One Northern Morning (A Novella) (Southern Nights Novella Series #2) (3 page)

“Lemon.” I wink at Laney and completely ignore
Steve.

“Kam,” she echoes my name only slightly bothered. Steve, on the other hand, seethes under his breath.

“I’ll see you later,” I hear Laney tell him as she follows me into class.

It’s been several weeks and I still can’t figure out what the hell she sees in him.

He seems like a big fat jerk-off to me.

I want to know if she and
Steve
are really serious, but that just seems too personal to ask. It would make it seem as if I’m more interested than I have business to be. Laney and I are friends and Lord knows it took us years to get here. Our breakup was bad—it was ugly, it was emotional, and very messy. But after it was all over, I learned one thing; being just friends is way better than not having her in my life at all.

At least that’s what I keep telling myself.
Just friends is better than nothing. Just friends is better than nothing . . .

“Did you draft the questions, Lemon?” I ask to distract myself.

“Right here.” She pulls out a piece of paper from her notebook and waves it in the air. We decided to do a mock interview. Her as the reporter and me, well, the sports star. How perfect. This project has A written all over it. I take the sheet from her and gloss over the questions. They are all pretty straightforward, nothing I haven’t answered before. Then my eyes suddenly land on the second to last question and stay glued there.

Do you have any regrets?

My throat actually closes. I’m not one to believe in regrets. You lose, you mess up, you move forward. It’s how you survive under the immense pressure. No living in the past. But as much as I walk around like Superman, I’m human just like everyone else, and I have weaknesses, too. I will always regret losing Laney. I will always regret not fighting harder to keep her. I will always regret that, in the end, football really was more important.

“These look good.” I hand her back the paper rigidly.

“Good.” She smiles at me. “I was going to try and get some studio time later this afternoon so we can record it. What do you think?”

I nod silently. “Sounds like a plan. I’m free.”

“Perfect.” She looks at me funny. “You okay?”

“Fine.” I plaster on a fake smile. I get to spend more time with you . . . as just . . .
friends. . . .

Laney and I sit in the tiny studio setting up the microphones and recording equipment.

“How did a
non-
communications major book studio time last minute in the middle of the semester? You usually need to reserve it weeks in advance.”

Laney smiles cunningly. “I bribed Josh. It is amazing what a signed football from Kamdyn Ellis can do.” She opens her bag and pulls out a brand new football.

“You didn’t?”

“I totally did.” She tosses me the ball. “He’s a huge fan. We had a class together last semester and all he did was gush about you.” She theatrically rolls her eyes. “I could have thrown up, but knowing how much he loves you worked in our favor. We didn’t have to wait weeks to record this interview. It’s one more thing I can cross off my to-do list.”

“You are devious, Lemon.”

“I know. He wants you to sign it to my one true love.”

I snort. “Like hell.”

Laney nearly falls over laughing. “To my biggest fan?”

I curl my lip. “Too cliché.”

“Fine then, just think of something before we leave.”

“Will do. Are we ready?” I straighten in my chair.

“We are.” Laney takes a seat next to me and adjusts the small microphone on the table in the recording room. As part of our final project, we needed to show we could not only conduct a broadcast or interview, but edit it as well.

Laney starts the interview by introducing herself and me. Then she fires away.

What is your favorite thing about football? What does your workout schedule look like? How did it feel to lead your team to the conference championships and win your freshman year?

As I said, all questions I have answered a million times, and probably will answer a million more. But as each she ticks off each one, my anxiety rises a little more because I know what’s coming. I know which question is going to test my composure.

“Mr. Ellis, do you have any regrets?” Laney looks dead into my eyes.

I inhale a few deep breaths before I answer. “Personally or professionally?”

Laney’s face falls as an air of silence blankets the room, suffocating it with tension. “Both,” she responds.

I never take my eyes off her as I answer. “I don’t have any professional regrets. Every triumph and failure has led me to where I am now. I just want to keep moving in the right direction. As for personal regrets? I think everyone has those. I lost someone I loved once, and I will always regret that,” I admit, as stone-faced as possible.

Laney just continues to stare; the tense silence becoming almost unbearable.

“Sometimes . . . she regrets it, too.” She clears her throat and looks away. I nearly fall out of my chair. Did she just admit she misses me?

“Mr. Ellis, thank you for the candid honesty.” She moves on. “I have one last question before we end.” Laney tucks some hair behind her ear. I want to reach out and touch her, but I don’t. I keep my distance, my heart fluttering from her confession.

I nod her on.

“Where do you see yourself in five years?”

I smile. I know exactly where I see myself. “Playing for the NFL with a Super Bowl ring on my finger.”

Laney chuckles. “I have no doubt, Mr. Ellis. One day that will become a reality.”

With that, Laney ends the interview.

“Please don’t forget to sign the football and give it to Josh.” Laney gathers her notebook and pen and places them into her book bag.

