All Lined Up

Chapter 30 Dallas

I can’t sleep after Carson leaves. I’ve got this stupid grin on my face, and for the first time I feel the sting of being trapped back in my childhood home. If I were still living in the dorm, I could have gone with him . . . spent the night wrapped in his arms.

I hug one of my pillows close, but it’s not the same. I add another, trying to make a more Carson-sized lump, but there’s no replicating his warmth or the hardness of his muscles.

Also . . . I feel massively pathetic.

That doesn’t stop me from reaching for my phone on my bedside table and dialing him.

He answers on the second ring¸ his voice low and gruff and oh so perfect.

“Dallas? Are you okay?”

“Did I wake you?” I ask.

“No. I just laid down. Is something the matter?”

“Yes. I can’t get my pillows to be Carson-shaped enough. It’s a problem.”

He chuckles, and I wish I were there to hear it rumble through his broad chest. “Good. I would hate to find myself one day replaced by pillows.”

I don’t have anything else to say, and I’m just over here smiling, but he can’t see that. And now I feel like an idiot for having called him.

“Does the team have to be at the parade in the morning?”

I hear rustling, and imagine him shifting in his bed.

“No. That’s more of a fraternity and sorority thing. And it’s too early on a game day to convince any of the players to be there.”

“Oh.”

I’d already told Stella I would go. I’m meeting her on campus at 7:30 A.M. so we get a decent spot. I was shocked Stella was actually willing to roll out of bed before nine, but she’s pretty adamant about getting the full college experience. Now that I know he won’t be there, I’m much less excited.

Floats schmoats.

“I know one player who might be convinced to attend, if you were going.”

“Oh really? Is he cute? Is he a receiver? I’ve always kind of had a thing for receivers. Torres seems fun.”

He actually growls on the other end. “Don’t make me come back over there, Cole.”

If only.

“Did I say receiver? I meant quarterback. Silly me, I get all those positions mixed up. Football is just so confusing.”

“Riiiight.”

“Yep. I definitely meant quarterback. There’s this one . . . tall and kinda gorgeous—”

“Kinda?”

I roll my eyes. “Someone is needy tonight.”

“Who tried to make a pillow version of me?”

“Anyway, so, tall and gorgeous quarterback. Is he by chance the one who might make a parade appearance?”

“If he did, where might he find one tall and gorgeous redhead?”

“The brick wall around the quad, on the Fifth Street side, at seven thirty.”

He groans. “So early. You’re lucky I love you.”

The line goes silent. I squeeze my eyes shut, and I’m unsure whether this is the best or worst thing that’s ever happened. I’m unsure whether he means it or if it was just an accident.

He says, “Huh. Guess it was me who slipped up.”

Neither of us speaks for several long moments. With my eyes still tightly closed, I say, “I do feel pretty lucky. I’ll see you in the morning?”

“Yeah. I’ll be there. Good night, Daredevil.”

“Carson?”

“Hmm?” He sounds tired, and I feel a little bad for keeping him up, for making him wake up early, especially when I know how hard he works himself.

“I think you’re pretty lucky, too.”

“Oh, I’ve never doubted that.”

I smile, and my constrained heart feels fit to burst.

We say good night again, and then after a bit more pillow arranging, I manage to fall asleep.

I SHOW UP at the dorm thirty minutes early, and Stella is still drooling on her pillow when I open the door.

I flip on the light, and she groans.

“Turn it off.”

“You’ve only got half an hour until we’re supposed to be down at the quad.”

“Mornings have got to be the love child of Satan and . . . something else really bad that I’m too tired to think of. Leave me alone.”

“Oh no, missy.” I walk over and pull back her covers. “This parade was your idea.”

She whines and makes a grab for the covers. “And I’m known for my terrible ideas. You know this.”

Pulling her pillow over her head, she flops over so that she’s facing away from me.

“Don’t make me do it, Stella.”

Muffled by her pillow, she calls back, “Do what?”

“I’m calling in a stamp.”

Her pillow goes flying, and I only barely manage to duck. Even so, it skims the top of my head.

“You’re using a stamp on this?”

“Yep,” I say, popping the p, and crossing my arms over my chest. “You’ve got to learn to follow through on your commitments.”

“Hello!” She draws a circle around her face. “Commitment-phobe. You know this, too.”

I look at my cell phone. “Twenty-six minutes now. And we need to leave at least five minutes early.”

Scowling, she throws her legs over the edge of the bed, wincing when her toes touch the cold tile floor. “Mornings are the love child of Satan and you.”

“Love you back.”

