This Girl (Slammed #3)(9)

She snatches the CD out of my hands and inserts it back into the player. “I don’t like Kel touching my shit, okay?”

And that’s when it happens . . . the most beautiful sound in the world. Sure, the song is beautiful. All Avett Brothers songs are beautiful. But the sound I’m hearing is the sound of commonality. The sound of similarity. The sound of my favorite band that I’ve been listening to nonstop for two years . . . coming from her speakers.

What are the chances?

She immediately leans forward and turns down the volume. I unconsciously grab her hand to stop her. “Turn it back up, I know this.”

She smirks at me like there isn’t a shred of truth to what I just said. “Oh, yeah? What’s it called?” she challenges.

“It’s the Avett Brothers,” I say. She arches her eyebrow and looks at me inquisitively as I explain the song. The fact that she apparently loves this band as much as I do stimulates a feeling deep in the pit of my stomach that I haven’t felt in years.

Good lord, I’ve got butterflies.

She glances down at my hand still clasped on top of hers. I pull my hand back and run it down my pants, hoping it didn’t make her uncomfortable. I’m almost positive she’s blushing again, though. That’s a good sign. That’s a really good sign.

The entire rest of the way to the grocery store, she tells me all about her family. She mostly talks about the recent death of her father and her birthday gift from him. She continues talking about her father and everything her family has been through this year. It explains that distant look she gets in her eyes sometimes. I can’t help but feel somewhat connected with her, knowing she can relate on some level with what I’ve been through the last few years. I tense up at the thought of having to tell her about my parents right now.

I can feel the conversation on her end coming to a close, so I point her in the actual direction of the grocery store, hoping it will deflect the parental subject before it becomes my turn to share. When we pull into the parking lot, I’m both relieved and anxious. Relieved that I didn’t have to explain my situation with Caulder to her, but anxious at the thought that I know the conversation is inevitable. I just don’t want to scare her off yet.

“Wow,” she says. “Is that the quickest way to the store? That drive took twenty minutes.”

I swing the door open and wink at her. “No, actually it’s not.” I step out of the car, impressed with myself. It’s been so long since I’ve been into a girl, I wasn’t sure if I still had any game. She’s got to realize I’m flirting with her. I like her. She seems to like me, but she’s not as forward as I am, so I’m not sure. I’m definitely not one to play games, so I decide to just go with it. I grab her hand, tell her to run, and pull her faster toward the entrance. I do this partly because we’re getting soaked, but mostly because I just wanted an excuse to grab her hand again.

When we get inside she’s soaking wet and laughing. It’s the first time I’ve really heard her laugh. I like her laugh.

There’s a strand of wet hair stuck to her cheek, so I reach up and wipe it away. As soon as my fingers touch her skin, her eyes lock with mine and she stops laughing.

Damn, those eyes. I continue to stare at her, unable to look away. She’s beautiful. So damn beautiful.

She breaks our stare and clears her throat. Her reaction is somewhat guarded, like I may have made her feel uncomfortable. She hands me the grocery list and grabs a cart. “Does it always snow in September?” she asks.

We just had a seriously intense, slightly awkward moment . . . and she’s asking me about the weather? I laugh.

“No, it won’t last more than a few days, maybe a week. Most of the time the snow doesn’t start until late October. You’re lucky.”

She looks at me. “Lucky?”

“Yeah. It’s a pretty rare cold front. You got here right in time.”

“Huh. I assumed most of y’all would hate the snow. Doesn’t it snow here most of the year?”

It’s official. The southern accent is my absolute favorite now. “Y’all?” I laugh.

“What?” she says defensively.

I shake my head and smile. “Nothing. I’ve just never heard anyone say ‘y’all’ in real life before. It’s cute. So southern belle.”

She laughs at my comment. “Oh, I’m sorry. From now on I’ll do like you Yankees and waste my breath by saying ‘all you guys.’ ”

“Don’t,” I say, nudging her shoulder. “I like your accent, it’s perfect.”

She blushes again, but doesn’t look away. I look down at the grocery list and pretend to read it, but I can’t help but notice she’s staring at me. Intensely staring. Almost like she’s trying to figure me out or something.

She eventually turns her head and I steer her in the direction of the foods on her list.

“Lucky Charms?” I say, eyeing her as she grabs three huge boxes of the cereal. “Is that Kel’s favorite?”

She grins at me. “No, actually it’s mine.”

“I’m more of a Rice Krispies fan myself.” I take the boxes of cereal from her and throw them into the cart.

“Rice Krispies are boring,” she says.

“The hell they are! Rice Krispies make Rice Krispies treats. What can your cereal do?”