“I’ll drop it off right after I leave.”

“Thanks.” She slings her backpack over her shoulder. “Good interview. You’re a pro.” She teases me, but I’m not in a very playful mood.

“You weren’t so bad yourself.” I grab her hand as she walks by.

There’s regret on her face, but she doesn’t pull away. “Whatever it is you think you need to say, you don’t. It’s in the past. We’ve both moved on.”

I stare, wondering if she really believes that. I sure as hell don’t. She feels as real today as she did three and a half years ago.

“I really am sorry,” I profess, rubbing my thumb over her hand.

“Don’t be.” She pulls it away and touches my face; my skin nearly catches fire.

I’ll always be sorry.

“I gotta go. See you next week, all-star.”

My chest tightens from the term of endearment. She hasn’t called me that in years.

“Same time, same place,” I assure her wistfully.

Laney throws me a sweet smile over her shoulder right before she leaves. I don’t follow. Instead, I sit back down and spin the football mindlessly on the table. Some strange sense of hope tingling inside me.

“I lost someone I loved once, and I will always regret that.”

“Sometimes . . . she regrets it, too.”

“D
o your homework, Lemon?” Kam drops his notebook on the desk next to me and slips casually into the seat.

“Yes, you?”

“Right here.” He pulls out a typed page and waves it in my face.

“Am I supposed to be impressed or something?”

“Or something,” he flirts.

Kam has been doing that a lot lately. Flirting. With me. I don’t know if it’s the end of the school year high, the fact we’re graduating, or what, but the last two and a half months, spending every Friday morning together, has done something anomalous to our estranged relationship. We have two official classes left before we take our final and then head out into the world. Me to New York to start an internship at a prestigious architectural design firm, and Kam to the NFL. Both our career dreams seem to be coming true.

“What’s with the pigtails, Lemon?” He flips my hair flirtatiously with his pen.

“Nothing.” I shrug him off. “Can’t a girl wear pigtails?”

“She can.” He eyes me hungrily. That look is so dangerous.

“You know what pigtails are good for?” he leans in and whispers.

“What?” I raise an eyebrow speculatively.

“Pulling.” He yanks on my hair a little harder than just teasing. I actually clench my thighs. Maybe I’m not so immune to Kam’s prowling after all.

Professor Katz begins class, and Kam and I both shift in our seats. But it doesn’t matter how much I try to concentrate on what the teacher is saying; the only thing I am aware of is Kam. I can feel him looking at me. No. Not just looking—licking me with his eyes and tangling me in an uncomfortable excitement. A precarious predicament. Kam is off-limits in so many ways. We’ve been down this road before, and as much as our physical chemistry is off the charts, there are too many old emotions attached. I couldn’t open that door again, not even for one, carefree, no-strings-attached night.
One, uninhibited, reckless, pulse-pounding night.
I can almost feel the way he used to touch me. The light caresses and strong grip, when our bodies would fuse together and the world would disappear. It was the only time I really ever had Kam—the only time I received his undivided attention and unconditional love. There’s a sudden ache in my chest as I find myself mourning what we once had.

“Laney?” Kam shakes me by the shoulder. “Are you all right?” I look over at him and then around the room. We’re the only two left.

“Fine.” I clear my throat.

“You were in some pretty deep thought.”

“I guess I was.” I scan over Kam’s facial features. His big baby-blue eyes, strong jawline, and prominent nose. Tack on his charismatic personality and Southern charm, and he’s the epitome of quarterback playboy. He hasn’t even been drafted yet, but he’s going to take the NFL by storm. I predict it already. He’s Alabama’s golden boy, and he’ll be the National Football League’s, too.

To me, however, he’ll always be the man I let go.

I move to stand, extinguishing all the feelings flaring inside me like wildfire.

“Do you want to grab some coffee?” Kam asks as he walks me out. “Or is your attack dog waiting for you?”

I laugh. “No. Not today.”

“So how ‘bout it? Coffee? I’ll even buy you a muffin.”

“I can buy my own muffin. And coffee, for that matter.”

“So, is that a yes?” he asks hopefully.

I contemplate for a second; my good sense flying right out the window. “Sure, why not?”

We grab a table outside at the nearby coffee shop on campus. It’s a warm April morning, and the humidity is comfortably low.

“So . . .” Kam says with a smirk.

“So . . . ?” I reply with the coffee cup in front of my mouth, concealing my mirroring expression.

“In a few more weeks, this will all be a distant memory.” He motions to campus.

“Yup,” I agree, cheerfully. “Are you nervous about the draft?”

“A little,” he admits reluctantly. “Everything I’ve ever wanted is right at my fingertips.”

“That should make you happy.”

“I am happy.”

“You sure? Because you sound like something is missing.”

Kam stares at me stoically, ticking his jaw. “Not something. Someone.”

I freeze mid-sip. I’m not even going to ask whom because the way he’s looking at me tells me everything I need to know.