by Rachel Jonas
The only thing worse than a certified dickhead is a hot certified dickhead.
My brow twitches when, a second after I meet his stare, he turns without speaking and heads toward the fieldhouse. Like he should’ve done in the first place.
He’s been so hard to read, I’m left wondering… did he just walk me to practice? Like, I’m his girl or something?
I look him up and down as he strolls away, his solid biceps stretching the sleeves of a fitted white tee. The muscles in his back roll beneath the fabric, too, taunting me when I remember what he feels like in my hands.
Obviously, and unfortunately for me, the attraction’s still alive and well. This becomes set in stone when he glances back and my chest rises with a deep breath. Those wild green eyes and that dark, disheveled hair acting as my kryptonite. I know his scent, and now even his touch. He’d once had me fooled into thinking I’d seen a glimpse of a heart, but that was a mistake.
A lie.
One that cost me dearly.
It’s this reminder of who I’m really dealing with that makes it easy to walk away from him now, without questioning why he seems hellbent on having me think he’s changed.
Without questioning why he’s being so human.
So… not West.
I let him inside my head once and it crushed me. I will not let that happen again.
Ever.
Chapter 11
WEST
“Such a stalker!”
“Are you, legit, a psychopath?”
“I swear, you’re a complete asshole.”
These are highlights from the list of insults Southside’s hurled at me this week, when that one walk to her practice turned into a habit.
The next day, I started showing up outside whatever class she was in when the bell rang, waiting to walk her to the next. She thinks I’m insane, and maybe I am, but Dane said to start small. And for me, I guess being a ‘psychopath stalker asshole’ is what starting small looks like.
Not sure how chivalrous it is to walk a girl to her classes when she so clearly doesn’t want that, but it’s the closest I can get, considering she won’t allow me to do more.
For three days straight, I’ve shown up, waited for her to gather her things, then I walk her wherever she has to go. My attendance is officially shot to shit, but I’d say it’s worth it.
People are starting to notice. Not only that I’m clearly trying to make a statement by not giving up, but that Southside doesn’t seem to be caving. Not even a little.
Dane, Sterling, and Joss have appointed themselves as some sort of relationship council, advising me on what to do next, and they all support the decision not to give up. Joss thinks it’s romantic, the guys think it’ll show commitment. I’m not sure about any of that shit, but I know I feel compelled to keep showing up.
Something I’ve come to know about Southside is that people have bailed on her. A lot. Despite having fucked up so bad, I need her to know I’m capable of sticking around, being consistent. I need her to know I’m capable of sensing what another human needs and becoming that. Even if it goes against who I am. For her.
Pandora’s firing off updates left and right as images flood her inbox, but no one’s completely sure what to make of my behavior.
Are me and Southside still a thing?
Am I still in the doghouse?
Am I obsessed and refusing to let her go?
My pride’s taking a beating, but I’m committed to this. Plus, nothing I’m feeling compares to what she’s felt this past week. Takes a real badass to go through what she’s been through and keep showing up. If I’m being honest, watching her keep her head held high makes me admire the hell out of her, and it makes sticking with my new—and somewhat humiliating—routine a little easier.
“Anything? Has she spoken to you yet?” Joss asks, popping a chip into her mouth.
We’ve started sitting at a small, round table so the rest of the crew can’t crowd us, listening to what have become daily strategy consultations. I peer up at Southside on the other side of the cafeteria with the question, watching her and Rodriguez.
Shaking my head, I feel frustration with having made zero progress.
“Not a word,” I confess. “She’s either cursing under her breath about me crowding her, or pretending I’m not there.”
“Well, I say keep going. She has to see you’re trying. Has to see you’re making an ass of yourself for her,” Joss adds, before whispering, “Whoops. Didn’t mean to say that part out loud.”
My jaw tenses and, for a split second, I consider my reputation. Consider the guy people expect me to be, the standard they expect me to uphold. But then I remember where all that got me.
“Whatever you do, just… don’t let some other bastard slip in under your nose,” Dane warns, sounding bitter as hell as he stabs a meatball with his fork.
I hold in a laugh, knowing he’s not talking about my situation anymore. Joss seems none-the-wiser that he’s butt-hurt about there still being no explanation as to why her new friend in Cuba is suddenly marking his territory.
“I say stay the course and play the long game,” Sterling adds. “She’s got good reason to be pissed. Let her be. Then, once she’s tired of being angry, she’ll see the effort you’re putting in and maybe that’s when you’ll get to say what you gotta say.”
I don’t mention it out loud, but that sounds like a long-ass time from now.
But it’s all about turning over a new leaf, right? Being patient and shit.
“I’m not changing the plan anytime soon, so I guess we’ll see where this leads,” is my final thought on it.
Either Southside gets the hint—that my apology is real and I think we need to see where things lead with us—or I’ll be labeled the loser who lost the girl before he ever really had her.
Whatever the case, I’m knee-deep in this now and there’s no turning back.
Blue
“Shit!” I gasp.
