I race up the stairs, checking my phone on the way and seeing I only have fifteen minutes before I’m supposed to meet Julian and Frankie, meaning I have no time to lollygag in the shower.
Probably for the best since last night I spent way too long doing just that.
I couldn’t help it. Once the images of that red hair and those big, brown eyes hit my mind, they wouldn’t leave, and I was a goner. Before I knew it, my hand was wrapped around my dick and I was standing under the stream until the water ran cold.
Once showered and changed, I spend a little more time than anticipated working my fingers through my hair for the perfect effortlessly messy look, annoyed with myself for caring so much as I press the gas a little harder to race down the streets of our small North Carolina beach town.
She’s just a girl, I try to tell myself.
But I know that’s not true.
Frankie isn’t “just a girl”. She never has been.
I remember the first time I saw her, first day of freshman year. My schedule was a mess and I needed to get it fixed. She was standing in front of me, trying to get something or another figured out herself. I reckoned she must be new to the area, because I was certain I’d have remembered crazy red curls like that.
She spoke so softly I could barely hear her. On instinct, I stepped closer, trying to make out what she was saying.
That was the first time I smelled the oranges.
I closed my eyes, inhaling deeply, loving the fresh scent.
I was so lost in my own world that I didn’t even notice her leaving and was thoroughly embarrassed when the receptionist had to call to me twice to snap me out of it.
Imagine my surprise when she was sitting next to the only empty seat in first period history.
I spent the entire first week stealing glances at her, certain she’d peek over at any moment and catch me staring like a complete creep.
It took me until Friday to work up the courage to actually speak to her, and the only thing I could come up with was asking for a pencil.
I had an entire box of them in my backpack.
There’s a tiny part of me that feels bad for asking her for a pencil every week when I had my own, but it was the only time I’d ever actually speak to her.
Unfortunately for me, we didn’t have another chance to be seated together until senior year.
Then things escalated to a whole new level.
I pull into an empty spot at The Doorway and cut the engine on my old beat-up Blazer. It’s a ridiculous ride held together by hopes, prayers, and a little duct tape, but I love it. She’s my baby and I wouldn’t trade her for the world.
Well, maybe for a Corvette, but don’t tell her I said that.
I run a hand through my short beard, almost wishing I had shaved before I came, and force myself from the vehicle because I know I’ll sit around overthinking this if I don’t just get my ass inside.
It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust when I walk into the dimly lit favorite local hang. I glance around, looking for Julian and Frankie, but I don’t see them.
They must be running late too.
“Well I’ll be damned. Schwartzy’s here, boys!”
My eyes are drawn toward the boisterous voice. Sitting in a booth are three guys I played football with in high school. We were tight for many years, but my patience with them grew thin over my senior year. I haven’t spoken to any of them since graduation. Based off all the plans they had, I’m surprised to find them still living here.
“Hey, Drake,” I say, approaching their table. “Wilson, Hill. How you guys been?”
“Not bad. Not too bad at all. Here”—Drake scoots over, patting the open spot next to him—“have a seat.”
“Oh, no, I can’t. I—”
“Just a few minutes? We haven’t seen you since high school. Be nice to catch up a minute.”
I’d rather get my own seat and wait for Julian and Frankie to show up, but I know they won’t relent until I’m sitting down with them.
I glance around the joint one last time, looking for my party, feeling dejected when I don’t see them, and reluctantly take a seat.
“Just a few minutes,” I agree. “So, what have you guys been up to?”
“Well,” Hill speaks up, “we all went off to State for a bit then decided college really wasn’t our thing.”
“So we came back home and started our own landscaping business,” Wilson supplies.
“Now we co-manage the most profitable lawn business on the island,” Drake finishes, a smile spreading across his face.
“Wow,” I say. “That’s amazing, guys. Congrats.”
“We heard about your accident.” Hill frowns sympathetically, but the sadness doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Sorry about the NFL. We were rooting for you.”
Being the only one in your group of friends who’s dedicated enough to put in the hours to excel at your sport of choice can lead to jealousy among those who don’t agree with that line of thinking.
