Page 40 of All This Time

She shrugs. “I guess. My parents always tell Rhonan and me that life doesn’t really get great until your late twenties and early thirties.”

“Why do they say that?”

Laney clears her throat before continuing, lifting the ice to check on my bruise before placing it back down. “My mom says that you go through a lot of growing pains between high school and the age of twenty-five—learning about what you want for your life, who your true friends are, and whoyouare as a person. Once you get past that, that’s when life gets good because you’re more secure, more driven, and more content. I guess that’s what I’m looking forward to—that part of my life.”

I smile. “That makes a lot of sense. And what is it that you want to do with your life?”

She smiles and tilts her head, looking at me curiously. “You sure are full of questions tonight.”

“I’m just making conversation.”

“Why?” she asks, her brows drawn together.

“Because we’re friends, right?”

She swallows. “Yeah. Friends.”

I hate the way that word tastes in my mouth, but I hate the way it sounds coming out of hers even more. Because the last thing I want as of late is to be justfriendswith Laney Hart.

“So, tell me,” I say, keeping my voice light. “What’s the life plan?”

Her eyes dip down to the floor. “If I tell you, you might think it’s stupid.”

“I would never.”

“Sure, you say that now.”

I squeeze her wrist that I’m still holding. “I promise, Laney. No judgment. I mean, hell, you know what my dream is.”

“To make it to the NFL,” she replies without hesitation.

“Exactly. And to most people, that dream sounds crazy.”

“I know you’ll make it, though, Fletcher. You’re so good, and you work incredibly hard.”

I scoff, looking away. “Yeah, well… Not everyone agrees.”

“Like who?”

I shake my head, putting the focus back on her. “Never mind. Now tell me what your dream is.”

She stays quiet for a while, but just when I think she’s going to let that stubbornness of hers win, she surprises me when she says, “I really want to be an author.”

“Really? That’s fucking cool. Why would I think that’s stupid?”

“Because the chances of actually becoming a published author are pretty slim.”

“Slimmer than making it to the NFL?”

She chuckles. “Well, I guess not.”

“What do you want to write?” I’m still lying on the bed staring up at her as she stands next to me on the floor, but this view just gets better and better the longer I stay here. The soft light coming from her desk lamp makes the shadows on her face more pronounced, highlighting the curve of her lips, the fan of her eyelashes, and the slope of her neck.

I wonder what she would do if I kissed her there…

“I’m not sure yet. I like to read YA novels, but I’m not sure that I’d want to write one.”

Her voice pulls me from my thoughts. “What’s YA?”