Into Your Arms

by Chelsea M. Cameron

  It’s easy. It’s fun. She makes me laugh and it’s just good. It’s good with her. As someone who hasn’t had a lot of good, I guess I like to cling to it when I find it. Thanks, shitty childhood for that.

  I’m probably making more out of it than it is. And my fucking heart is going to get mangled in the process. I should back off. Cool down. I hopped aboard the runaway crush train, and I need to slow things down.

  I haven’t mentioned being friends, and she hasn’t either. I figured she needed more than twenty-four hours, and bugging her with “will you be my friend?” again seemed, well, desperate. Even though I am.

  If Freya coming over for dinner once a week is as close to friendship as I can get, I’ll take it. I’ll take any time I can get with her. Fuck, I sound like a junkie waiting for their next fix, but I can’t think of a better metaphor than that.

  This is going to be a serious problem for me, but there’s no going back now.

  Fuck.

  * * *

  We have our first away game this weekend and I’m kind of nervous. I’m bunking with Clint at the crappy hotel just outside of the university, but it shouldn’t be bad. I know there is definitely going to be some hooking up between more than a few of the squad members, in spite of it being heavily frowned upon. Like that’s going to stop anyone.

  Coach gives us a pep talk before we leave at the buttcrack of dawn on Saturday. We’re all shuffling and yawning and adjusting our bags. Freya’s eyes are adorably puffy, and her ponytail is askew. She barely gives me a nod before she’s on the bus. Tobi sits with her, and I go a few seats back and Clint slides in next to me.

  “Are you going to tap that? Ever?” He jerks his chin toward Freya. Am I that obvious?

  Yeah, probably.

  “I don’t think so. I’m attempting to get to the friend stage.” He makes a hissing noise.

  “I wouldn’t. Because then you’ll never make it to the next stage if you become her friend.” I want to tell him that the whole “friendzone” thing is complete bullshit and that male and female friends fall in love all the time, but it’s too fucking early. Normally I’m up and ready to go, but not today. I couldn’t sleep last night. The bus ride is going to be several hours, so I’m hoping I can crash.

  “I’ll figure it out,” I mumble, pulling out my earbuds and plugging them into my phone. I give him a grin and pop them in my ears and lean against the window. Hopefully that will send the message that I am not up for a chat about Freya.

  A few minutes later, he does the same, and soon I’m drifting off to the sounds of Hozier.

  * * *

  The rest of the day passes in a blur. I try to stay focused on cheering and stunting and remembering the changes to the dance we learned this week, but my mind is on Freya. It doesn’t help that she’s standing a few feet away and is the one I’m stunting with.

  I make sure not to touch her any more than necessary and shake my head when she offers me a bottle of water, even though I’m dying because I forgot my regular bottle at the hotel.

  She gives me a weird look and shrugs.

  After the game, we all pile into a local pizza joint and consume as much as we can while we can still move. I end up sitting with most of the guys, and Freya is with her girls. Funny how we still sometimes split along gender lines like that. I keep glancing back at Freya, but she’s too busy laughing and chatting to notice me. She has a whole life that has nothing to do with me, but I’m not jealous. I just wish I could be next to her. Or even near her.

  “You’ve got it bad,” Clint says, elbowing me.

  I just growl under my breath and wait for him to get distracted by drink refills. We’re not allowed to drink during school trips, so Coach wouldn’t let us order a pitcher of beer. I wish I had a few drinks right now, actually.

  A few more hours of staring at Freya later, we head back to the hotel. There were whispers about sneaking out and hitting up a bar, but no one was serious. That would be grounds for getting kicked off the team, and it’s just not worth it. Now if we were hockey players, maybe we could get away with it. They seemed to get away with everything because they bring a shit-ton of money to the university. Cheerleaders, not so much.

  Clint heads for the shower right when we get back, and I turn on the TV and flick through the channels. Freya is just down the hall. If this was a movie, I might go and knock on her door and she’d answer it wearing something skimpy. A tank top and boxers, maybe. And she’d hold the door aside and invite me in.