Drake, Hill, and Wilson have always had green eyes when it comes to my success at the sport we all love. Back in school, they’d always make comments about my game and the glory that came with how good I was at it. It might have seemed like normal locker room jabs to most, but I saw through their words.
They were jealous, plain and simple. Genuinely happy for me, but also indisputably jealous. The longer we played together and the more opportunities that came my way, the more prominent their envy became.
“Actually, I’m still playing football. Doctors say I’ll make a full recovery.” Their brows rise, and I bask in the jealousy that sparks in their eyes. “It’s just a matter of when I’ll be able to get back out there, but I’m still under contract.”
“What are you doing in the meantime?” Wilson asks.
“A hell of a lot of physical therapy and delivering pizzas at Slice to keep myself sane. I was bored as shit sitting around at home, so I begged Simon Daniels for my job back.”
“Oh, please. Like you’d have to beg anyone for anything. You’re Jonas Schwartz—you’re handed all that you want and need.”
And there it is. The jab.
I knew it was coming, but that doesn’t make it sting any less.
A lot of people seem to think I was given everything I have, but that’s not even close to the truth.
I didn’t grow up with money like the majority of kids on the island. We lived check to check every single week, but that was the price we paid so my father could pursue his dream of owning a shop of his own. My mom spent her days working in the office and running us kids back and forth to school and events.
Don’t get me wrong, we weren’t living off cheap noodles or anything and Thea and I always had everything we needed, but we didn’t do family vacations. Our Christmas presents weren’t lavish. I didn’t get a brand-new car for my birthday.
I worked for everything I had, especially football, because contrary to popular belief, the game didn’t come naturally to me. In fact, when I first started playing, I hated it. I didn’t like tackling—my small build wasn’t built for the impact. I didn’t like running—my asthma made it difficult. And I really hated all the sweating—nobody likes taking that many showers a day.
No matter how much I hated it, I had to play. My mother used to send us to every free camp she could sign us up for over the summers. She couldn’t afford to lose the hours at the shop keeping us entertained at home.
It wasn’t until the third summer of camp that I truly found my niche in the game.
It took three summers and two different coaches, but I finally found one who let me try out for quarterback. Even though I sucked at tackling, hated running, and didn’t want to sweat…I could throw a ball like no other.
But just because I can throw, that doesn’t mean I don’t have to work on all those other parts.
I had to bulk up and keep up with my weightlifting routine without gaining too much mass. Running became something I did daily so I could mak
e my lungs stronger. And the sweating…yeah, I still fucking hate that part.
All the hard work I put into improving myself and my game paid off big with a full-ride football scholarship. I brought in hundreds of fans and dozens of football scouts, benefitting not just me but the whole team.
I put in the blood, the tears, and I sure as shit put in the sweat.
I’m good at the game, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have to work hard at excelling.
I just wish these jackasses would see that.
The front door is pulled open and Julian waltzes in.
My breath quickens, because I know Frankie will be right behind him.
She steps into the light pouring inside, and it’s as if the rays are illuminating her like a halo. Her head is thrown back in laughter at something Julian’s said, and I miss seeing her smile like that.
I miss making her smile like that.
I lean around the booth, letting my eyes trail down her body.
Her red hair is wavier than it was the other day, and it reminds me of the old Frankie for a moment. She’s wearing a shirt that reminds of something a pirate would wear, the sleeves big and flowy. It’s hanging off her shoulders, and one of those lacy bra things that are all the rage peeks out from underneath.
My favorite part, though, are the high-waisted Daisy Dukes she’s sporting, making her short legs look miles long…and her ass perfect.
She’s stunning, and I’m kicking myself for missing her these last four years.
If I’d had my way, Frankie and I would have spent every free moment we had in college together. That was my plan. Once we got away from all the hoopla of small-town gossip, I wanted to officially make her mine.
I never got my chance.
The guys notice I’m distracted and move their gazes her way.
I’m instantly annoyed by the hunger I see in them.
“Damn.” Drake whistles lowly. “Who’s that fox?”
“That, my friends, is Frankie Callahan,” Wilson tells everyone. “I ran into her last week at the Grab ’N’ Grocery. She got real fuckable over the years.”
