by Selena
Dolly scrutinizes her step-cousin and shakes her head. “You could use some more glitter.”
“Okay, let’s not glitter-bomb everyone,” I say, intersecting the bottle of spray glitter after a prolonged blast coats Dixie’s chest and shoulders. “Are you both ready to show those bitches what they could do with their bodies if they’d take the stick out of their asses?”
“Are you sure these aren’t too short?” Dixie asks, tugging at her cutoffs. “What if everyone laughs at us?”
“They won’t laugh,” I say.
“I’ve been waiting for this moment since they said I was too big for the squad,” Dolly says. “I think they were really just pissed that I dumped one of their gods.”
“Wait, you dumped Devlin?” I ask.
“Yeah,” she says, leaning close to the mirror to swipe under her lower lip and make sure her gloss isn’t running.
“Why?” I ask, gaping at her.
“I know, right?” Dixie say. “I’d give anything if Colt would ask me out.”
“I thought you had a date after class the other day,” I remind her, giving her a playful poke.
“I know,” she says with a giggle. “I should be grateful. I mean, I am grateful, don’t get me wrong. But to go on a real date…” She sighs and clasps her hands in front of her chest like some starry-eyed preteen. It’s hard not to laugh at her, even though I know she’s seriously that lovestruck. And honestly, who am I to judge?
In the stands, the thunder of stomping feet draws our attention. My nerves surge, and I know it’s time to use them to energize our routine.
“Alright, ladies, it’s halftime,” I say. “Now or never. If you’re in, tighten up your ponies and let’s show ‘em how it’s done.”
“Oh, I’m so in,” Dolly says.
“I’m in, but oh my god, I might faint when I’m out there. Group hug?” Dixie asks, holding out her arms.
We step in and cling together one moment before we do this crazy thing. I know Dolly won’t get in trouble—she’s the mayor’s daughter for fuck’s sake—but Dixie’s and my fate is still to be determined.
“Just think about all the times Lacey and Carmen and their bitch squad have called you names,” I say. “You won’t faint. Your muscle memory will do it for you, even if you’re too nervous to remember it later.”
“I’ll be too busy thinking about Colt,” Dixie says.
“Well, don’t,” I say, my heart flipping when I think of Devlin watching me do the routine I choreographed. But this isn’t about him, so I push the thought away. I could have done this in New York, even at our fancy school, but let’s just say things are a lot more old-fashioned here. There’s a reason we’re not trying out for Coach Snow in the gym like we should have. This isn’t a try-out. It’s a fuck-you to the squad who doesn’t want us.
“Alright, ladies,” I say, checking my phone when a text come through. “Baron’s in the sound booth. Let’s do this shit.”
eight
Devlin
The halftime meeting ends, and I return to the bench with Preston, where I’ve been the whole game. I miss the game, but in truth, it’s a relief to have the pressure off me. I love this town, but it’s pushed me to fill my father’s shoes since I was old enough to walk. Preston’s got it so much worse than I do. His future is uncertain, and while mine is too, in a different way, I have faith in the justice system to clear me and Dad of the crime we didn’t commit.
Still, the coach can’t exactly put me on the field after what I confessed to. So, I warm the bench with my cousin, who’s nursing his broken arm and fading dreams of football glory while the asshole who did it gets to take his place on the field. Nobody ever said life was fair.
The cheerleaders are doing their thing, shaking their pompoms in our faces and trying to catch our eye, but I don’t pay them any attention until Preston elbows me and nods in the direction of the entrance. Three figures come striding onto the field, led by this chick looking so badass I don’t recognize her for a second. They’ve all got black Knights ballcaps pulled low over their faces, and I’ve sure as fuck never seen Crystal wear something like that, never seen her walk like that, like she’s about to throw down. But there’s no mistaking the two girls flanking her like the trio needs their own slo-mo intro. A pulsing beat thuds from the loudspeakers, rippling across the field.