Despite her grumbling, we manage to leave a couple minutes before seven thirty. With her short hair, she can get ready incredibly fast, unlike me and my monstrous mane.

When we stroll up the sidewalk toward the quad, I spot Carson already there waiting for us.

Stella shoots me a sly grin. “Now I get why you used the stamp. So I take it you had a pleasant surprise at your window last night?”

“That was you?”

She shrugs. “I was merely a facilitator.”

Carson is dressed in jeans and his familiar scuffed boots. He’s wearing his team sweatshirt, and he gives me this sleepy, sweet smile that makes my heart throb. I can see people watching him. By now everyone knows who he is, and they’re wondering why the starting quarterback is standing all alone on the sidewalk. I don’t spare a single care for any of the people watching when I walk up to him and throw my arms around his neck.

He pulls me close, his hands slipping beneath my jacket to press into the small of my back.

“Good morning,” he murmurs into my ear, his stubble tickling my cheek.

Then, because I am done caring about gossip, and I actually want everyone to know he’s mine, I kiss him right there on the sidewalk with at least twenty people watching.

The kiss lasts for several long seconds, neither of us willing to be the one who steps back. But when I hear a few whistles and Stella pretending to gag behind my back, I pull back smiling.

“Good morning,” I say.

“Yes, it is.”

“Seriously,” Stella says. “I’m going to need Benadryl to hold off the hives if you guys keep doing that.”

Carson gives me another short kiss, and Stella throws up her hands. “I think I liked it better when you two were incognito. There was much less nausea.”

With one arm wrapped around my shoulder, he smiles at her. “Thanks for the help last night, Stella.”

She waves him off and starts walking away. I think she’s actually bolting until she uses the nearby stairs up to the quad to help her climb up on top of the brick wall. She walks back toward us, and then plops down on the brick that’s just below my shoulders.

Carson helps me jump up beside her, and then he settles in between my knees, leaving me just a couple inches above him. He leans against the brick and wraps his arms around my waist.

Stella says, “This whole third-wheel thing is going to be happening a lot, isn’t it?”

“We could always get you a fourth wheel,” I say.

“It’s like you’re actually trying to make me gag.”

We talk for a while longer, and when we hear the first strains of music from the band around the corner signaling the start of the parade, Carson turns around to face the street. He leans back against me, propping his elbows up on my thighs, and I wrap my arms around him.

The band comes by first, hundreds of them dressed in full uniform and filling the early morning air with the fight song, and “Smoke on the Water,” and all the other songs I’ll forever associate with football.

Then come the floats. The fraternities and sororities work for months and put ridiculous amounts of money into them, and they’re crazy good because of it. Not all of them make sense with football—there’s a Wizard of Oz one with a yellow brick road, and a house on a witch, and even a tornado. They’ve got students dressed up as characters waving and throwing out candy to the families and students that have filled the sidewalk in front of us. There’s a pirate one too, and one with Thor crushing what appears to be a hawk (the opposing team’s mascot) with his massive hammer.

There’s a giant floating wildcat, maneuvered by students with strings. The homecoming-queen nominees come by in a fancy car, claws up in lieu of the pageant-style waves.

A student organization walks by with individual signs made for each player, and at the very front is a sign for Carson with his number and a painted football that says, “McClain’s domain.”

Stella and I cheer loudly, and Carson just shakes his head, laughing.

Pointing at me, Stella yells, “Here’s some more of McClain’s domain, right here!”

I roll my eyes and shove her, and she pretends like she’s going to topple back off the wall. I let her have her fun, and then I lean down close to Carson’s ear.

“You’re looking awfully smug.”

He leans to the side, looking up at me over his shoulder.

“What? I’m not allowed to enjoy the idea of you being mine?”

I smile, enjoying the thought myself.

“Fine. Enjoy away.”

“Oh, I plan to.”

Stella cuts in. “Can you please do that enjoying at his place?”

We promise to do just that, and when the parade is over, we walk Stella back to the dorm, and then head to his apartment.

Despite Stella’s teasing, we’re both yawning by the time we make it up the stairs and through his door. We kick off our shoes and shed our winter layers. Carson lies down on the couch, and I grab his blanket and settle down beside him. With my head on his chest and his arms around me, I feel certain that I’ve never been more comfortable.

“Carson?”

Sleepily, he kisses my forehead and replies, “Hmm?”

“I kinda love you, too.”

He takes a deep breath, his chest rising steeply below my cheek.

“Kinda?”

“Still so needy,” I tease. “Fine. I love you.”

He tips my head up, and looks down at me. His eyes are clear and vivid blue, and his smile would take me to my knees if I weren’t already laying down.

“I’ll always need you, Daredevil.”