  But this is real fucking life, and she’s staying with three other girls, so that’s not going to happen. I flip through the channels and think about why the fuck I’m doing this.

  If I didn’t enjoy cheer, I wouldn’t be doing it. But being so close to Freya is fucking with my head.

  I think . . . I think I need to ask Coach to put her with another stunt partner. That we’re having a conflict. I have no idea if she’ll go for it, but she might. It’s just too hard.

  Freya

  Back at the hotel, we all change into comfy clothes and pull out our bottles of nail polish and stock up on snacks from the vending machine. We’re goofy and giggly and it’s almost like being a kid again. Most of my sleepovers were just with Mia. I didn’t go to a lot of group events.

  “I feel like we’re going to sit around and talk about boys or something,” Tobi says while I work on her toes. Once I’m done, she’s going to do mine. Willow and Carrie are doing each other’s toes simultaneously, but they’ve clearly had practice.

  “Ahem,” Carrie says and Tobi rolls her eyes. Willow sticks her tongue out at Tobi.

  “You know what I mean. This just feels like going back in time or something. I like it. I haven’t done anything like this for ages.” Tobi rests her chin on her knee that’s pulled up while I work on her other foot.

  “I avoided sleepovers for the most part,” Willow says, holding up Carrie’s foot and blowing on it, causing Carrie to giggle. “I always felt weird when the time would come to put on pajamas and all the other girls would start taking their clothes off. Ah, hindsight. You bitch.” She and Willow giggle together, and I find myself feeling envious. Of the way they look at each other. Of the way they casually sit and touch one another. Of how easy it seems for them.

  I finish Tobi’s foot and reach for her other one. The color she chose is a beautiful dark gray. I think I’m going to want to use the same color.

  “But speaking of boys, Rhett couldn’t take his eyes off you tonight,” Carrie says, her focus on Willow’s foot.

  It always comes around to Rhett. Like I’m cursed. Where’s my fairy godmother to sort this shit out?

  “Frey?” she asks. I sigh.

  “Look, Rhett and I are not a thing. We’re not going to be a thing. He asked if we could be friends, but then he didn’t say anything more about it, so I think he dropped it.” I’m 100 percent sure that he hasn’t dropped it; he’s just stepping back and seeing what I’m going to do. I don’t like it when he does that. It makes me feel like I’m under pressure even though there is no actual pressure.

  “You’re glowering,” Tobi says as I try to concentrate on applying the polish without messing up.

  “I know,” I snap.

  “Touchy,” she says with a laugh.

  “Why don’t you want to go for him?” Willow asks. I look up at the ceiling and try to compose my words so they’ll understand.

  “Because I don’t want to. Because I don’t think he’s doing it for the right reasons. Because I have too many other things to do. Because I don’t need a boyfriend.” Not right now. And definitely not Rhett Miller.

  “Those sound like lies and excuses,” Tobi says. “But I can’t really talk, because I won’t date anyone until grad school, maybe. It’s fine if you don’t want to be with him. I just don’t think you should deprive yourself of something and then end up miserable because you never took a chance.” I open my mouth and snap it shut. I don’t have anything to say to that.

  I sigh agai
n and finish Tobi’s other foot. She pulls her toes back so they can dry and motions for me to give her my foot.

  “It’s confusing,” I finally say.

  “What relationship isn’t?” Carrie says, giving Willow a wink. “But sometimes it’s worth it. You’ll know when it is. You just . . . you feel it.”

  Have I been feeling it? Is that what that moment was with Rhett on Sunday? I don’t know. How do I know?!

  * * *

  We eat tons of snacks and watch a terrible movie and finish our toes and giggle a lot. It’s nice. I realize how much fun I’m having, and I’m pissed at myself for not doing this more often. I’m going to now. I’m going to let people in. Or I’m going to try to. I’m always going to have my walls up, but maybe I can let a few people get closer to them.

  Willow and Carrie are having a fight about the best kind of chocolate, and Tobi is trying to referee. I lie back on the crisp hotel sheets and sigh.

