“Take the compliment, Lace.”
I don’t think he’s ever called me anything but Lacey before. And sure, dropping theyisn’t that creative as far as nicknames, but coming from Vaughn, it feels huge.
A small laugh slips from my lips as my face flushes. “Thank you.”
“You did gymnastics as a kid, right?”
I nod. Each question about me and my life is more confusing. Are we friends or not? He keeps blurring the lines, and I’m not sure what’s what anymore.
“And dance?”
“A little. I was more into gymnastics. I thought I was going to the Olympics someday. Then I discovered cheerleading.”
His smile splits and lifts higher at the corners. Vaughn has a really great smile. It’s sort of a pity that he doesn’t use it more often, but maybe that’s what makes it feel so special.
“Did you ever do any other sports besides soccer?” I ask him.
“Not really.” He shakes his head. “I played basketball a bit, but I wasn’t very good.”
“I doubt that’s true.” He has a natural athleticism about him that I would bet transfers to most sports.
“There’s something about playing outside, even in the cold, that I always preferred over indoor sports.” He lifts his chin and stares up at the sky. Sometimes I think Vaughn is a lot deeper than people give him credit for.
His gaze drops, and we’re back to staring at each other. Something has shifted between us again, and I can’t quite put my finger on it. We’re not friends. Not really. But I like being around him more than just about anyone else. Top three, for sure. But when he passes his test, because he will, then what?
“How’s your bucket list coming along?” he asks as he leans against his SUV.
I guess we’re going to keep standing in the dark parking lot and chatting. I’m not complaining. It’s nice. Confusing, but nice.
“Good,” I say, feeling a little protective of it. If he laughs or says it’s stupid, I’ll have to go back to hating him.
“Can I see it?”
“Why?”
“Because I only saw a bit of it and I’m curious what else is on there besides skinny-dipping,” he says simply. Then he adds, “Maybe I want to make one of my own.”
I shake my head, face heating. “It’s too embarrassing.”
“Oh, come on. It can’t be more humiliating than the whole school knowing you failed algebra.”
“Dr. Frievalt is hard. Lots of people are failing.”
“Or letting the smartest, prettiest girl in school see how dumb you are because you need her to tutor you.”
Did he just call me the smartest and prettiest girl in school? My heart is racing, and I feel unsteady on my feet. And I’m certain I’m blushing. “You aren’t dumb.”
“And you shouldn’t be embarrassed about a list of things you want to do for your mom.”
He’s right. I know he is, but my fingers still shake as I unzip my bag and pull out the folder with my list tucked inside. I can’t bear to see it, so I hand him the entire folder. He steps forward and opens it. While he scans the paper, I shift uncomfortably in front of him, staring at the ground.
He says nothing for several long moments, then shuts the folder and hands it back to me. I swallow around a lump in my throat. If he mentions the last item on the list, I’ll die of embarrassment right here.
“You want to honor her memory and know her better. I get it. Makes perfect sense to me.”
“It does?”
His blond head nods. “Yeah. I’d probably do the same thing in your shoes.”