Jules and I both jump when our phones blare with an alarm at the exact same time. We glance down at our screens, reading the AMBER alert that’s just come through. The second this week.
Another missing southside girl.
I scan the details for whatever info stands out—she was sixteen this time, last seen leaving the liquor store over on Murphy.
“That’s not too far from the diner,” I say distractedly, counting the number of blocks between there and Uncle Dusty’s.
Only three, which is a little unnerving to say the least.
“Probably just ran off with her boyfriend or something. She’ll turn up in a week or two, when they run out of food and condoms,” Jules answers with a smirk.
“Yeah. Maybe.”
“Anyway, back to the West situation. He just walks with you? Never actually says anything?”
I set my phone aside before nodding. “Yep, we just walk, and it’s weird as hell,” I answer. “And annoying as hell.”
“And maybe… kind of sweet? Maybe?” Jules adds sheepishly.
When I shoot her a death glare, her expression goes blank. “Please.”
“I mean, I know what he did was the dick-move of all dick-moves, but maybe he’s genuinely sorry. Or maybe there’s more to the story than meets the eye? But that’s something you won’t know until you hear him out.”
I stretch out on my bed beside her, facing the twinkling lights above. This had been her advice lately, to actually let West speak. You know, instead of cutting him off before he even gets started, which has been my only approach to conversation when it comes to him.
“You’re only saying that because you haven’t lived through what I’ve lived through with him,” I explain with a sigh. “West is dark, he’s manipulative, capable of anything. He got me to let my guard down, and then made me pay for it.”
She turns to the side and rests her head on her fist. Her stare lands on me before speaking. “Run me through it again,” she says. “You showed up at his room and that Parker bitch was
in his bed naked, right?”
She draws a quiet laugh out of me with the exaggeration.
“She wasn’t naked, but might’ve been if I got there a few seconds later,” I correct her.
“Details, details. Then what happened?”
I think back and close my eyes. “She got pissed, grabbed her things, then stormed off.”
“Did she say anything on her way out?”
My brow tenses. “Don’t remember.”
Truth is, so much about that night is a blur now. Maybe because I’m trying to forget it.
“So, she was the only other person in the room besides you two?”
I shrug when Jules asks. “Unless someone was there before or after, but yeah, she was the only other person I know for sure was in the room.”
“Which means it’s also possible she did some shady shit. Not West.”
I sigh, not wanting to think about it. “For all I know, Jules, they set me up together.”
“I’d agree with you on that if he didn’t put her ass out like you described. That doesn’t sound like a partnership. Sounds like a bitter girl trying desperately to sleep her way back into her ex’s life.”
My eyes are fixed on the ceiling still, and I see what Jules is trying to do. She wants me to consider all possibilities, wants me to cave and hear West out, but there’s no need.
“There are all kinds of holes in your theory,” I say. “If Parker did it, and West got blamed, he would’ve ratted her out without question. And let’s not forget how I was dismissed from his room when he was done with me.”
This conversation isn’t great for my ego, but Jules is probably the only person in the world I’d talk so candidly with about it.
“Maybe it was an accident,” is her final plea. “Maybe he was recording you two, but more so for his personal collection. You know, his spank bank or whatever. And, somehow, the footage got leaked and spread around.”
I can’t help but to laugh at ‘spank bank’.
“Again, pretty sure he wouldn’t have kicked me out if that night meant anything to him. Like, at all.”
I feel her staring still, even before she speaks up again.
“It meant something to you, though,” she observes. “Didn’t it?”
I don’t bother responding, because we both know the answer anyway. I don’t go there, intimately, with guys unless my heart is somewhere in the mix. With West, there were a lot of emotions tangled together all at once, but when I finally gave in to him, that’s the moment I knew it was more than physical for me.
“Doesn’t really matter,” is the only answer I give, turning my back to her because my eyes are watering again.
As far as disasters go, West had done a number on me, on my heart, and no amount of stalking me will trick me into thinking he’s a good guy. Things are still just as fucked as before and we’re far from okay.
Far, far from okay.
“You gonna be all right this weekend?” Jules asks softly.
I only nod, not wanting her to know I’m in tears again.
“If I could come with you I would, but I know you need me here to keep an eye on Scar.”
“I’ll be fine. It’s just for a couple nights.” Here’s hoping I sounded brave just now, because I feel anything but that. I don’t want to be near West, any of the players, or the dance squad. Having been the butt of several of their jokes this past week, I can only imagine what they’ll be like off their leashes.
“Well, the game’s only a few cities away. I’ll make the drive out there in a flash if you need me. You know that, right?”
Smiling, I nod. Mostly because she’s just downplayed how far away I’ll be. Two, maybe three hours is more than a few cities away.
“The plan is to just stay holed up in my room for the night. Maybe binge watch something to keep my mind busy,” I say.
“Well, whatever the case, I’ll be there in spirit,” she promises.
I reach back for her hand and hold it, needing to feel connected to someone. Even if only for a little while.
Even knowing that, whatever comes of this weekend, I’ll ultimately have to face it alone.
