Ace of Hearts

by Goode, Ella

Still in my street shoes, I book it down the hall to Ace’s class. I arrive just as the bell rings and skid to a stop. The classroom door bursts open and students tumble out as if the classroom is puking them out.

  Ace is at the back of the pack.

  “Yo, Ace.” I jerk my chin up and motion her over.

  “Yo, Owen,” she echoes, trying to sound hard and looking like a kitten with a snarl on her cute little face.

  “That’s my name.” I wink at her. I reach out to pull her close and remember the stupid agreement I made with her. No touching without permission. “Let’s do this, Ace,” I suggest. “You call me by my name and I’ll assume it’s okay to lay hands on you. That way you don’t have to keep telling me it’s okay when we both know it is.”

  “Like a safe word but in reverse?” says another girl.

  I swing my eyes to Ace’s left and spy another student. I search my internal student body catalog and stop at Melody James. “Melody, good to see you.” I hold out my fingers for a slap.

  She smacks me good. “How do you know my name?”

  I give her a mock wounded look. “I’m not just a good-looking piece of meat, Melody. I’ve got a brain. And feelings.” I tap my heart. “Be gentle with me.”

  “Whatever. This guy is who you’re thinking about all class period? He’s an overconfident meathead who just wants in your pants.” Melody shakes her head in disgust. “Come over to my house and I’ll introduce you to Steven Pants.”

  There’s about a half of foot of space between my newest foe and Ace. Smoothly, I slide into that empty area and discreetly shove Melody away from my girl. “Sorry. Your hookup will have to be saved for some other girl. Ace is mine.”

  “Steven Pants is my cat, dipshit,” Melody says. “See?” She tries to get to Ace. “This is what I’m talking about. He’s going to be up in your business and won’t let you have any fun. You just got here. Don’t let him dictate what you’re going to do. Athletes here are bad. They just want to nail girls for some kind of intramural trophy. Football players are the worst of the lot.”

  My arm drops down protectively around Ace. “I don’t know what you’ve been told, Melody, but I’m a student first and sewer in training second and football player a far distant third. Ready, Ace?”

  “Sewer in training? Really?”

  I take that as a yes and begin steering her down the hall. “I have signed up for the sewing club. I heard the meetings got rescheduled to seven in the evening.”

  “Yeah. How’d you manage that?”

  “Funnily enough, when I told the advisor that I was interested in taking the class but that it conflicted with my football practices, she changed it before I could ask.”

  “You dimpled her, didn’t you?” Ace accuses.

  “Dimpled her?” That’s a new one.

  “Yeah. You flashed your dimple at her and she just lay down and said, ‘Please, sir, I’ll have another’.”

  “Ah, there was no laying anyone down in the office.” I shudder. No way I was piping Mrs. McGee. She’s got to be at least seventy.

  “It’s a metaphor,” snipes Melody.

  Dude. She’s still here? I sigh internally. I guess Ace picked up a friend and I’ll just have to learn to deal.

  “How long is practice?”

  “Hour and a half, Ace.”

  “Hour and a half?” the two girls screech in unison.

  I shake my ear to make sure my eardrum is still in place. “Yeah. What’s the big deal? Time goes by fast. There’s plenty of action on the field and tight asses. You, Ace, are only allowed to stare at mine. Melody, there’s a ton of single guys so please feel free to treat the team as your personal buffet.”

  “I’d rather starve myself in a tree.”

  “I know that reference.”

  “Huh?”

  “There’s a poet that once loved a woman so much that after she turned him down, he went and lived in the hollow of a tree,” I explain to my science-loving girlfriend-to-be.

  Melody narrows her eyes at me. “How do you know that?”

  “I’m a lover of words.” And Ace, but I keep that to myself. “My bestie will tell you all about it at practice.”

  9

  Alice

  “Bestie?” Melody asks, her one eyebrow up so high that it meets her hairline.

