One Southern Night
Read One Southern Night Online
Authors: Marissa Carmel
ONE SOUTHERN NIGHT
Copyright © Marissa Carmel 2014
Names, characters and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author's imagination, or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher.
No part of this book may be reproduced or shared by any electronic or mechanical means, including but not limited to printing, file sharing, and email, without prior written permission from author Marissa Carmel.
All rights reserved.
Cover Design By:
Marisa Shor,
Cover Me, Darling
Editing By:
Jenny Carlsrud Sims
Interior Design and Formatting By:
Christine Borgford,
Perfectly Publishable
K
amdyn Ellis is the man.
Mr. All-Star athlete and resident bad boy. #7 quarterback on the field, and #1 player off.
Every guy at school wants to be him, and every girl at school wants to date him. Well, except Laney Summers that is. The sassy city girl is the only one immune to Kam’s clear blue eyes and arsenal of southern charm. But when a debilitating injury sidelines Kam’s future and ability to play football, it’s Laney who is tasked to be his tutor while he recuperates at home.
The chemistry between Kam and Laney is undeniable, and after months of ignoring what’s clearly evident, Laney gives in. Allowing herself one night with Kam, no strings attached, no commitment to speak of. Alone, under the stars, on the fifty-yard line, Kam and Laney set out to discover if what they have is real, or just one steamy southern night.
T
he cheerleaders on the sidelines chant: Wolverines … let’s hear you yell ... blue … BLUE! Wolverines … let’s hear you yell … white … WHITE! Put it together what’s that spell … blue … white. The crowd echoes BLUE! WHITE! Then a cheerleader flies twenty feet in the air, touches her toes, and plummets back down to earth. This weird phenomenon has become my life. Three months ago I couldn’t fathom spending a Friday night in the stands of a stadium watching a football game. Yet, here I sit—in the middle of Nowhere, Alabama—cheering on the Wolverines in the state championships. Nowhere is where my father’s from, and after my parents’ divorce, he decided we needed to move out of New York City for a while. Which brings us to the here and now. Please don’t get me wrong. I’m not opposed to football, but relocating to the Heart of Dixie has definitely opened my eyes to the magnitude, commitment, and love of the game in the South. My father has always been a diehard fan, but he has become a different man living here. In New York, celebrity Chef Riley (that’s my dad) was going all the time. If not social networking on his phone, he was on the computer—if not the computer, he was in the kitchen cooking up new recipes. There wasn’t much time to sit back and watch four quarters. When we moved, that all changed. Lately he seems to eat, sleep, and breathe the sport, much like everyone else in this small county town. I don’t really get it. I like the cheerleaders; my cousin Miranda (the one who was flying through the air a minute ago) is co-captain. And honestly, if it wasn’t for her, I’m not sure how the transition from big city to small town would have gone.
It’s been tolerable so far. Especially when you get to ogle your chem partner every morning in first period. Said chem partner is also the quarterback currently kicking the other team’s ass. Just like he said he was going to do. Such the ego.
The first day I met Kamdyn Ellis, he called me sugar and I nearly knocked him out. I told him I have a name, and he had better use it. He laughed at me and then corrected himself, calling me Lemon instead. Because as sweet as I look, I’m totally sour. I’m fine with him thinking that. I’m not interested in his arsenal of southern charm, boyish good looks, or baby blue eyes.
Hey, I said I’m not interested, not dead. He’s hard not to notice. Especially when he’s sitting a foot and a half away from you, wearing low slung jeans, a tight Roll Tide t-shirt, and backwards baseball cap.
See, not only have I noticed his southern charm, boyish good looks, and baby blue eyes, I’ve also noticed the revolving door of women he has on his arm. Like, a new one every other week. Sorry, I’m no one’s hot and sweaty solitary southern night.
So I keep my distance and flirt from afar, leaving him to his womanizing ways. Flirting with Kam has become one of the highlights of my day. Because, trust me when I tell you, living in Nowhere Alabama, I need to be creative with my time.
I
zip my fly.
Ahhhh.
Nothing like a little stress reliever the morning of a big game. I help Darla stand. She runs her hands up my chest and locks her arms around my neck. “I love starting my day with you.” She has that starry look in her pretty green eyes.
“Sugar, I’m a better caffeine rush than coffee.” I smile, unhooking her hands.
“You’re more than just a rush, Kam.” She blinks up at me flirtatiously. “How about I wear your practice jersey to the game tonight, so I can show everyone I’m your number one fan.”
Time out.
If there’s one thing that screams ‘item’ in this school, it’s wearing a player’s football jersey. And, umm, no thanks. I’m not in the market for being anyone’s significant other, boyfriend, or one half of an item. And Darla knows that. Everyone knows that. I spent the last three years with the most cold-hearted bitch in school, and I’m done with duos. I’m done with status and done with image. Done with the captain of the football team dating the head cheerleader.
Senior year is all mine. No strings attached.
The warning bell rings for first period. Couldn’t be better timing.
“We better go.” I avoid responding altogether, making a quick getaway. Am I being a dick? Yeah, a little. But you shouldn’t ask questions you already know the answer to. I open the door to the storage closet and peek my head out. The coast is clear, no faculty in sight. Get caught making out—or in my case getting head—and it’s suspension row for us. I don’t think The Touchdown Club would be too happy their star player had to ride the bench because he couldn’t keep it in his pants. Darla and I slip into the growing mass of students filling the hall. I move fast, snaking my way through my peers and away from Darla. Scot-free. Or so I think. I’m not ten feet in when I run smack dab into Laney Summers. She gives me that look. Her big blue eyes sharp. Yup, busted. She always knows.
“Blowin’ off a little steam this morning?” she asks. Her tone is curt but amused at the same time. She sometimes drops the G off her words. It’s cute as hell. She’s cute as hell.