purr velvety soft from his throat has muscles between my legs twitching even though I just got off.

His release spills right onto my naked thigh. It makes for a nice excuse to take a shower together before we head out to our classes.

Outside, the balmy warmth of the sun coats my face. There’s still a chill in the air, so I’m wearing a sweater, but it feels like Spring when the sun’s rays are falling on you.

The branches of the trees are fringed with leaves that will erupt into a multicolored blossom in just a couple of weeks. The streets are more lively, and students are hanging out on the open lawns around campus. After a long and cold Vermont winter, things are starting to sprout to life again.

Lane plants a firm, possessive kiss on my lips that draws some stares from the people around us before he heads into the building where his accounting class is. I walk further down campus to get to my English class.

When I’m with Lane, all the doubts that have been wiggling into my head about our future evaporate, but once we’re apart, they crowd back in.

The way he so casually called himself my boyfriend when we were in bed together left no doubt about how he feels. But that’s right now. That’s when we’re seeing each other every day, living in the same town; hell, living in the same damn house.

That’s all coming to an end soon. Very soon.

And he’s going to literally the other side of the country. Suddenly having more money and attention than he ever has. He’ll be in sunny San Jose while I’m back here in small-town Vermont.

Is it evensaneto imagine that things won’t change between us?

In spite of my efforts to fend them away, these worries are rattling around in my head as I step outside after my last class of the day.

And that’s when I hear from behind me an imploring voice calling my name, “Scarlett.”

Recognition shoots through my body, making my chest clench. I turn around, and my jaw drops.

Caleb.

Shock suffuses through my limbs as I look at a face that was a fixture in my life for so many years. A different kind of surprise fires through me right on its heels, as I realize how very little I’ve even imagined that face since I moved here.

I blink my eyelids hard, wondering if maybe I caught a whiff of some experimental chemical while walking past a chemistryclass and it’s making me see things. But Caleb’s still standing right there when I open them.

“What are you doing here?” is the first thing I ask.

“I needed to see you,” he says, taking a step closer.

I match his forward step with a backward one of my own. “No, you didn’t.”

A pained expression winces on his face. I hate the fact, but it strikes a pang of sympathy somewhere deep inside me.

I’m completely over Caleb, but I spent too much of my life caring about him and deluding myself into believing he cared about me the same way, to be totally impassive when I see him hurt.

“Can we go somewhere to talk?” he asks, a pathetically plaintive lilt in his voice.

“We don’t have anything to talk about,” I reply.

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