@QweenPandora: The weekend’s almost here! If our boys pull out another win Saturday, that means we’ll be one step closer to the moment of truth—the championship.
Assuming no one parties too hard before the game, I’m predicting we’ve already got this one in the bag. Count on me for highlights from the game, but it would be remiss of me not to caution you kiddies. If you do decide to hook up with anyone this weekend, do a sweep for recording devices. Wouldn’t want me to get my hands on some more juicy footage, now would we?
Later, Peeps.
—P
Chapter 12
WEST
Beneath my hoodie, dark lyrics that match my mood bleed through my earbuds, drowning out the nonstop chatter. We’re two hours into a two and a half-hour bus ride from Cypress Prep to the campus of Cristoph Mercer University. We’ll have the evening to chill, then tomorrow brings us one step closer to D-Day.
The game I have so much riding on this season.
Already, my attention isn’t where it should be. It’s focused toward the front seat of the bus, where a blonde ponytail bobs with every movement of the bumpy road.
She came. Despite how things went down last time, she’s back on this bus with all the assholes who’ve made her life a living hell lately. Myself included. But I’m not just keeping eyes on her for my usual reasons. This time, I’m also making sure no one gives her shit. Mouthing off to her will be the death of any dickhead who tries it.
She turns, meeting my gaze as if she’s heard my thoughts, and my breath quickens. The moment she realizes I caught her, her head whips forward again. It kills me inside knowing how close we came to having something normal, but I’ve said it from the start. Normal was never in the cards for us. She’s fucked up, I’m sure as hell fucked up, but that can’t be all there is, right?
I shift my gaze out the window, taking in the scenery outside—farmland, silos, and the occasional gas station/convenience store.
The university’s pretty far out from everything, but that’s a bit misleading. You’d think being in the middle of nowhere would make it tame and boring, but one thing CMU is not is tame. Some of the wildest parties in the state are held here, which is why my teammates and I have made this lengthy drive on more than one occasion.
I’m tired and ready to stretch my legs. My knees have been pressed against the back of this seat since we first left the lot, which has me looking forward to checking into my suite. Mom always insists that the three of us have our own space, so she calls ahead to make sure whatever hotel the team’s booked can accommodate the upgrade.
It’s pretentious as hell, but makes her feel better about not making the games. She claims our father can’t get along without her, but I’ve always wondered if it’s got more to do with her being afraid to take her eyes off him for even a weekend. Deep down, she has to know that asshole would be in someone else’s bed before she could even set her suitcases down.
The last thirty minutes pass quickly, and I’m beyond grateful when the bus pulls up in front of the hotel. This area definitely has the feel of your average college town—coffee shops, internet cafes, and artisan restaurants on every other corner.
There’s a mad-dash toward the door as soon as the driver opens it, and the coaches keep order in the parking lot until everyone’s off, and we’re ready to head inside.
My brothers are at either side of me now with Joss trailing a bit behind, wearing one of Dane’s oversized hoodies like it’s her own. I’ve still got eyes on Southside, and it seems like most have gotten the hint and are keeping their distance from her. As well as keeping whatever sick-ass comments they have to themselves. The amount of threatening I had to do to make this happen is insane but worth it.
Girl deserves some peace. And it was on me to make sure that happened for her.
“All right, file inside,�
�� Coach instructs.
We mostly do what we’re told, but not nearly as orderly as he had in mind, I’m sure. The sliding doors open and we pour inside, but Dane, Sterling and I don’t follow the crowd. Coach approaches the counter to get the rest of the team squared away, while we check into our suites apart from everyone else.
“Good afternoon,” the front-desk attendant greets us. “How can I help you gentlemen.”
“Just checking in. Last name’s Golden.”
She types away and then looks up with a polite smile. “Two executive suites and one honeymoon suite?” she confirms.
“Uh…”
She laughs quietly when her response confuses me.
“Sorry, I should explain, dear. There was a mix-up on your reservation, so we had to switch one of your rooms to a honeymoon suite. Don’t worry, though. You’re not being charged extra, since this was our mistake.”
“Then, I guess that’s us.” I flash a smile before she turns back toward her screen.
“If you’re okay with the upgrade, it looks like you three are all set,” she beams, handing over six keycards—two for each of us. One set has a red heart printed in the corner, setting them apart as those granting access to the honeymoon suite, I figured.
I take those and my brothers grab the others, but as I turn to leave the counter, I lay eyes on Southside, trying her best to disappear while waiting for her room assignment. She doesn’t look pitiful by any means, but I know it’s all a front.
She’s hurt, probably a little broken, and… just deserves a fucking break.
“Vivian,” I say, reading the attendant’s nametag when I turn and face her again. “Do you have any other suites available this weekend? I know it’s short notice, but I’d appreciate you checking.”
She doesn’t hesitate to click away at the keyboard, but looks up with remorse in her gaze.
“Unfortunately, I don’t, but like I said, you won’t be charged for your upgrade,” she explains again, misunderstanding the reason I’ve asked.
