A Game Like Ours: Suncastle College Book One

by Marissa J. Gramoll

  “It’s okay, Bobby. Really.” I zip my shorts, tossing the cold pizza into the garbage. “If it wasn’t alright, I would’ve stopped you.”

  “We shouldn’t.”

  “No.” Although I don’t like that word coming off my lips when I mean the reverse, seeing as everything about how he touched me makes me crave him with a longing I’ve never known. I worried it would feel like a betrayal and maybe I’m just drunk, but that felt so much better than anything I’ve ever shared with anyone.

  That couldn’t have been a mistake.

  Keep surprisin’ me, Bobby.

  9

  BOBBY

  What have I done?

  I walk to her fridge, filling my wine flute with water. I chug. Another glass. Water is healing. We both need healing for the shit I pulled. A third glass rushes down my throat.

  What was I thinking getting drunk? I have work tomorrow. Some spontaneous cheat day. Seven hundred calories per bottle of Chardonnay.

  My hand was inside of her. I still feel that warm, wet, tight sensation tattooed forever on my fingers. Forever on my soul.

  Oh, shit she was so tight.

  And wet.

  And every kind of perfect I expected her to be.

  Shit.

  My hand has been inside more than a dozen people. Probably less than twenty, but more than a dozen. I’m not going to sit here and count, even though my stupid brain keeps track of how many days it’s been since my best friend died. Four hundred and seventy seven.

  Double shit.

  What the hell have I done?

  I’m pacing her kitchen. Lexie stands by the counter, looking into my broken soul. Is she okay? I sure as hell am not.

  All I can think about is her black silky panties and the amazing way her skin felt against me.

  “Slow down, big guy. You don’t need to fill up a fish tank.” Her eyes are wide. Adorable bangs hide eyebrows I know are raised in concern.

  Protein.

  That will curb the hangover as much as I can. Vision a little nebulous, I open up her fridge. Get the eggs. I already had a fuck ton of calories. It’s okay. Eat what I need to. It will be okay.

  “You have a fryin’ pan?”

  “Yeah.” She bends over. I look away. Jeez, my hand was in between those perfect legs.

  Lex sprays the pan with cooking spray. Starts up the stove. I crack eggs, scrambling them up.

  “Protein and hydration for staving off a hangover.”

  Of course she knows. She’s fucking brilliant. I shrug. “I’ll buy ya more eggs.”

  “I don’t care about the eggs.” Her eyes hold mine. There’s space between us. Keep that space. I have to.

  We go back to the bar. The same seat where I first felt her. My heart beats faster. I’m fucking sweating. “Have some.” I force half the eggs down, wondering if I’ll vomit.

  “You make good eggs.”

  I’m pretty sure my voice would stall in my throat if I tried saying anything. Can’t trust it. Can’t trust me.

  For years, I’ve wanted to touch her. Wanted to feel her. Wanted to explore her. But not drunk. Lexie deserves so much more. Guilt grips my sternum like a prison cell, not letting breath in or out of my lungs.

  I wash the pan. Dry it. Return it to her cabinet. She hasn’t stopped looking at me.

  “I should go.” The alcohol is fading. I’ve always tolerated it pretty well, ever since parties in high school. My metabolism is fast and I’m shaking out of it. Doesn’t matter. I’m walking home.

  She comes to where I stand. I pull at my t-shirt collar, because I can’t get any fucking air. Her nipples tease my chest, hard through the layers of clothing. My cock perks, begging to finish what I never should’ve started.

  Triple shit.

  The room spins as she tilts my chin to look at her. Those green eyes command my attention. Like I’m melting into the floor, I lose all resolve to leave.

  “What are you runnin’ from?” She gives me a look that makes me fall harder for her.

  How is it that she’s calling me on this? I am running. I am fucking running from this.

  My hand grips the back of my neck. I’m not ready. What’d you think would happen when you went fingers deep inside her, Bobby?

  Her eyes are kind, waiting for my answer. Wanting my answer.

  “Fuck, Lexie, I dunno how to do this.” My nails dig into my skin.

