Chapter 3Cal and I rode back to Dover with Caryn rather than Coach Keller. Though I found it hard to believe when one of them mentioned it, their paths had never crossed. Chatty Caryn, a tiny blonde with a rather large rack and eyes the color of the morning glories my mother grew in summer, suddenly seemed so bashful and quiet. Cal openly flirted—boldly so—mentioning her giggle and her pretty necklace, which happened to be nestled in a canyon of cleavage. Caryn had a lot of cleavage. I wanted to punch Cal—or Calloway, as she seemed to prefer—as either a protective surrogate brother or a jealous horny homo.
Caryn was quick to depart once we arrived home, but I invited Cal to stay the night, so maybe I might discover which I was.
“Dinner’s in the oven,” my mother said as we entered through