  Rhett is right down the hall. If I wanted to (which I don’t), I could text him and . . .

  Nope. Not going down that path. There’s no way. I’m not doing anything with Rhett. I’m not kissing him, I’m not fucking him, I’m not being friends with him.

  I’m not doing anything other than being his stunt partner and maybe having dinner with him once a week. Because I get a free meal out of it. Yeah, free food. Who could turn down free food?

  Not me.

  9

  Freya

  We get back to campus around dinnertime on Sunday. We’re all tired as fuck and grumpy, and all I want to do is sleep forever. I did sleep in the hotel and on the bus, but it wasn’t enough. I’m also starving. I try not to look anywhere near Rhett because I know if I make eye contact with him, he’s going to ask me if I want to come over and have dinner.

  “Hey,” a deep voice says behind me. It’s like I called his damn name in my head.

  I turn slowly and there he is.

  “I was just gonna ask if you wanted to have dinner.” He leans down and pitches his voice low so people around us can’t hear.

  I bite my lip and think for about five seconds.

  “What are you making?”

  * * *

  Turns out he’s making steak, asparagus, and smashed potatoes. Pure comfort food. I fade in and out of sleep on the couch, lulled by the sounds of pots and pans clanking and Rhett whistling.

  “Hey,” his voice says as he taps my shoulder lightly. I crack my eyes open and yawn.

  Rhett has a plate for me, as well as silverware and a paper towel.

  “Thanks,” I say, taking the steaming plate of food from him. It all looks amazing and my stomach shrieks in agony that I haven’t fed it in hours.

  Rhett returns to the couch and sits with me, our plates balanced on our knees. He isn’t talking much, but it’s okay. It’s not weird silence. It’s just . . . quiet.

  I mow through one entire plate (he knows what kind of portions I eat now) and set my empty plate on the coffee table.

  “Fuck, that was good. Thanks,” I say. I didn’t bring any dessert tonight because I came straight here from where the bus dropped us off in the parking lot at school.

  “Sorry I didn’t bring anything,” I mumble. It’s too much energy to enunciate. The food is making me even more sleepy than I already was.

  “It’s okay. Your company is enough,” he says with a soft smile and then pulls a blanket off the back of the couch and drapes it over me. I’m not cold, but the gesture is nice.

  “I find that hard to believe, but thanks anyway,” I say, yawning again. I lean over and pull my feet up on the couch under the blanket. It’s not my fault. Rhett has a really comfortable couch.

  “You can stay. If you want. Or you can take a nap and then go. Whatever you wanna do,” he says before he takes our plates to the kitchen.

  “Do you wanna watch a movie?” I ask. He doesn’t hear me, so I sit up and say it over the back of the couch.

  Rhett looks up from the sink. A slow smile spreads on his face that melts my insides. I have to fight not to smile as well.

  “Sure, the DVDs are in the cabinet under the TV and I have Netflix too.” Curious to see what he’s got for movies, I get up and open the cabinet.

  Huh. Not what I expected. Well, some of what I expected, like Top Gun and other “dude movies” but he’s got some classics here too. Hitchcock and even some older romantic comedies. Huh. I wouldn’t have pegged him for that, but I’ve been so wrong about him already. I shouldn’t be surprised at anything about him anymore.

  Nothing calls to me, so I grab the remote and turn on the TV to see what’s new on Netflix. This also gives me a chance to see what he’s been watching.

  Huh again.

  Lot of documentaries. Intriguing.

  Oh, jackpot. I pick the movie I want to watch and hope that he doesn’t have a problem with it, because I will fight him, even if that would lead to my imminent demise.

  Rhett comes back from doing the dishes with a bag of cookies.

  “Do you want some tea or something?” I shake my head as he sets the cookies between us.

  “Okay, what did you pick?” he says, and I click the remote.

  He bursts out laughing.

  “Mulan, really? That’s what you picked? Out of everything?” I nod, daring him to challenge me.

  “Okay, let’s do this. But don’t get mad if I sing along.” I snort.

  “I won’t. Promise.”

