I want to kiss her again. Even though I know it’s wrong and I know I shouldn’t, because I have no intention of this becoming anything. But how the hell could I do that to her? How could be that guy who kisses someone out of my own selfish need? I know what something like that might mean to Summer, and I can’t believe I let my urges win last night. But fuck, it felt good.
The taste of Summer’s bottom lip as I sucked on it flashes as I close my eyes and my hand slams against the shower wall. I can’t allow myself to go there with her. Which means I can’t be around her right now. I’ve never been more thankful for a bye week in my life.
“Morning, Sunshine,” Abby says when she walks into my apartment. Days like this I regret giving my sister a key. I could’ve used a moment to prepare for her entrance. The pot of coffee I made not even an hour ago is practically empty as I’m pouring my third cup and getting things out to make another pot.
“Morning,” I say, tipping the cup in her direction.
Abby puts her purse down on the stool before noticing the mess out back.
“You should have brought that stuff in…” She trails off, pointing to the balcony.
“I got some of it, I would’ve been able to get more if I was home.”
Her brows crease in confusion. Shit. I never told her Summer was here with CeCe.
“I had something come up last minute, and by the time I got home the storm was already crazy.” I down the rest of the coffee in my mug and place it near the coffee pot when I’m inevitably going to be ready for a fourth. Abby glances at the brewing coffee pot and then back to me.
“She’ll probably be up any minute,” I say, referring to CeCe and grabbing my phone off of the charger in the kitchen. It’s barely half way charged, but it’ll have to do for now.
When I leave my apartment, it feels like I’m stepping into an entirely new reality. A reality where I kissed Summer and now have to live with that and hope she doesn’t hate me for it.
It’s been three days since I’ve seen Summer. But even though my mind has often been reeling over what happened between us, I’ve stayed busy with CeCe. Having a bye week right nowhas really worked in my favor and I’ve been able to get a lot of one on one time with CeCe, which is so rare during the season. We were able to spend a day at the zoo—which she loved—and spent another day at the Children’s Museum downtown. It’s full of different activities for kids and it wore her out as I expected it would.
“Hold still.” I run the comb through CeCe’s hair, getting her ready for gymnastics tonight.
She asked for a braid, so I’ve been sitting with her for the last fifteen minutes with a tutorial up on my phone trying to figure it out. I understand the basic logistics of it, but the twisting of all the pieces is a fucking nightmare. How are my fingers supposed to tie her hair together when it’s so fine and slipping through my hands? I let out a frustrated sigh when I have to rewind the video for the third time to watch a certain part again, and CeCe notices.
“It’s okay,” she says, pulling her head forward and almost completely out of my grip.
“Sorry, Peanut. I’m almost done.” I look at the twisted pieces of hair and consider just tying it up as it is and calling it a day. It’s kind of braided, if you don’t look too closely.
CeCe stands up straight again on the foot stool as she watches me in the mirror and I’m trying my best not to look as frustrated as I feel. It’s so close to perfect and I want it to be that way for her.
“Cross the right strand over to the middle and then cross the left strand into the middle. Repeat these basic steps all the way down until you’ve reached the desired length and fasten with a hair tie.”
I pause the video on the image of the completed braid and try to study the way it looks. How can I read a bunch of football plays, but can’t follow two simple steps for a damn braid?
When she winces after I pull one of the strands through, I realize I must’ve tangled one of the pieces.
“Oh, sorry.” I kiss her head and gently take the left strand to cross over the middle, like the video says.
By the time I’m finished, it doesn’t look like the finished product in the video, but it looks better than the first time I tried, and I think the progress is good for today. Plus, we’ve run out of time to keep trying.
“Thanks, Daddy!” CeCe shouts when she reaches behind her head to feel the braid. I know she can’t see it, but I want it to be perfect for her next time.
At the gym, I stand against the glass as I look down and watch her do a bunch of forward rolls in a row. I’d be dizzy after one, let alone four. There’s another mom down at the very end, but rather than watching she’s on her phone. The door squeaks open when someone else walks in and I don’t bother to look and see who it is, but the slam when it closes followed by a quiet “sorry” does grab my attention.
My head tilts in confusion as I stare at Summer walking toward me. Blue crewneck sweater over a pair of bike shorts and her hair pulled back in a clip. She mouths sorry again as she gets closer to me and all I can do is stare at the way her lips look. They’re full with a shade of light pink gloss on top, but I remember how they taste. I wasn’t expecting to see her today. In fact, I wasn’t expecting to see her for at least another week due to my schedule.
“What are you doing here?”
She scoffs and takes a seat on the chair next to me. “It’s so nice to see you too.”
Pulling the chair out a bit, I take a seat next to her with the intention of starting our conversation over, but she starts waving excitedly out the window and blows a kiss down below. When I glance out, I notice CeCe jumping up and down, waving up here. Summer smiles at CeCe and then points down to where the coach is explaining something to the girls, attempting to refocus CeCe on her class.
“She asked me to come last time I was over… I didn’t think it would be a problem.”
It isn’t a problem. It shouldn’t be at least.
