“So, how did you find this place?” Carson asks as I flick my turn signal and ease off the highway and onto a dirt road that disappears into a thick patch of trees.
“I used to ride my bike out here just for the quiet and the exercise. I wasn’t as into sports as my brothers, but I definitely always felt better when I exhausted myself. It made that itch I always had under my skin calm down. I did a lot of exploring, and that’s how I found this.”
We bounce down the dirt road until it ends, my headlights hitting a thick row of trees. Carson bounds out of the car, thrilled by the adventure. I like that she trusts me. Leading a woman out into the woods is pretty sketchy. I certainly hope she wouldn’t do this with the chucklefucks she’s been going on dates with, but I’m happy she’ll do it with me. I told her this is just a pretend date, and maybe for her it is, but the way I want to be out here with her isn’t theoretical. Being with Carson, just existing in her presence, beside her, talking to her…I don’t know how to describe it. It’s a level of comfort I’ve never felt with anyone before.
And it’s with that thought in mind that I reach back to take her hand, leading her down the little dirt path between the trees. When her hand slips into mine, I hear the smallest gasp, but I don’t look back.
I’m afraid that if I look back, I’ll lose my nerve.
I’m afraid that if I look back, I’ll let go.
CHAPTER 22
CARSON
Idon’t know which shocks me more: the wide-open expanse of the limestone quarry, or the fact that Dan is still holding my hand.
Emerging from the trees, we stop to take in the moonlight shining down on the water that fills the quarry, sending glittering ripples across the surface. The quarry is massive, probably the size of a couple of football fields, with high limestone walls surrounding three sides. I’ve heard about quarries like this all over central Indiana, but I’ve never seen one myself. Decades ago, the whole place was mined for stone that would become sculptures, monuments, and buildings at the university or in downtown Indianapolis. But now all that’s left are the even cuts in the walls and a placid swimming hole. It’s wild that it’s just here, peaceful and quiet, among the trees and cornfields.
“How have I never heard about this place?” I ask, keeping my voice low like I used to in church when I was a kid.
“The guy who owns the property is pretty private,” Dan says. His grip tightens on my hand, sending a zing of electricity up my arm. “And squirrelly about trespassers.”
“Are we going to get in trouble?”
“Nah. I met him my junior year. He told me if he ever caughtme drinking or doing drugs out here, he’d turn me in to the cops. But once he realized it was always just me and a book, he let me be.”
“Can you swim here?” I ask, then wince. I worry that he’s going to tire of my questions, but I can’t help asking them. I love pulling little bits of information out of him, mining him for gold. Every new piece of Dan lore he shares with me is precious.
“Yeah. There’s a dock over there that you can jump off. The water’s really deep, but it’s clean,” he says. “It’s not safe to swim here alone, though, so I haven’t done it very much.”
Standing here beside him, I feel like I’ve stepped outside of my life. Summer always feels a little bit like that for me, when I’m free of the structure of the school day and the pressures that come with being responsible for a roomful of five- and six-year-olds. But this dark, silent, beautiful place makes me feel like I’ve stepped through a portal with Dan by my side.
Already this summer has been so different from any other. I’m living on my own for the first time in my life. I joined a roller derby team. I’ve been lifting weights. I made friends with Dan McBride.
As the sounds of the water and the breeze echo off the stone walls, filling my ears with gentle white noise, I start to wonder what else I could do. How else I could step outside of who I’ve always been, past the boundaries that were set up for me—that I maybe even set up for myself.
“I want to swim,” I say, my eyes on the water.
“We can come back tomorrow,” Dan says.
“No,” I tell him. I squeeze his hand, then let go. “Now.”
“But—”
I take a few steps away and then whip around, taking a deep breath as I look directly into his eyes. “I want to do things. New things. Take risks. I’ve spent my whole life with a list of things I couldn’t do or shouldn’t do. But I’m learning that the can’ts and shouldn’ts are where the fun lies. I want todothings, Dan.”
And then, before any of those pesky little voices in my braincan pipe up and tell me to stop, I reach back and tug on the zipper of my dress.
Dan sucks in a breath, his lips parting as the fluttery fabric floats down my thighs, pooling in the dirt at my feet. His eyes rake over the white lace bra and matching panties I’m wearing, and I revel in it. I want him to look. I want him to see me.
When I reach back for the clasp on my bra, his eyes shoot skyward.
“What are you doing?” he asks, like he’s new to this planet and has never seen a woman get naked before.
“I’m going skinny dipping,” I tell him, the plan forming as the words come out of my mouth.
My bra hits the ground.