  “Do what?”

  “You know exactly what,” I scoff.

  “I wanna hear you say it.” Her eyes haven’t left mine. My cock throbs and I’m sure she feels it against her belly because she leans into it.

  You tease….

  My body hums. I’m drunk on her touch more than the lingering wine.

  “Lexie, I’m not doing this to him.” Moving to a place neither one of us wants to go, the mood shifts. Energy drops. I shouldn’t have said that.

  Her body withdraws like I’m oil popping out of a pan, scalding her skin on contact. Anguish fills her eyes.

  No, no, no…This isn’t what I want. This isn’t what she needs.

  “Excuse me, for a minute.” She hurries away. The hall bathroom door clicks shut, reminding me of another door that shut me out a long time ago. Reminding me of another time when I felt utterly rejected. A time when I never should’ve gone that far.

  I sink to the ground and hug my knees.

  How could I do this to her?

  10

  LEXIE

  He’s gone before I get out of the bathroom. Bobby restraining himself because of Cody, hit me like a typhoon. It’s been hard enough to come back to Suncastle. Now, this.

  Forget the Nicholas Sparks movie. I’ve cleansed all the tears out of me that my tear ducts are capable of producing.

  Not because I wanted it to. I didn’t want any of this. Except his kisses. I wanted those.

  The realization shakes me up in all kinds of ways. I want Bobby? He turned me on faster and harder than anyone else ever has.

  What if it’s just me needing someone to touch? Cody and I were together for so long and I’ve been alone since. In some ways, I was alone when we were together. Couldn’t let our carnal desires get in the way of his faith...except on rare occasions.

  Cody was so weird about sex and I think it was all those Sunday School lessons getting to him. A constant conflict of him wanting to be with me intimately and wanting to stay pure. He couldn’t have both–according to religion–but he sure as fuck tried. After the wedding, it was supposed to be fine. Like God could sanctify sex within the bonds of marriage. I had no problem with him wanting to wait, but it sure as fuck confused me when we did have sex and then he’d pull an abrupt change. Hot and cold all the time, giving me constant whiplash.

  But tonight, Bobby giving me so much pleasure made it feel good to be wanted. It felt good to be touched, even though he ran away like a scared little boy.

  I stare at the kitchen, missing that soothing presence of Bobby. Holy God Above, I don’t think I’ve ever been kissed like that.

  My legs, giant blobs of jelly, ascend the stairs. Keep going, keep going, keep going. In a way, I want to punch him for leaving me here alone after I asked him to stay.

  My struggles aren’t consuming me. Instead, I feel a lightness, a twitterpation, a curious jolt of wondering where Bobby and I could go. I didn’t even know being with him was an option. But man, he’s got quite the attraction to me, regardless of my previous assumptions. His eager fingers made that perfectly clear, and I doubt it was only the alcohol.

  One of these days, I was going to have to sleep here alone. Checking in with myself, I realize that all the horror I thought would grip me isn’t present.

  Flopping on the bed, birds on both hands aim at the ceiling. Fuck you, Bobby.

  Heat fills my core as I tighten in pure pleasure at the memory of him.

  I want to fuck you, Bobby.

  The biggest part I dreaded about coming back here was to sleep alone in our bed. I thought it’d be a bunch of tear
s and pain, but I already got that out of my system. Bobby inadvertently replaced all my inner shit with a blessed distraction. Guilt should be what I’m feeling right now, but it’s faded away since the moment we kissed. I must be in shock.

  I know I have to move on without Cody even though I don’t want to. I’ve told myself I need to move on a thousand times, but tonight is the first time I felt that may be a possibility for me.

  The last several months have been filled with grief and a lot of loss. God, Jesus and the Universe, please forgive me, but I’m done feeling all that. Tonight gave me a glimpse of what moving on can feel like–and kill me now, or let me really live.

  Bobby has feelings for me. I have feelings for him.

  Grabbing my phone I pull up his number and compose a text.

  Me: Did you get home ok?