  I fidget on the bleacher seat and pretend that I don’t hear her. It sounds dumb when she says it out loud. Still I can’t help but find it endearing that he’s keeping this up. Melody's eyes go to the field where they’re all starting to practice. As she watches the boys run their drills, her nose scrunches like she’s never seen people play football before. I’m a little surprised that she’s taken up residence with me on the bleachers. I figured she would have booked it by now. Crap. It’s then I remember I have a text from my mom. I told her to wait for me to text her when I would need to be picked up. I wasn't sure how the day would go and I thought I might pick up a club that could start after school or have the need to speak to one of my teachers.

  I pull out my phone to check my message and give her a heads-up about my plans. It’s then I see I have more than one missed text from her.

  Mom: How’s your first day going?

  Mom: Your dad knows who Owen McCoy is. Or as he informed me, Owen “fast” McCoy.

  Mom: Do I need to come pick you up now?

  Mom: Are you busy chatting with Owen and can’t text your mom back?

  I glance up to see Owen running down the field catching a football easily. I got the fast thing but how did my dad know who he was? My phone starts to vibrate in my hand. I don’t have to look to know who’s calling. I scoot down the bleacher a bit before I hit the button to accept the call. I don’t want it to seem rude that I’m taking a call in the middle of a practice so I keep my voice low. Plus Mom’s voice tends to get louder if she’s excited about something. I can tell she’s curious about Owen and I’m not sure that I want Melody to overhear our conversation. Not that she is even paying attention at this point.

  “I was about to text you back. Sorry!” I tell her quickly. I wasn't talking to Owen but he was rather distracting. She was partially right. She always is. Melody takes her eyes off the field to look over at me for a moment but they go right back when she sees I’m on the phone. I have a feeling that Melody is going to be more than my assignment partner. I seem to have found a bench-warming partner also.

  “What-cha doing?” My mom tries to play it chill. She wants me to cough up information without her asking. I skirt around the topic of Owen for as long as I possibly can.

  “I’m sitting here.” Not a lie, I am sitting here. “Waiting for sewing club to start.”

  “Sewing club?” I can see her face now, her eyebrows furrowed as she wonders why there is a sewing club. “If you were any other kid I’d probably call you a liar. I would most likely surmise that you really have plans to sneak off and do something you’re not supposed to.”

  “Nope, sewing club starts at seven.”

  “Seven!” she half shouts. “What will you eat for dinner? What will you do until it starts? That’s hours away.” She fires off the questions, her chill long gone.

  “How does Dad know Owen?” I fire off one of my own. I almost kick myself because now my mom will know that I’m interested. I’ve opened the door really wide, practically inviting her to ask me questions about him now.

  “You answer my questions and I’ll answer yours,” she says smugly.

  “I’m going to read while I wait for sewing club to start and I had a big lunch,” I rattle off. Then the freaking coach blows a whistle loud enough for everyone to hear. Including my mom.

  “Where are you reading?” she hedges.

  “Hey. I answered your questions.”

  “Your dad is hoping he gets recruited to Notre Dame. Said he’ll likely be asked but who knows who Owen will commit to.” My ears perk up at that. That’s where I wanted to go. It’s where Dad went. It was my first choice. My eyes go back to Owen, who is cat
ching another ball. He plucks it right out of the air. One-handed this time. He’s so graceful on the field that it’s hard to take my eyes off of him. I wonder what else he knows how to do with those hands.

  “He makes that look like an art,” Melody says next to me.

  “Who’s that?” Mom asks in my ear.

  “Melody. My science partner.”

  “Oh.” My mom sounds a little disappointed. “Where are you girls?” She tries again.

  “You’re not tracking me?” I tease. My mom and I both have tracking on each other. I turned it on a while back because I enjoyed tracking her when she was on her way home with food. It was the food I was tracking really. She is tracking me because she’s nosy. Even if she tries to pretend she’s not.

  “Says you’re at the school but doesn’t show me much else.” She sighs.

  “I’m outside by the football field,” I finally give her.

  “Oh,” she says again. This time she’s a little more perky about it.

