Free If I Was Your Girl by Meredith Russo Page A

“But—”
    â€œListen,” Grant said. I felt his hands grip mine and looked down to find his face inches away. I remembered the last time he was this close and felt my whole body flush. “I’m a big boy. I been knocked down before, and I’ll be knocked down again. I can handle things that ain’t simple, and I can handle things that’re hard. I want you, and whatever it is about you that you think makes you so complicated couldn’t make me want you less.”
    I opened my mouth to speak, to protest all the reasons why this was a bad idea—why it might be harder than he thought to get close to me, how it could end in both of us getting hurt—but nothing came.
    â€œI’m gonna kiss you now,” he said softly. “Is that okay?”
    My head made just the slightest up-and-down motion before he brought his lips to mine and pulled my hips toward his. He had been right, I realized; it felt like sitting in front of a fire, the warmth spreading across every inch of my skin.

 
    9
    I spent Saturday night with the girls in Layla’s bedroom—which had an actual four-poster bed with sheer white drapes—trying on makeup and clothes, gossiping, and posting our most vamped-up shots to Instagram . We ended the night getting sodas at Walmart, which was the only place in town still open by then. I wondered why the girls left their makeup on, then learned the answer when we came outside and found a group of kids from our school hanging out at the edge of the parking lot, cases of beers in the backs of their pickup trucks. I didn’t talk to many people, but I also didn’t feel uncomfortable, and Layla made it very clear to everyone I was a member of their group. It was one of the best Saturday nights I could remember. The only way it could’ve been better was if Grant had been there.
    I slept deep and easy once I finally got home, which was rare for me. My phone chirped and I slowly rose from bed on stiff, creaking arms, blinking and groaning against the warm morning light. The phone chirped again. I slapped at it once, missed, and got it on the second try.
    â€œHello?” I croaked without bothering to check who was calling.
    â€œMornin’, Amanda!” Anna said in a voice that was excessively cheerful, even for her.
    â€œMm,” I groaned, stretching my back. “What’s up?”
    â€œOh, nothin’,” Anna said. “Just we’re about to head to church and I thought you’d like to come.” There was a strange pause, and then she quickly added, “Plus my parents wanna meet you.”
    â€œWhy?” I said, as I slapped my feet on the floor. “I mean, I don’t really go to church.”
    â€œDidn’t you say you were Baptist?”
    â€œLapsed,” I reminded her. “I haven’t been to church since, like, middle school.”
    â€œOh,” Anna said, all her cheer gone. I paused. She didn’t just sound disappointed, she sounded worried. “But that’s just more reason to come, ain’t it?”
    â€œListen, thanks for the offer,” I said, “but I really don’t—”
    â€œNo, Amanda,” Anna whispered suddenly, “you really need to meet my parents. Like, really, really. Please?”
    My stomach sank as I realized she needed me. I thought it over for a moment before saying, “Okay. I’ll get dressed.”
    â€œYay!” Anna said, all the cheer flooding back. “We’ll be there in a half hour.”
    She hung up before I could respond. I sighed and dug through my luggage. I only had one church-appropriate outfit: a pastel-pink floral short-sleeve dress with a wide purple belt that used to be Mom’s, twenty-five years and ten dress sizes before. I stepped into the living room and found Dad at the kitchen table, rubbing his temples over a plate of greasy bacon. His eyes were closed and his skin was pale and