I can’t deal with this. My eyes burn, my throat gets choked, and for the life of me, I can’t find any voice to deny what we were doing.
“Mrs. Flower, I’m so sorry,” Knox says, using his best southern charm. I glance in his direction, watching as he slowly pleads with the frail gargoyle in front of us. “I was having a bad day. I don’t get much time with my girl, and I was seeking her comfort in a place I shouldn’t have. This is not on Emory.” The way he uses my full name sends my pulse racing, so does his defense, and how he gently links our hands together like a united front. “She told me to go, to meet up with her when she’d finished her shift, but I was irresponsible and impatient. Please, don’t take this out on her.”
If I already didn’t want to jump this man and hump his face off, I sure as hell do now.
Mrs. Flower gives Knox a slow once-over as she folds one bony arm over the other, a purse to her chapped lips, and a questioning look in her eyes.
“Mr. Gentry,” she spits out in her perfect disciplinarian voice. “I’m surprised to find you like this. Your team has always been very respectful of these walls.”
“I know, Mrs. Flower. We pride ourselves on taking our studies seriously. I was having a crappy day, lost my judgement, and made a mistake. I’m sorry.”
The stick arms unfold.
Her face cracks into a smile.
And light resurfaces to her normally dead eyes.
I think I’m looking at a completely different woman as Mrs. Flower walks to Knox and pats him on the arm . . . nicely. “You’re forgiven, just make sure you tell Coach Disik I said hi.”
Errr . . . what?
“Not a problem.” Knox winks at her, and she returns the gesture.
What the . . . what?
I’m still in shock when she faces me. Her smile turns into a thin line of distaste as if Knox is the prized meat, and I’m the onion garnish. “Emory, I suggest you get back to work.”
“Yes, of course. So sorry.” I curtsy and bow my head like a moron, because I have no idea how to react to the situation. Knox follows closely behind.
Once the old witch is out of earshot, he says, “Sorry about that.” He grabs for my waist again but I swat him away.
“Are you insane? Do not touch me right now.”
He chuckles and says, “Come on. That was fun.”
“That was not fun.” I glance toward her departing frame. “I’m pretty sure she has a closetful of dead intern skulls from past semesters. I am not one to tempt fate again.”
He chuckles again. I’m so glad he finds this so funny. My palms are still sweating from being caught . . . and for doing a curtsey. “Fine, no more kissing in the library, but I need to talk to you, so when does your shift end?”
“Eight.”
“Okay, meet me outside when you’re done, and we can go for dinner at the Bear Den.”
“Fine.” He gives me a chaste kiss and then takes off. I want to be mad at him for putting me in a terrible position with Mrs. Flower, but from the looks of it, Mrs. Flower might be a big baseball fan, dating Knox might work in my favor.
But I would never tell him that, of course. The man’s ego is already inflated enough as it is. I shouldn’t forgive his non-apology, because what if I lost my role here? But I do. Because he came through for me when I needed him to. Despite our bet, and the stupidity of denying ourselves what we really want, he’s committed. Damn the man, but I like that. I like that a lot.
Chapter Nineteen
KNOX
The waitress places a pepperoni pizza in front of us, gives me a little wink and then takes off.
“Did she just wink at you?” Em asks, handing me a plate.
“I think she did,” I say, giving her a napkin.
“Does she think I’m your sister?”
“I sure as hell hope not because that means I’ve been eye fucking my sister ever since we sat down. Not to mention the dirty dreams I have of you all the time.”
With the large spatula, she picks up a piece of pizza, the mozzarella stretches across the table as she places it on her plate, and she says, “Dirty dreams, huh? Am I naked?”
Is she naked . . . pssh.
She’s naked in a whole bunch of compromising ways.