Everyone in the stands looks around in confusion. The cheerleaders drop their routine mid-cheer, as confused as everyone else. Only Crystal’s crew seems to know what’s going on. Crystal plucks the pompoms from a couple cheerleaders and tosses them to her partners, forming a line right in front of the squad, forcing them to step back from the sidelines where they do their routines. I glance at the Dolces to see if they have something up their sleeves, but Baron is missing, and King and Duke are watching like the rest of us, waiting to see what’s about to happen.
The song kicks into “The Drip,” and it’s not the edited version, either. The girls hit it—hard. I’ve sure as fuck never seen Crystal move like that. I don’t know if I’ve ever seen anyone move like that outside of a rap video. In a pair of cutoffs that hug her nice, thick thighs, a WHPA tee tied up to show her tight, flat stomach, and a pair of gold high-tops, she looks like a New York wet dream come to tell the south to wake the fuck up.
For a minute, not one other person in the whole place moves. We’re all too busy gaping as they bounce, shake, twerk, and dip.
When Preston whistles under his breath, I want to punch him in the broken arm. But every guy in the bleachers must have a hard-on right now, and I can’t punch them all, as much as I’d like to. They’re all looking at my girl. Imagining my girl bouncing on their dicks the way she’s bouncing her ass, twirling it like a fucking Tootsie Roll.
A ripple of noise starts as guys in the stands start to hoot and holler, dancing along, humping the air, cheering the girls on, laughing with appreciation, not just at the hot-as-fuck way those girls are moving but at the sheer, unexpected ballsiness. Crystal usually gives off the sexy librarian vibe. Dolly’s flashy as fuck, but not raunchy. And Dixie’s just some pathetic little freshman who can’t get out of her own way.
They all bend at the waist, lifting off their ballcaps and letting their hair tumble out, then popping back up and flinging it around like a bunch of strippers. If Crystal is trying to show me what I’ll be missing out on, she’s doing a real fucking good job of it. If she’s showing me what I’ll never get to touch again, that I’ll never put my hands on those curves, never run my palms over her velvet skin and my fingers through her thick, dark chocolate locks, well, she’s doing that, too. She’s showing a whole lot more of her body than she’s ever shown at school, like she wants every guy here to know what I had—and what I can’t have anymore.
I regret telling her this afternoon would be the last time. As she whips her hair around, shaking the pompoms next to her shimmying hips, all I want to do is get up, go over there, and cover her up. I don’t want any other guy to see her like that. To want her like that. She’s mine. Every inch of her is mine and mine alone—or it should be. It was. And now it’s not.
And the fucked up part is, I can’t blame her for it. What did I do with all that while I had it? Did I treat her like the fucking queen she is, like she’s the fiercest, classiest, sexiest, softest woman I’ve ever met?
No. I told her she was nothing.
She’s not nothing. She’s everything.
And every fucking guy in this town knows it now. There are dudes here who haven’t gotten it up in decades who are probably going to go home and fuck their wives like they did in high school.
Crystal ends up down in a squat twerking like she’s the Italian version of Cardi B while the other two stand on either side of her, their arms raised in a Y shape as they shake their own asses, pompoms raised. The song ends, and Crystal turns and tosses her hat straight into my lap. Before I can even react, she spins back the other way, throws her pompoms in Kaylee’s face, and marches out of there like s
he knows exactly how much of a point she just made.
Everyone is instantly freaking the fuck out. The crowd is about to storm the field and riot, coaches are running around, someone is yelling through the loudspeaker that the event we just saw was not sanctioned. The football team is jumping up and down and howling like we just won the state championship. Colt comes bounding over and throws himself onto the bench beside me and Preston.
“Dude, what are you doing still sitting here?” he asks, grinning ear to ear. “That was the sickest thing I’ve ever seen in my life.”
I glance at Preston. I told them she was mine. But I also told them what she did after that—that I’m not hers. That she didn’t want me. That it was all a lie for her, a game. After what her family did to ours, to mine and Preston’s, to this town, how can I walk away from them? These are my boys—forever.