  My mind pulls up so many memories of the times we were always together. Cody, Bobby, Mickey, Trish and I. At baseball games, out to eat, going to movies, parties on the weekend. Best friends since junior high when we all went out for burgers and shakes at Shakey’s after a baseball game. We all got along like we were meant to be together.

  We will never all be together again.

  Awaiting Bobby’s reply, I text Trish.

  Me: At my place…alone.

  She’s back home, working as a photographer, and I know if I’m not ready to be back in Suncastle, I sure as fuck am not ready to go back to our hometown, Willardson.

  Trish: There with you. You know, virtually. I’ll come visit soon, just got to get through all these photo edits.

  Me: Bobby and I just made out.

  Trish: Say what now?

  Me: Probably nothing… we were really drunk.

  Trish: ha...Bobby and his drunk fucks.

  I roll my eyes. Trish has always seen Bobby as a huge player. I don’t know, maybe he is. But tonight felt different. I mean, we didn’t go all the way, and he left. That has to mean I’m not just one of those casual lays he’s been rumored to have. Right?

  Another text floats above my current thread.

  Bobby: Yeah, I’m home. Sorry about tonight.

  Me: I’m not.

  For a while I look at the screen for a reply that doesn’t come. The extra long pillow wraps my body. I like to pretend it’s Cody because, fuck, I miss his hugs the most. The way he loved to hold me in bed, our bodies sticking together, talking about anything and everything we wanted to. I swear I didn’t have a clue what love was until he came into my life. He knew me better than I know myself and accepted every bit of me. Could Bobby ever know me that well?

  Snuggling into the pillow, I’m not imagining Cody anymore–I’m imagining his best friend. Those brown locks gripped in my fingers, his hips flush with mine.

  I’ve never thought twice about Bobby this way, and it’s apparent I’ve been missing out.

  11

  BOBBY

  It’s been a week since I saw her.

  Felt her.

  Tasted her.

  I caused her more harm. All I wanted to do was take the pain away.

  Serves me right for wishing for the impossible. Walking the miles home was my punishment to myself. Enduring the hell of a hangover. Trying to stay focused in the hot sun of Tiny Knights Training Camp.

  I haven’t really eaten since Lexie’s house. It’s a bad idea to start this up again. I know, I know. But I can’t. Too stressed to force any food down my throat. Worrying that when I do, I’ll make myself sick. Only I am making myself sick. I’m functioning on sugar-free Powerade and black coffee. The perfect picture of health…not.

  The boys run their last set of drills before pickup time.

  “Makin’ great progress,” I tell Larry. “You did awesome with your throws today.”

  “Thanks, Coach.”

  “Remember your gear.” I clap my hands and the boys disperse.

  “Gym after this? I got an hour til my shift starts.” Briar puts his arm around my shoulder, walking to the dugout.

  “You know it.” I nod.

  I feel a little lightheaded and hold my breath while Briar high fives some of the players.

  I hoped I was getting over this. But fuck, I’ve been starving myself more than not lately. That’s why Sam noticed. It’s been bad.

  High school drove me to dangerous lows when I couldn’t snap out of it. Mom pushed me hard to train for baseball. I guess I took it too far, getting obsessed with caloric intake and the easy way I could rid myself of everything in a few minutes. On the cold tile floor of the bathroom with my finger down my throat. I knew I shouldn’t.

  By graduation, I was doing okay. Determined to keep my parents from finding out what I was doing.

  Right after Cody died, I spiraled into horrible patterns that I’d worked hard to leave behind. Life was too out of control to do a goddamn thing to stop it. Purging was my control.

  Having this eating disorder is the farthest thing from what I want. It can get in the way of my shot at playing major league. Because of this, I am determined to not let it go too far. It took a long time before I tapered it back to just a temptation, instead of a way of life. I’m proud of myself for doing that while I’ve never breathed a word of it to another person. But now I feel like hell for letting it take control again.

  “Cal, good work today.” I pat his back as we walk out of the dugout.

  “Thanks.” He shrugs while we exit the practice fields. Cal’s dad waits in the parking lot. He looks a lot like my dad, making me miss my old man.