  * * *

  Apparently, Rhett is a Disney fan. Must be part of working with kids to have a working knowledge of any and all Disney movies. So he belts out A Girl Worth Fighting For as I watch him in awe. He’s seen this movie more than a few times, by the looks of it. His singing voice is actually pretty good. I bet he does a killer Gaston impression. In fact, he kind of looks like Gaston. Only, you know, much more attractive. And not a raging asshole.

  I don’t make it to the end of the movie. I don’t know when I passed out, but I wake up and I have to blink and figure out where the hell I am. It takes a minute.

  Sitting up, I realize I’m in Rhett’s house, and it’s probably pretty late. There’s a note on the coffee table, scrawled in a rough hand that I know is his. The room is dark, except for a lamp on the little table next to the couch that he must have turned on.

  You fell asleep before Mulan saved China. Don’t worry, she did. If you wake up before morning, you’re welcome to stay. I’ve gone to bed, but if you need anything, just wake me up. I don’t mind. Oh, and I’m making pancakes tomorrow. If you’re interested.

  —Rhett

  I read the note a few times and try to ignore the twisting in my stomach as I get up, fold the blanket, write a response to his note, grab my jacket and keys, and head out the door as quietly as I can.

  I almost feel wrong for leaving Rhett’s place, but that’s ridiculous. I didn’t mean to fall asleep. I would have left hours ago. It’s not like we had sex and I’m sneaking out in the morning.

  I’m not doing anything wrong. So why does it feel that way?

  * * *

  It’s nearly two in the morning by the time I get back to my place, and I’m all wired up because I had a nap, so I decide to read for a while. It isn’t working, because I’ve been on the same page for several minutes. I have no idea what it says, despite reading it several times. I sigh and close the book and get up to grab another.

  After going through four books that don’t grab my attention, I give up and just stare at the ceiling.

  I can’t stop thinking about Rhett. About how he moves when he cooks. About his smile. About the way he sang a Disney song without shame. About how he lets out a little sigh of relief when he catches me after a stunt.

  He’s just . . .

  I groan.

  He’s getting to me. He really is. I need to focus on more important things. I have more important things in my life.

  Finding my mother.

  That’s my top priority, and I’ve gotten steered away from it by a cloud of Rh
ett lust. I’ve got to get a handle on this before it gets out of control and I lose sight of why I came here. I didn’t sacrifice everything I had in Texas just to get derailed from my goals by a hot boy.

  No more dinners with Rhett. Not even for free food. No more flirty glances. No more ogling his bod. No more.

  * * *

  That lasts about forty-eight hours. For some reason everyone is in a goofy mood at practice on Tuesday and even Coach is laughing at us.

  “Okay, you kids, let’s call it a night. Go home. Do homework. I’ll see you tomorrow.” She shakes her head and leaves. The rest of us aren’t quite sure what to do, so we stand around for a minute and then it’s like we’re kids and school is out for the summer. We normally have practice for another hour, so this is nice.

  “Wow, a whole extra hour in my day, what a luxury,” Tobi says, grinning. “I think I’ll use it to, oh, I don’t know . . . study! Yeah, that sounds like an awesome idea!” She slings her bag over her shoulder and crosses her eyes at me.

  “Why couldn’t I have picked a cake major that didn’t require so much thinking?” she asks me.

  “Because you’re going to save lives?”

  She snaps her fingers.

  “Right, that.”

  We both laugh and I gather my stuff. Rhett is doing that thing where he hangs around, and I can feel that he wants to talk to me. Things have been awkward between us on the mat for the first time since we met. I couldn’t seem to stick my easiest stunts tonight, and my body is sore from falling and being caught so many times.

  I don’t want to talk to him about the other night. I’d rather shove it in the darkest recesses of my brain and forget that it happened. If I’m forgetting stuff, I’d also like to forget about those other little moments we’ve had when I swore he was going to kiss me. Or I was going to kiss him. Either way, kissing was going to happen.

  I have to focus. I’m going to use my spare hour to do just that. So I rush past Rhett and head for my car. I don’t have time for him.