“If you’re not balls deep in one of those bitches tonight, you might as well cut off your dick and toss it in the river, because you don’t deserve to call yourself a man,” Preston says.
I check him to make sure. But Preston doesn’t say shit unless he means it. I don’t know what else to do, so I grab his shoulder in a quick squeeze.
“Get your horny ass off your cousin and go get her,” Colt says. “He’s right. There’s only one reason a girl shakes the booty like that. She wants a dick in it bad, dude. Go wreck that ass.”
“Thanks,” I say to him and Preston both, standing and adjusting my cock, which won’t relax for anything.
“You got one chance to make that shit right,” Colt says, clasping a hand over my shoulder. “If you haven’t busted a nut inside that juicy ass of hers by tomorrow morning, I’m doing it for you.”
I throw his hand off. I know he’s kidding, but it’s not funny. Not with her. “Touch her, and you’ll be eating your nuts for breakfast,” I warn him.
“Quit talking shit and go, or I will,” Preston says. “If my bitch was that thirsty, I’d have her on her knees choking down eight inches right now.”
“No, man,” I say. “Crystal wouldn’t choke on something that small.”
I turn and jog toward the gate without waiting for a response. I’ve got bigger things to worry about than my trash-talking cousins. Like how I’m going to convince a girl who hates everything about me except my dick that I’ve got something else to offer her.
nine
Crystal
“Oh my god, you’re a genius,” Dixie shrieks, doing some kind of happy dance that makes her look more like a hamster than the ass shaking queen she is. “Did you see Colt’s face? Was he looking at me?”
“Don’t be silly,” Dolly says. “Every guy in Faulkner was looking at us. We just played a nasty rap song with all their kids in attendance. They’re going to be coming after us with pitchforks.”
Just then, Baron ducks under the bleachers to meet us as agreed.
“You did it,” I cry, throwing my arms up.
Baron runs over, sweeps me off my feet and spins me around once. “Nice job,” he says before depositing me carelessly in Dixie’s face. He grabs up Dolly and shoves his tongue down her throat, his hands roaming over her curves like he owns them. She doesn’t seem to mind, though.
Dixie giggles. “I thought she was seeing Duke.”
Dolly pulls away and looks up at Baron with mock surprise. “You’re not Duke?”
He laughs and grabs her ass with both hands, grinding his hips into hers. “Baby, I’ll be whoever you want me to be,” he says. “As long as you keep right on being you.”
I shrug at Dixie. “The twins come as a packaged deal. If you can’t handle them both, you don’t sign up for that ride.”
“What?” she squeals.
“It was a well-known fact in our old school.”
“They just look so much alike,” Dolly says, twisting around to face us and batting her long, false lashes. “I can’t tell which one is which. I never knew there were two of them at all.”
I laugh and shake my head, and Baron nuzzles into her neck, his arms still wrapped around her from behind. The twins went to great lengths to distinguish themselves from each other here. Sure, Baron has contacts in right now because he’s playing football, but his hair is still noticeably shorter, and his jersey bears his first initial as well as his last name.
“Wow,” Dixie says, her eyes like saucers beneath her smoky makeup. “New York sounds so different. I can’t believe you used to dance like that, either—in front of the school.”
“Parents there were a lot more… Permissive,” I say. “I mean, it’s New York. Even the rich kids have seen it all by the time they’re in high school.”
“I better go,” Baron says, kissing Dolly’s neck. “Halftime’s about over. You better go, too, before they haul your ass in to the headmaster. And baby, tonight this ass is all mine.” He drags out the last two words, rolling his hips to press his dick into her ass.
“Get out of here and stop mauling my friend,” I say.
He laughs and releases her at last, giving us a wave as he jogs toward the field. “Oh, you two did good, too,” he calls back over his shoulder.
“You, too,” I yell. “Thank you!”