  I swallow. It’s been a long time since Dad and I have talked. That weekend I went home for the peaches he had to work, so I only saw him for a minute at the hospital cafeteria on my way out of town. Barely saw Mom either. They have a lot going on with Dad’s surgery schedule. Mom was really busy tending to our neighbor, Mrs. Harris, who broke her hip. I think it’s taking a lot of their time because I haven’t heard much from them since.

  “Ready to go, sport?” Cal’s dad’s hand is on his shoulder.

  “Thanks, Coach.” Cal says.

  I smile. “You’re doin’ great.”

  “Born for greatness. We’ll see you at the awards tonight,” his dad says as they head to their car. You can always tell when someone has a good support system at home. Though my dad was rarely present himself, he made an effort to show up for me when he could. He bought me top-of-the-line gear. Private lessons. The best summer camps. Doing stuff for me, even when his schedule was hectic at the hospital. I knew his heart was there with me on the field on the days he wasn’t.

  Cody’s family was dirt poor, so Dad had us both work in the peach orchard in exchange for gear. It always meant a lot to me that he took care of my best friend.

  In many ways, I had the perfect home life growing up. My parents have that passionate marriage I dream about. The happily ever after. Mom stepped up to make up the difference when Dad couldn’t be there. She was that adorable baseball mom, baking a hundred white and red baseball sugar cookies for the team. Throwing beginning and ending season parties worthy of being on Pinterest before Pinterest existed.

  Cody didn’t have that. His dad was a truck driver and his mom was stretched thin with their million and three children and the two jobs she juggled. She came to a game once, with all the kids. Once. Cody had a parent at one game. Ever. Even though he was the star of the team, making headlines in the local papers often. Makes my chest hurt thinking about it. And he was still amazing. So much of who I am is because of him. His friendship shaped my life. I wish I could’ve told him more.

  Life is talking. Sharing. So when Cody died, a big part of why it hurt was because I couldn’t talk to him like I used to. It’ll never be what it was. I can’t tell him how much he meant to me or how much I love him. Not like I could. My answer to this? Tell the people still living before I can’t tell them anymore.

  I pull out my phone and get Dad’s number ready.

  Should I talk to him about the eating disorder? I swallow against the pain in my throat. It’d on
ly disappoint him. He’d probably lecture me that I need to have more faith or go see a doctor. I squint my eyes tight, wishing I had someone to talk to. It’s hard to bear alone.

  Maybe I could tell Lexie?

  No. I am staying away.

  Because Lexie and I cannot be anything. Not even friends. It’s too hard. I’m not strong enough.

  Dad’s phone goes to voicemail, like I figured it would.

  “Hey Dad, wondering how it’s goin’. Call me back.” Click. Park. Work out with Briar for a while, until he heads to work. The machines feel good. I perform under the strain. My body is a fine-oiled machine.

  Mick plops beside me.

  “How’s Claudia?” I snark. We haven’t exactly been on speaking terms since things got unusually tense.

  “Why?” He adjusts the weight setting.

  “Seemed you two were havin’ a nice time.” I shake my head.

  “None of your goddamn business.”

  “Fuck, man.” I glare at him. “I’m just makin’ conversation.”

  “Conversation? Well I have one for you, then.”

  And here it comes.

  “What’s gotten into you about Lexie?”

  “Nothin’.” It’s one hundred percent my plan to keep this to myself. I’ll take it to my grave. Just like my other secrets. Because nothing else is going to come of it. Not one more kiss. Hell, not even another look. I tried to be there for her but obviously can’t keep my hands to myself.

  But man, do I miss her.

  I never have missed Sam like this. Or anyone. It’s so different with Lexie. Different and awesome and a million kinds of things I cannot have.

  “You know she’s workin’ baseball, right?” Mick watches for my reaction.

  I didn’t.

  “Yeah.” I shrug, but he picks up on the way my face falls before I get a chance to hide it.

  “You gonna get your head out of your ass and ask her out? Or are you gonna string her around like the other dozen?”