Never Stop Falling Read online

  “You know you’re going to miss her,” Nick teases.

  “You might miss her.” I give him a dirty look, and he scoffs. “Don’t give me that innocent look. She was wrapped so tightly around you at prom, the two of you could have used one ticket to get in.”

  Tess closes her magazine with a smack. “Do I seriously have to listen to this argument again? Prom was almost three months ago! You two are like a broken record. Only, I think I’d rather listen to a broken record.”

  Nick points at me, but with a grin on his face. “She’s the one who went with Aiden O’Neal and left me to go solo. It was either be a third wheel or ask someone else.”

  I roll my eyes. Aiden and I had gone as friends, mainly because I wanted to get my hands on that sweet Fender guitar of his, which I had explained to Nick hundreds of times. “Oh, he wants your hands on his Fender all right,” he had said. “No question about that.” I knew Nick would be protective of me, but what I hadn’t known was that he’d take Gemma to the prom. That night had been filled with watching her maul him, while listening to Aiden’s snoozer accounts of disastrous gigs and stalker groupies.

  But Tess is right; we really shouldn’t resurrect this argument, because although it always starts out as teasing, somewhere in the middle of it, I get angry, thinking about that waste of a prom night it was, and about how much fun it would have been if I’d gone with Nick. “Whatever, blame it on me then.” Putting my sunglasses back on, I stick out my tongue at him, rise to my feet, and use my towel to wipe away the sweat from my body, one limb after the other.

  “Oh, come on!” Tess says. “I’m just kidding. Where are you going?”

  “Just stretching. Chill out.” I remove the hair tie from the messy bun atop my head, my brown locks spilling over my shoulders, and toss the strands with my hands to remove the tangles.

  When my eyes casually move in Nick’s direction, I’m startled by the intensity in his gaze. It’s the kind of look that could make a girl blush, and I’m blushing. Hard. A pleasant tingling runs throughout my body. Keeping in mind how long we’ve been friends, I probably shouldn’t feel this way, but I do. And he probably shouldn’t be staring the way he is, but he does. He doesn’t stop, and I don’t mind. Not at all.

  Except a sudden bout of self-consciousness hits me, like I shouldn’t be parading around in this skimpy bikini, despite the countless times he’s seen me in it before. I mean, if you want to get technical here, other than a couple of pieces of fabric covering my goodies, I’m naked. My panic increases, and I’m seized with the compulsion to wrap my sweaty, sandy towel around me, although this shouldn’t be a big deal. Our parents used to bathe us together when we were toddlers, so we’ve pretty much seen each other naked. Oh good God, why am I thinking about being naked with Nick?

  He walks toward me, placing the camera next to his belongings on the sand. I chew at my thumbnail nervously; if I don’t stop now, there won’t be much of it left. When he stands in front of me, his proximity clouds my vision, and every part of me begins to melt from the inside out, having nothing to do with the heat.

  “Think you can take me, hot shot?” Nick challenges, grabbing my waist, and my breath hitches at his touch. As if the blistering heat hasn't already done a number on me, I feel my skin sizzle beneath his hand. I can’t even bring myself to return the insult by calling him a chicken shit. Without warning, he picks me up, our faces barely touching…

  And he tosses me into the water.

  “That sounds like fun, kiddo,” Dad says of our drag-of-a-plan for tonight as he sits at the kitchen table, sorting through his tackle box in preparation for his fishing trip. He’s deep in concentration, and I don’t think he’s paid attention to anything I’ve said, because our plans would have been lame even for my Grandma Maura (may she rest in peace) who thought Senior Saturday Social Night at Holy Cross was the place to be.

  “And I’ll be snorting crack and participating in an orgy,” I taunt, opening up the fridge in search of sustenance and watching out of the corner of my eye for his reaction.

  Carefully examining a hook from beneath the thick, dark frames of his glasses, he replies, “You don’t snort crack. You smoke it.”