  “Can I text you later?” I ask, feeling rude being on the phone while Melody is sitting here but she’s more interested in the football field than anything.

  “Okay. But if you need something to eat text me and I’ll bring something up.”

  “Love you, Mom.”

  “Love you too, sweetheart,” she says before hanging up.

  Melody looks way more into the football practice then I would have guessed her to be. Not with the way she talked about them earlier. I’d be a liar if I didn't admit there was something sexy about watching how good Owen is on the field. I am suddenly more into football than ever before.

  “Why anatomy and physiology if you’re not good at it?” I ask Melody, trying to come up with something to think about other than Owen’s sexy skills on the field. My eyes go to the drawing pad that I’ve noticed is always in her hand. She’s put her other books into her backpack but the pad has stayed with her. I saw her drawing in it when I was doodling in class. I knew she was likely here for art.

  “My mom says the art probably won’t feed me. Have to do something smart so I can take care of myself.” She has on a pair of three hundred dollar jeans and some white sneakers which look like she’s drawn on them herself. I know those aren’t cheap either. My face must show the question dancing in my head. She looks taken aback now. “She doesn’t want me to be like her.” She gives a small shrug. This one isn’t as nonchalant as the other ones she’s given.

  “Like her?” I raise an eyebrow in question.

  “Dependent on a man.” She says it with disgust in her voice.

  Yeah, some men are disgusting. Dad isn’t. There are good ones out there. My eyes drift back to the football field to Owen. “Is there something wrong with depending on people?” I think it would be sad to not have someone you could lean on when you needed it.

  “You can’t rely on anyone.” My head jerks back to her. My heart aches for her in this moment.

  “I’m sorry.”

  She turns her head to look at me now. “Don’t be sorry for me.” She laughs. I don’t know if the laugh is to hide the pain or something else. Either way I don’t like it. She stands. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” She picks up her backpack. I reach out, grabbing her other hand.

  “You can always count on me,” I tell her. I see that tough exterior start to fall into place like she had with Owen. I give her hand a small squeeze. She gives me a nod and without saying anything else she turns and leaves.

  I watch her go, already knowing I’m going to make an effort to be her friend. She and Owen have both been reminders today that not everyone is what they seem. There are so many layers to people. I pull out a book from my backpack to get a head start on some of this year’s course work, getting lost inside it. It is a bittersweet habit I have.

  A whistle blows and when I look up from what I’m reading, I see a sweaty Owen running toward me.

  “Give me fifteen minutes to shower and get dressed. We can head to sewing after that. Sound good, Ace?” Owen says while he stands there looking all sweaty and masculine. It’s as though my tongue is tied when I search for the words to give him a response. My mouth can’t seem to form them. He looks so damn hot I’m speechless. I finally get my brain and mouth to work.

  “Okay, Owen.”

  He smiles widely at my response as he reaches out to tap my nose with his finger. “See you in a few.” He winks at me as he heads to the locker room.

  It’s then I realize that out of all the words I could have chosen to speak, I said his name, giving him permission to touch me.

  10

  Owen

  I shower faster than I ever have and hightail it out of the locker room before anyone can get in my way. I may have knocked down a freshman or two on my way out but, eh, that’s life. Ace is sitting on the dirty hallway floor, looking through her math textbook.

  I grin to myself. What a nerd. What a fucking hot nerd. Maybe she can read the equations out loud while I bury my face between her legs. That’d be sexy. Of course, that’s not much of a stretch. Her breathing is sexy.

  “Hey, Ace, we have five minutes and I have a pocket full of change. I’m going to treat you to a gourmet vending machine snack break.”

  She turns and tilts her head like a cat trying to figure out if she’s going to kill her prey or toy with it first. Toy with me, Ace, I beg silently. Run your kitten claws all over me and then fuck me to death.

  “That sounds delicious.” She shoves her book inside her backpack and gets to her feet.