It feels a little weird to be an afterthought to one of my brothers. Not that they weren’t always horndogs, but it was usually for a night, a week at most. Now, I think Dolly actually means something to them, though they’d never admit it. I’m glad for them, and for her, and even for myself. While it feels a little strange not to have them breathing down my neck every second of the day, it’s also… Freeing. It’s a relief not to have to worry that they’re right around the corner, ready to clock a guy if I speak to him.
“Where’d you learn to dance like that?” Dolly asks as we leave the shelter of the bleachers. Most of the crowd has returned to their seats to watch the second half, which means we can escape without too much attention. “You’re both so good. I felt like such a white girl up there next to y’all.”
I laugh and shake my head. It’s true that she’s a bit awkward in her moves, but with her body, it’s not like anyone noticed. “You did great,” I say. “It takes a lot of practice.”
“You practice that a lot?”
“Well, there was usually a little twerking in our halftime routines,” I admit. “We were more of a dance-cheer squad combo. And I took lessons. The real question is, where’d you learn to shake that booty like a pro?” I ask, turning to our freshman friend. “Who knew our sweet little Dixie had it in her?”
Dixie’s face turns scarlet. “I just like dancing,” she mumbles. “I watch videos and do the moves at home. Like you did with cheering. But my parents didn’t know. Oh my god, they’re here!” Her hands fly up to cover her mouth, and she gives a muffled wail. “They’re going to kill me!”
We’re almost to the parking lot when someone whistles. Dread clamps around my belly, but I keep going. Dixie, however, turns around.
“Oh my god,” she says. “It’s Chase London. I think he just whistled at us.”
I stop and turn around, a smile breaking across my face before I can stop myself. “Chase,” I say, seeing the familiar boy who rescued me from the bad part of town. “Shouldn’t you be at your own game? Preston didn’t fuck up your hand, did he?”
“Nah,” Chase says, gesturing to his jeans and hoodie. “It’s our bye week. I came to scope out the competition. You were lying about your brothers.”
“Just wait,” I say. “The best one is injured right now, and the twins are only freshmen.”
“Guess I can kiss my state championship goodbye,” he says. “Hey, Dixie. And Dolly. How y’all doin’?”
“Chase!” A tiny blonde girl appears from behind the bathrooms, a hand planted on her hip. She gestures impatiently for him to join her.
“Hey, come here, babe,” he says, calling her over.
Great. The Darling girl he’s dating.
“This is the damsel in distress I told you about,” he says, sliding an arm around her waist and win
king at me. “The one who’s hot for your brother.”
She gives me a forced smile. “Hi. I’m Lindsey Darling.”
“I gathered that,” I say. “Nice to meet you. Thanks for sparing your boyfriend to help me out that day. He’s quite the gentleman.”
“Why, thank you, ma’am,” Chase says, tipping an imaginary hat at me and smiling in a way that says he clearly adores the flattery.
“Don’t even mention it,” Lindsey says, clinging possessively to his arm. “Oh, hi, Dolly. That was quite a performance. I didn’t know majorettes danced like that.”
“Oh, it wasn’t for majorettes,” Dolly says. “That was for my own personal satisfaction.”
“I think it brought some other people satisfaction, too,” Chase says with a crooked smile.
“Chase,” Lindsey scolds, looking scandalized.
“What?” he says. “The cops are gonna charge y’all with murder if they catch you.”
“We should probably get out of here,” Dixie agrees, glancing around nervously.
“Murder?” I ask, laughing. “Isn’t that a bit excessive?”
“Not really,” Chase says. “Pretty sure at least one guy dropped dead of a heart attack when he saw y’all twerking like that. That must be illegal in this town because I’ve sure as hell never seen a girl move that way around here.”
I laugh, my own face warming with pleasure at his admiration. “I might be a bad influence,” I admit.
“I bet you are,” he says with an appreciative smile. “When you asked for advice about the Darlings, you should have started with the fact that you can do that. I’d have had some different advice for you about landing Preston.”
“Chase,” Lindsey scolds, pinching his arm so hard he winces.
“What?” he says.
“Come on,” she says. “We need to get back to the game. It was nice meeting y’all.”