  It disturbs me a little that he knows this information, and I don’t know if it should bother me that he chose to tell me the correct way to use crack, instead of addressing the bogus situation at hand. I stand in front of the refrigerator, perusing the choices in front of me, and pick at the bowl of grapes, popping a couple into my mouth. “Ah, so you were listening to me. For a second there, I thought I had been replaced with grub.”

  “Called multi-tasking, kiddo. Plus, I’m a parent. I’m perceptive to everything you say or do, even when you think I’m not. When you have kids of your own, you’ll understand.”

  “Well then, oh perceptive one, it appears as though your parental perception is out of order, because then you’d notice that this—” I mock, popping my head up over the open refrigerator door and waving a hand across my unenthused face, “—is the face of someone who yawns under fifteen-foot swells while she’s surfing.”

  “Well, it makes me feel a whole lot better knowing you’ll be safe at Nicholas’s house and off the roads. Now, if fun is what you’re looking for, there’s nothing like drownin’ a few worms and sippin’ on a couple of cold brews. What do you say?”

  My dad and I share a passion for many things—baseball, hiking, the outdoors, to name a few—and since he and my mom had ended up with an only daughter, my interests growing up had luckily fulfilled the part of my dad that sometimes longed for a son.

  But fishing is not one of those interests, and it’s the one thing he’s never been able to persuade me to do. I grab a few more grapes from the bowl and pop them into my mouth before I shut the door, turning to face him. “You know what? Sitting in Nick’s living room all night doesn’t sound too bad now,” I tease, flashing a wide grin and winking at him.

  He closes his box and walks over to me, planting a kiss on my forehead. “Does it now? By the way, are you planning on staying out the entire night? I’d feel more at ease knowing your mother isn’t at home by herself. I would forgo the fishing trip and stay home, but she insists I go.”

  Typical Dad. Always worrying about his girls, but I wouldn’t expect anything less. It’s what makes him the best husband and father my mom and I could ask for.

  “Mom is hanging out with Marlene at the pub, since William has to look after the place tonight. She won’t be alone, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

  Opening a cabinet door, he pulls out his oversized lunchbox, sets it on the counter, and slides the top open. “William ought to give himself a break and close that place once in a while, especially on a holiday. One of these days, he’s going to work himself into the ground.”

  “Yeah, right. The Kelleys haven’t closed that place since Nick’s grandpa opened it up years ago,” I remind him. “No way William will start now.”

  “So, not only have you confirmed your mother and Marlene will be at the pub with William, but you’ve also confirmed there will be no parental supervision at Nicholas’s house tonight.” He stops to look at me, raising a questioning eyebrow. I remain tight-lipped, only allowing a giggle to escape my mouth, and he knows what card I’m playing—the ‘I’m so gosh-darn-cute-you-can’t-say-no-to-me’ card I play to weasel my way out of sticky situations. He frowns as he walks to the refrigerator and pulls out a few ice packs and water bottles.

  “Oh come on, Dad. I’m eighteen! And since when have you been worried about the lack of supervision at Nick’s house? You know I’m always there.”

  He walks back to the counter, places the ice packs and water bottles into the lunchbox, and closes the lid, hesitating before looking at me. “Corinne, honey, can I ask you something?”

  It’s one thing to ask a person a question flat-out. It’s another thing when a person asks if they can ask you a question, because most of the time, it isn’t one you want to be asked.
/>   I walk across the kitchen and open up the cupboard, searching for something else to snack on, but really it’s me fidgeting as I await the question. I find a box of cheese crackers and munch on a few. “What is it?”

  He shoots me a sidelong glance, running a hand through his dark, thinning hair. “Is there something going on between you and Nicholas?”

  A cracker must have gone down the wrong pipe because suddenly I’m dry heaving, as if Dad had thrown the question at me, whacking me in the chest. Once I catch my breath, I compose myself, acting like the choking reflex isn’t a result of his question. He eyes me suspiciously because, obviously, he isn’t buying it.

  A hysterical laugh bursts from my chest, yet I’m not sure why, since Dad’s question doesn’t have any comedic substance to it. The temperature in here seems to spike twenty degrees, and suddenly I’m sweating my balls off, even though I don’t have any.