“What kind of question is that? Of course you’re naked.” I grab a piece of pizza, but being more barbaric, I skip the spatula. “You’re always naked. Naked upside down, naked with legs spread wide, naked on hands and knees, naked jumping up and down—one of my favorites—because dreaming of those tits jiggling is pure perfection.” I kiss my fingers and flick them in the air. She snorts and shakes her head. “What about me? Do you picture me naked? Do I have a cannon of a cock?”
She side-eyes me as she bites into her pizza. “No, you have a micro penis in my dreams, and I spend about ten minutes trying to find it while it’s erect.”
Pizza half lifted to my mouth, I stare her down. “That’s not fucking funny.”
She smiles. “I thought it was.” She chews. “Men are so predictable.” In a fake, man voice she says, “Look at my penis, it’s so big. It’s the biggest thing any woman has ever seen. My massive man cock . . . eeer, look at me. Penis.”
I must say, her man impression is lacking finesse.
“When it’s true, it’s true.”
“Please. Every guy thinks their penis is the biggest.”
“I don’t think my penis is the biggest.” I pause and then say, “I know it’s the biggest.”
She’s not impressed, not one bit as she shakes her head at me, as if she’s truly disappointed. “Oh, Knox, I thought you were better than that.”
“I’m a dude, babe. Sorry to disappoint, but we will always think our dicks are magical and the best on the planet.”
“Glad to know you’re a douche like the rest; you were seeming too good to be true.”
Fucking funny, this girl. It’s why I can’t get her out of my mind. She has this sweet and innocent air about her, but when she opens her mouth, she kills me with her witty tongue.
I wonder what else that tongue could do? Crazy sexy things, given the way she eats ice cream. Fuck. She’s got to be an under-the-cock flicker. I’d bet my left nut on it. Christ, the thought of her flicking the underside of my cock has me harder than a flagpole right now.
A comfortable silence—well uncomfortable in my pants—stretches between us as we eat our pizza, and it isn’t until we both finish our first slice that I bring up why I wanted to talk to her.
“So, about what I said in the library.”
She wipes her hands on her napkin, the greasy pizza leaving its mark. “Yes, you said you wanted to talk? Was that your way of telling me this is over before it began?” She smiles, letting me know she’s only joking, because that little comment nearly gave me a heart attack.
Over before it began? Yeah, fucking right. There is no way I’m ending this, not when I’ve barely skimmed the surface with this girl.
“Never.” I smile. “I actually wanted to discuss our little bet.”
“I’m not giving in, if that’s what you’re wondering.”
Heaven forbid she does. It’s fucking lunch. Who cares about Holt and Carson and their walk-out song?
Knowing her though, she’s nowhere close to giving in. But I have some new thoughts on the subject.
“Nah, I know you’re stubborn, babe, but I thought we should take advantage of the situation.”
“What do you mean?” she asks, genuinely curious.
“Well, since we’re both holding out on the physical, thanks to you—”
“How is it thanks to me?”
“Because I refuse to take blame for my celibacy.”
#Fact. No horny college boy would ever take blame for his own celibacy.
She huffs. “Of course you won’t own up to it.”
“Should I pull out the court record?” I pretend to scroll through my phone and then point at the screen. “Ah, right here it says you bet you could hold out longer than I c
ould.” I look at her and smile. “I don’t forget things like that, Ealson. This is on you.”
She takes a sip of her drink and leans back in her chair. “Fine.” She motions with her hand, “Proceed.”
At least she knows when she’s wrong.
I pick up another slice of pizza and offer it to her before I take one for myself. It’s weird having a conversation like this in a busy school restaurant, but then again, our first kiss was in the dining hall next to her dorm. It’s easy to ignore the raucous behavior and loud music, especially since we chose a two-person booth in the back corner.
“Since we’re holding out on the physical, maybe we can focus on the other things, you know, like taking this exclusive casual relationship to exclusively serious.”
