I stood on my own and absorbed what he’d said. I made the cut. Understanding and relief flooded, and I bopped my head to the music, on a high. I was safe. Thus far in my new life, I was doing okay. Better than okay, really. It was in that moment that Carrie turned her head, midconversation with one of the studio camera guys and his wife. She met my gaze and latched, Micky now sitting patiently wrapped around her ankle. The exchange was private, and colored by the knowledge of all we’d done together and all the things I still wanted to do. She broke into a soft smile, and I longed to do them then and there. Instead, I sipped my lemonade, exercising patience I didn’t know I had. She was already changing my life.
An hour later, after we’d both been stolen away into conversations with other people, I found myself, at last, free. I scanned the grounds and found her alone at the condiments table assembling a burger. “Lettuce placement is important,” she said as I approached.
“Define.”
She gestured to the leafy green in her hand. “Can’t have soggy lettuce. You have to keep it away from the ketchup. Give it its own side of the burger where it can hang out in peace. Crunchy. Leafy.” She placed the lettuce on the opposite bun from the one she’d already added ketchup and mayonnaise to. “Follow me for more tips.” She winked.
“You make a compelling case. You might have a shadow,” I said, touching her wrist and causing her to go still. She rolled her lips in. I removed my hand. Just a little reminder of our sizzle, which seemed to have had the effect I’d intended.
“I’m not sure I mind that sentence,” she said. More of that torturous prolonged eye contact. How long until I could touch her again the way I wanted to? She had other plans. “Come on. Let’s check out the egg toss. Important picnic component. I’d hate for you to miss out on the basics.”
“There’s an egg toss?”
“Every year.” She grabbed her plate, and we headed out. “I used to partner with Rory, but we broke up over a difference in strategy. He’s too aggressive out there. This whole thing depends on the throw-catch relationship. Looking for a new partner now. Game?”
I paused, understanding. “Are you suggesting we enter the egg tossing competition? What if the egg I throw breaks all over you?” I stared in abject terror at her perfectly fitting sundress that was best egg-free. How could I live with myself if I changed that?
“Then I’m sure you’ll find a way to make it up to me,” she said quietly. “Won’t you, Skyler?”
I sucked in air. Point taken. I definitely could.
As we waited for our official number to be called, Lucy appeared in picnic glamour. A red plaid sleeveless top and white shorts. She scooped up Micky and agreed to babysit during the competition. As we chatted, I watched Carrie attempt to eat her cheeseburger amid several interruptions. A bite here. A handshake and introduction to someone. A bite there. A photo with a well-wisher. Another bite. Oh, to be that burger.
“Gonna bring it home this year, Carrie?” Kip from sports asked as he stretched. Literally stretched. Apparently, these people took egg tossing way more seriously than I would have guessed.
“You know it,” she said, dabbing the ketchup daintily from the side of her mouth after a hearty bite. She was like one of those judges on a reality competition who dove into food with gusto, but at the same time made eating it look easy. Controlled. How? I would have made a mess of that burger. Ketchup dribbling down my chin in hapless disaster. She was a goddamned sexy pro. “Ms. Skyler Ruiz is my teammate this year.”
“Oh yeah?” Kip asked, turning to me. “Feeling lucky?”
“Not especially,” I said blandly, my nerves bleeding into my voice. Carrie raised an eyebrow, and I laughed at her subtle correction. “I take it back. I’m feeling like we have this thing all sealed up. No question of our imminent victory. Get ready to cry, sports guy.” I looked to Carrie. She nodded. Who knew she was this competitive?
“See you out there,” Kip said, stretching his quads one last time before jogging out onto the makeshift competition field.
With the last bite of her burger popped into her mouth, Carrie dusted off her hands and grinned. They called our number. This was it. “Ready to do this?”
“I guess?”
She leaned in and whispered, “Don’t worry, Skyler. If your hands are half as good with this egg as they were the last time they were on me, we’re going to do just fine.” I was left to pick up my jaw as she sashayed after Kip onto the egg battlefield, her ass looking simply magnificent, her legs beneath the dress toned and perfect. My mouth watered, and it had nothing to do with the food. Why was the world keeping me from what I wanted to do so very badly? I imagined what she sounded like when she came, and my whole body experienced a toe-curling shiver.
It turned out I wasn’t awful at egg catching and throwing. I thanked my mother for suggesting softball as a way to meet people when I was a third grader. Not only had I met my best childhood friend—Brittany Minor, who now sold Mary Kay and drove a pink Cadillac—but I now had advanced hand–eye coordination that helped me impress San Diego’s beloved anchorwoman who I’d been kissing in dark, small spaces. A win.
“Everyone, take another step back,” Kristin said into her portable microphone. She was serving as the contest manager and took her job very seriously. Blond hair pulled back and shorts-top combo that showed off the fact that she was a runner. The four remaining teams, which included Carrie and me, did as we were told. “And…throw.”
With a deep breath, I tossed the egg, making sure to give it a good conservative arc that would allow Carrie to catch it with soft hands. Nothing out of control. Next to me, Rory threw his egg with a little too much gusto, and Kip paid for it with yolk splattered all over his arms. “My bad,” Rory yelled. They exited the field. Another one down.
We pressed on. Carrie threw the egg to me as my heart thudded. Just then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw Micky break free from Lucy’s grip and come barreling toward me, leash trailing. By the time my gaze flitted back to Carrie, the egg was well on its way to my chest and with a sickening thud landed on my collarbone and splattered across my chest and upper arms. Micky was now at my ankles, celebrating our reunion with a few vertical springs.
“I’m so sorry,” Lucy said, arriving moments after him. “He took off like a shot when he finally located you.”
Carrie was in front of me next. She took in the eggy scene with a grimace. “Oh no. Look at you. I’m so sorry.”
I held up a hand. “No, I am. I lost focus.”
“No, I am,” Lucy insisted. “I made you lose it.”
We laughed as Kristin looked on. “When you three are done, I’ll kindly ask you to exit the field.”