  “You’re not seriously asking me that question, are you Dad?” He doesn’t respond other than with a shrug of his shoulders. I let out another chuckle, perhaps with too much force because a snort slips out with it. “Wow! You actually are asking.”

  Dad grins at my snort as he leans his back against the counter. “You two spend an awful lot of time together. Not to mention your sleepovers.” A silent beat passes before he continues. “I know you kids have been attached at the hip since you were born, but I think you’re at the age now where sleepovers probably aren’t, well, very appropriate.”

  “Sleepovers are a weekend tradition, Dad. They’re harmless.”

  “Perhaps. But you see, honey, Nicholas is a teenage boy, and with every teenage boy comes a certain set of…hormones.”

  Alrighty then. Someone, please stab my ears, because even hearing the word hormones come out of my dad’s mouth is making this conversation über weird. It’s not like he’d said penis or sex, but he might as well have.

  “And you, my dear, have grown into this beautiful young woman. So, it’s only natural that things can…happen.”

  Oh God, make it stop.

  “I’m your dad, so obviously I’m going to be team ‘wait-until-marriage.’ But I also know you’re old enough to make your own decisions. You’re intelligent, sweetie. You are, after all, my daughter,” he states, the pride gleaming in his honey-brown eyes as he winks at me. “So, I trust you will always use good judgment and make well-rounded decisions. What it all boils down to, Corinne, is that you kids understand the importance of being, you know…safe.”

  There are three super awkward things about this conversation.

  One: it’s one thing for a mother to give her daughter the inevitable birds-and-the-bees lecture; it’s another when your dad gives it to you, you’re eighteen, and you pretty much already know how it works by now.

  Two: my dad thinks that Nick and I are actually doing…it.

  And three: if I’m following this conversation correctly, it sounds as if my dad would actually be okay with it if Nick and I were, in fact, doing it.

  How did it suddenly finagle its way into the same sentence as Nick?

  “You do realize that everything you’re saying is absolutely over-the-top ridiculous, right?” I act casual, even though I’ve been eyeing the door for the past five minutes, wondering what a Corinne-shaped hole would look like. “Nick and I are friends, Dad. Period. That’s the extent of our relationship.”

  Dad squints, drumming his fingers against the countertop. “Well, maybe you think that, but I’ve seen the way that boy looks at you. It surely isn’t the way you look at just a friend.”

  Damn. I have to hand it to Mr. Perceptive; my dad is good. He’s seen it, the same thing I saw today—the longing in Nick’s eyes, those hypnotizing olive-green eyes. But seeing it surely has nothing on feeling it—the way his eyes lit up my heart, detonating an unexpected explosion within my soul, my nerves still smoldering from it hours later.

  But as good as that felt, Nick is…Nick, my best friend.

  “You must need a new pair of glasses.” I chuckle, walking to the other end of the kitchen and grabbing a glass out of the cabinet. “Nick and I are practically siblings. Kissing him would be like kissing a brother!”

  Only, that’s a lie. I don’t think kissing Nick would feel like kissing a brother at all. The thought has crossed my mind one too many times now, way more times than what’s considered safe before venturing outside platonic territory. What it would feel like running my hands up over his chest, around his neck, and through his hair, grabbing tight fistfuls of it while pulling those lips to mine for one heart-stopping, mind-blowing, out-of-this-world kiss, as I completely melt into him.

  Into those piercing eyes. Those perfect lips. That toned body.

  I bring the glass to my lips, only to realize I haven’t actually poured water in it.

  Holy shit. I think I just had a Harry Burns epiphany. How the hell did this happen? Nick is my pal! He’s supposed to be the Wayne to my Garth. The Beavis to my Butthead. Not the Harry to my Sally. But the more I sit on it, the more that notion becomes less of the truth, and it shakes me to the core.

  “Kiddo? You all right there?” Dad questions as he waves his hand in front of my face.

  My cheeks flush at the realization of where I’d allowed my mind to wander off to—and right in front of my dad. Thank goodness he isn’t a mind reader because he would have just seen daydream-Nick groping daydream-Cori’s ass, turning this daydream into my worst nightmare.