“Serious?” she asks, worry in her eyes. I knew it would be a big step for her, but I need to do more with this girl than only make out with her. I want to know more. There are so many layers to Emory, so many facets that make her the way she is, and I want to dive into those. I want to learn the good and the bad about her. I want her to open up to me about everything. My mom was right when she gave me shit, thinking Em was my fuck buddy. She taught me better than that.
“We’ll take it slow,” I say, reaching out to hold her hand. “But I want to date you, Em. I want to take you out, call you my girlfriend, makes things official. We’ve been casual for a while now, so don’t you think we should take things to the next level?”
Her fingers lace with mine . . . a good sign. She’s not pulling away, at least not yet.
“We barely have time with each other now, how do you expect us to date?”
Valid concern, but where there’s a will, there’s a way.
“We’ll make time. My schedule is slowing down, Christmas break is around the corner—”
“Which means I’ll be going to California while you head to Texas. The timing isn’t right, Knox.”
“Fuck timing. I’m all in with you, Em,” I admit, feeling slightly desperate. “And I want more.” You would think a girl would be happy hearing that, but it only seems to make her more nervous, so I slow down a bit. “I’m not saying that sex is more. But I need you to know that my eyes are closed. You’re all I see. It’s you and you only. Before you freak out though, let’s start with a real date. You dress up, I put on a tie, I take you out.”
“You don’t have to wear a tie, but maybe something other than a backward baseball hat and baseball hoodie.”
I glance down at my hoodie and back up at her. “But you love this thing so much.”
“Love to trash it.”
“You act as if it’s ratty and gross. It’s Under Armour, babe, new this year. And I have five of them.”
“Yes, I know. I’ve seen them all,” she says with a sarcastic tone.
“Well . . . then, I expect you to wear a dress, not a skirt.”
“You don’t like my skirts?” Her brows crash together.
“No, I love them, I’m trying to punish you like you punished me.”
She chuckles. “You’re such a punk. Fine. I’ll put on a dress for you.”
“Then you agree? You’ll seriously date me? Like full-on boyfriend and girlfriend type stuff?”
She swirls her straw around her drink a few times before looking back at me. “Isn’t the girl supposed to ask things like that?”
“I’m an equal opportunist, babe.”
She rolls her eyes and then sits up, leaning forward. She brings the back of my hand to her lips and she places a soft kiss across my knuckles. It’s intimate, unexpected, and I fucking like it. “It’s a date then.”
* * *
“Sit.” Coach Disik points to the chair in front of him.
I was called into his office this morning. His text was simple: My office. Ten.
Translation—when Coach beckons, you arrive when you’re told. I have no idea what this is about but from the furrowed brow, I’m going to guess it isn’t good.
I scroll through my rolodex of stupid shit I’ve done over the last two weeks, but nothing comes to mind. I’m going into this meeting completely blind.
Hands folded and resting on his stomach, he stares at me from under the intimidating brim of his hat.
“I never took you for a moron, Gentry.”
Well, that’s one way to start a meeting. Only causes me to shift in my seat while a bead of sweat rolls down my back.
“But what the hell are you doing?”
Err . . .
I shift in my chair again. “Would you be able to elaborate?”
“The girl.”
“Emory?” I ask, trying to clarify why the hell I’m here.
“Sure.” He runs his finger under his nose. “The girl in the library. Dora Flower told me about your run-in with the intern.”
“Oh.” I chuckle and let out a breath of relief. “It wasn’t anything bad, Coach. We didn’t take it any further than a kiss.”
“You’re not seeing this girl?”
“Wait, what?” I ask confused. “No. I am. She’s my girlfriend.”
“You’re a dumbass. Perfect.” He leans forward, lifts his hat, and runs his hand across his forehead. “You realize where you are in your life right now, right?” He holds up his finger. “One semester away from being drafted, and you get involved with a girl? That is the dumbest thing you could do. You need to focus on your future.”
“Isn’t a girl the future as well?” I don’t know why I say it, apart from maybe I really am the dumbass Coach makes me out to be.
“So your life-long dream has been to be a boyfriend?”