  I pull the backpack out of her hand, sling it over one shoulder and throw my arm around Ace’s back. It falls into place as if it belongs there. “Great. Are you a chocolate or hard candy kind of person?”

  “You said this was a gourmet snack break so why do I have to choose?”

  “You are absolutely right. Lifesavers and a bag of M&Ms coming right up.” We end up buying damn near one of everything along with two sodas. Ace devours the M&Ms, but only the plain ones because the other ones are an affront to mankind, she informs me. I make a big show of savoring the peanut-filled chocolates while Ace makes faces at me.

  Fuck, she’s fun to be with. Although, why wouldn’t she be? She’s my soulmate and I’m a fun person so it makes sense that she is, too. We’re laughing by the time we reach the Home Ec room. Ace throws open the door and then halts. I nearly step on the back of her shoes, she stops so abruptly.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask, immediately pulling her out of the opening so I can shield her with my body. Peering in the room, I scan for danger but see nothing but a group of about fifteen girls. Maybe she has a beef with one of them. I crack my knuckles. No one gets to be mean to my Ace.

  “Which one?” I growl over my shoulder.

  “Which one what?” she asks.

  “Which one needs an attitude adjustment?” I inspect the opponents. My eyes land on the one with five hairclip things on one side. The asymmetry bothers me plus the number of clips in her hair. That seems abnormal.

  “Um, I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Ace tugs on my arm. Without taking my eyes off my suspect, I back away and crouch down because Ace wants to whisper something in my ear. “This class has all girls in it,” she hisses. Her mouth is only about an inch from my face. If I turned, I could kiss those sweet lips. It’s a temptation.

  “Owen.”

  That sounds like permission. I let my hand fall away from the door and twist my head a quarter turn. Her lips meet mine. Yep. Perfect angle. I open my mouth and run my tongue across her lower lip. She inhales quickly. That sounds like an invitation. I lean into the kiss, getting a good feel for the shape of her pouty lips, the taste of her sweetness, the smell of her strawberry shampoo. I reach up and cup her face, holding her still. She shudders under my grip. Her hands come up and clasp my wrist, not to push me away, but to hold me there. I get it. She feels like she’s drowning and needs an anchor.

  I feel like that, too. I mean, I knew I wanted her from the first moment I laid eyes
on her, and I knew she was my forever girl when I saw how she treated that girl and her mom, but I didn’t really understand how she was going to rock my world until I laid my mouth on hers.

  We’re not really kissing. We’re making promises without words. I’m telling her that I’ll lay down my life to make her happy and she’s telling me she trusts me. I gather her closer, twisting around and standing up so I can press her perfect soft curves into my hard planes.

  Her legs come up to wind around my waist. I tear my mouth away and look for the first available horizontal surface. When my eyes land on the tiled floor, it hits me where we are and what I’m doing. This is not the right place for our first time. Ace deserves roses and candlelight and a fucking bed. Holy shit, I’m an asshole. I lower her to the floor and back away.

  “Sorry about that.” I scrape a hand through my hair. “I kind of lost track of where we were.”

  She blinks at me, her lips puffy and red. “Don’t look at me like that,” I beg.

  “Like what?” she asks, all knee-buckling sexy in her complete confusion and innocence.

  “Like you don’t want anything else but for me to put my mouth back on yours.” I blow out a long, frustrated breath. “Let’s go inside before I maul you out here.”

  “What if I want to be mauled?”

  I bring a hand up to my own throat and squeeze myself—hard. Get yourself under control, you fool. The lack of oxygen helps me calm down a small amount. Enough so that I don’t turn on Ace and throw her down to the tile, rip her clothes off, and take her virginity in a way that she and I would both regret. Or love, says a tiny, evil voice.

  “You okay, Owen?” she asks.

  “Not really,” I admit. “I’m eighteen and haven’t had my dick in anything but my hand so it’s kinda hard for me to hear you say stuff like that and not want to tear a hole in your jeans and fuck you up against the wall but it’s our first day so I’m trying really hard to make a good impression here.” I glance down at her. “How am I doing?”