  “Fine. Just fine.” I nod, staring blankly at my feet, glass in hand.

  Dad comes over and wraps his arms around me, drawing me in for a hug. “For the record, Corinne,” he starts, placing a kiss atop my head. “It would be okay. You and Nicholas. I know where your head is going with this, and considering your friendship with him, crossing that line can be...scary. But that’s okay. Sometimes love is scary, especially when it’s with someone you least expect it with.”

  “I don’t get scared.” It’s the only thing I can come up with amidst the chaos in my brain.

  Dad nods, and his mouth curls up into a smile, as if he expected me to say that. “Of course not, because you’re Corinne Bennett. But you know, I wouldn’t think any less of you if you were.”

  Fear is a weakness, and lightning will have to strike me first before I show it.

  Shaking my head, I open the refrigerator and retrieve the pitcher of water, filling my empty glass. “I love you, Dad, but you say some crazy shit sometimes.”

  “I know what you’re trying to do, Corinne, so I won’t push it any further. I will say, though, that I’ve known that kid practically his whole life, and know for a fact he’d treat you as if you were the most precious thing in the world. He already does.”

  Dad gives me one final squeeze before he leaves with his fishing pole and bait box in tow.

  With our conversation stirring my thoughts, it isn’t long before I’m walking down the road toward Nick’s house to meet everyone—a road on which I’ve memorized every crack and pothole because I’ve walked it a million times before. Despite that, there is something unfamiliar about it now, like I can’t possibly know what awaits me at the other end.

  And for the first time in my life, the road to Nick’s house scares the shit out of me.

  “Yo, Kelley! Be a pal, and grab me another beer, por fay-vor. Gra-cee-ass!” Braiden yells from the couch. And he doesn’t understand why he failed Spanish. I should make his lazy ass get his own beer, but I don’t, only because doing so will put me within a few inches of Cori, and right now, I need to be near her.

  Usually, I’d have no problem walking over to that long, leather chaise she’s draped across and propping myself up next to her, but she’s been avoiding me like the plague ever since she got here. I can only think of one reason why: she’s starting to get it. It’s not like I’ve been subtle about it either, practically undressing her with my eyes at the beach, so I wouldn’t be surprised if I’d completely creeped her out. In my defense, that black-and-white polka-dotted thin
g she was wearing could turn any guy into an ogling cave man.

  I hop off the kitchen stool and grab a beer from the fridge, popping the cap off with a bottle opener. As soon as I reach over the couch and hand Braiden his brew, Cori’s eyes dart to mine for a second before she rips them away and places them back on the movie. I rest against the back of the couch, pretending to be interested in the chest-bursting dinner scene in Alien when, really, I couldn’t care less about it.

  “Dude, how gnarly would it be if you were in this situation?” Braiden points to the television with his beer. “Like you’re having dinner, gnawing on your corn-on-the-cob, and all of a sudden, a fucking alien claws out of your friend’s chest—big eyes, huge head, twelve-inch fangs, the whole shebang!”

  He speaks like this is the most normal conversation, and for Braiden, it is. Most of the things that come out of his mouth, as ridiculous as they sound, don’t really faze us anymore.

  “BOOM! It jumps out of his chest so fast, blood, guts, and all.” He flails his arms about, a few splashes of beer escaping the bottle and landing on Tess, who’s sitting beside him.

  “Seriously, Braiden?” Tess exclaims, wiping the beer droplets off her leg with the hem of her shirt.

  “Oops, sorry, babe. And then you have to fight it off, weaponless, using your bare hands and whatever physical strength you’ve got. I betcha those WWE wrestlers could take one of those things down in a matter of seconds. Show them who’s boss, you know?”

  Braiden lost me at twelve-inch fangs. I wonder how much herb he’s had tonight.

  “Is this conversation really happening?” Gemma asks from the opposite end of the couch, fluffing her blonde hair and settling back against the cushion.

  “Dude,” Cori says, ignoring Gemma. “I don’t know what world you’re living in where aliens have twelve-inch fangs.”