Well, when he says it that way . . .
“No,” I answer, feeling stupid.
“You’re damn right it’s not. It’s to be a goddamn professional baseball player. This girl could be in it for all the wrong reasons.”
“That’s not how Emory is,” I say. “She’s different.”
“They always are,” Coach huffs. “Let’s say she’s different like you claim. What happens when she complains to you during the season that she never gets to see you? What happens when you have a fight, are you mentally prepared to push that to the side and do your job on the field?”
“I mean . . .” I’ve never even considered that. “I’ve never had a problem blocking things out before.”
“You never had a girl before either, but you chose now to do so.” Coach shakes his head and mutters, “Fucking moron.” He blows out a harsh breath and turns to his computer where he starts typing away. “I can’t force you to break things off with her, but there are plenty of other players ready to take your place if your performance suffers. Make the right choice for you and the team, Gentry.”
“And what would that right decision be?” This is so fucked. He can’t be serious that I have to choose between Em and baseball . . .
He tears his eyes from the computer screen and looks me up and down. “I think you know the answer to your own question.” He nods toward the door. “Now get the hell out of here. I have shit to do.”
I leave his office and head toward the locker room. I don’t have class for an hour, so I have time to spare. When I walk in, I spot Holt lounging on one of the leather chairs, head dipped toward his phone, his thumbs beating rapidly over the screen.
I take a seat across from him, feeling defeated. He glances up and asks, “How’d your meeting go?”
Carson and Holt know everything when it comes to my life.
“Not great.”
He pulls his head away from his phone. “What happened?”
“Coach found out about Emory, wants me to break things off with her.” Even saying the words twist my stomach into knots.
“What? Why?”
“Thinks she’ll be a distraction.” I point to his phone. “Kind of like whoever you talk to day in and day out.”
“You’ve been seeing Ealson for a while, and your game hasn’t changed, why the concern now?”
“Because I’m a semester away from being drafte
d. I know he’s looking out for me, but the way he went about it sucked ass. He doesn’t even know her.”
“What he doesn’t realize is that some of us need the escape. Not an escape like drugs or whatever. But a place to . . . retreat to. There’s more to me than being an athlete, and I don’t want to lose that.”
I have no idea how long Holt has been seeing this girl of his or how serious it is, but what I do know is that he’s been on top of his game ever since his nose has been buried in his phone. I asked him about her once and he said nothing, so I took that as him not feeling ready to talk about her. I wonder if he ever will be.
“Is that what this girl is to you? An escape?”
“Yeah . . . and more.” He looks to the side, toward the showers and says, “She’s locker room material, man.”
Holy shit.
Even though I don’t believe in the whole locker room blessing bullshit, my teammates do, and when someone says a girl is locker room material, that means a whole lot.
“Seriously?”
“Yeah. She makes me happy. When life’s shit, and even when it’s not, she gives me more . . . perspective I guess. Like she helps me shift my focus off myself. And fuck is she gorgeous.” I’ve never heard Holt open up like this, so his honesty is welcome. Surprising, but welcome. “I can understand why Coach worries we’ll be distracted, but what he doesn’t understand is that some of us need that escape. We eat and breathe baseball. Sometimes we need to shut off that part of our brain and enjoy something other than the sport we were born to play.” He shrugs, as if what he said wasn’t just some heavy shit. “Em makes you happy, so don’t fuck with that.”
“I don’t want to.”
“Then don’t.” Holt picks up his phone again. “You know what’s best for you, man. If that’s Em, go for it.”
“I will,” I answer with determination. Coach isn’t right on this one. Carson didn’t shut up about Em to my mom, so I know he thinks she’s cool. And now Holt. Baseball’s my future, but I’m with Holt on this one. I want the girl, the one who’s already my place of retreat. God, she certainly puts me in my place, and if that isn’t a broader perspective, what is? No. Emory Ealson is staying.
The Locker Room Page 15