I can practically hear him salivating, and I barely hold back my urge to punch him right in his face.
Drake pipes up next. “You ain’t kidding. I’d bend her over in a heartbeat.”
My blood boils, and I’m about two seconds from jumping across the table and choking the crap out of each of them when Frankie turns my way, the corners of her lips tilting up ever so slightly when she sees me.
My world tilts.
It’s subtle, but I feel the shift.
And I don’t want it righted any time soon.
But, per the usual lately, I’m shit out of luck.
It’s like she catches herself, all the bad memories we share slamming into her at once, and her mouth falls into a thin line. Her body language totally shifts, shoulders going stiff.
Just like that, she’s walled off her heart from me.
She rushes toward the door, but Julian blocks her from making a hasty exit. I try not to laugh as she glares up at him, considering their size difference and all.
I don’t have to be sitting close to them to know they’re talking about me. It’s obvious from the quick glances they both keep sending my way.
Whatever Julian says seems to pacify her, and the tension sitting in her shoulders dissipates.
“I can’t believe Julian Schenn gets to fuck her,” Drake says as Julian and Frankie make their way past our table and pop into a booth two seats down, all eyes following her swaying hips. “Shit, man. Of all the guys out there, she picks the part-time cocksucker to take that sweet virgin pussy. I’m jealous as fuck.”
“In high school I secretly hoped I could get a go at her—really stick it to that bitch Principal Callahan for getting us suspended for those games—but nobody could get the girl to talk. I can’t believe she looks like she does now.”
Drake points to Wilson. “Agreed.”
“I dunno,” Hill chimes in, leaning back on the bench. “She was too shy for me. I like my ladies wild. Loose.”
“I’ll take virgin pussy over loose pussy any day.” Drake takes a swig from the beer bottle he’s clutching. “What about you, Schwartz? Ever wanna fuck Frankie Callahan?”
My jaw begins to ache from clenching my teeth so hard and I work to school my features, because there is no way I’m about to let these morons in on what transpired between me and Frank.
I don’t answer his asinine question, instead pushing myself from the booth and standing over the end of the table, glowering down at the idiots before me and wondering how I was ever friends with such dickbags.
“I think I better get going.”
“What? Bailing so soon?” Wilson asks.
“Yep. I’m meeting some friends.”
“Anyone we know?”
“Actually, yeah, and I just want to clear the air about something real quick.” I lean down, pressing my hands on the table. All three guys gather closer like I’m about to spew some deep, dark secret. “If I ever—and I mean fucking ever—hear any of you washed-up, sorry sacks of shit talk about Frankie Callahan again, I’ll staple your balls to a tree stump in the middle of the fucking town so everyone can see how small your dicks really are.”
They all stare up at me, stunned into silence.
“And one last thing… I bet Julian Schenn can suck a mean cock. I’m sure you can ask your dads for confirmation.” I tap the table twice. “Fun chatting with you all.”
Without another glance in their direction, I make my way to Julian and Frankie’s booth.
“Hey, guys. Sorry I’m late.”
Slice Four
Frankie
“Did you just tell those morons I suck their dads’ dicks?”
Julian’s stare is enough to send most men cowering.
But not Jonas.
He stares back, unaffected. “Yep.”
His bravery stirs something in me I haven’t felt in far too long.
Desire.
I haven’t been a complete saint since my first sexual encounter, but I also haven’t gone all the way with anyone except Jonas. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve had plenty of opportunities to—college boys are insanely horny—but it just never felt right with anyone else. I didn’t feel anything close to what I felt with Jonas.
I’m not willing to sacrifice my feelings just to get off.
Julian cracks a smile, looking mighty proud of himself. “Well, you’re not entirely wrong.”
“What!” I croak, whacking his arm in disbelief. “You didn’t tell me that! Who? Which one?”
“Dr. Drake.” Julian licks his lips. “And he’s hung.”
“You little…little…”
“Whore?” His grin widens. “Guilty.” He motions toward the empty side of the booth. “Have a seat, Jonas. We ordered waters for now.”
There’s a second where Jonas hesitates, but he shakes it off, sliding into the booth with grace.
“Thanks for inviting me out. It’s nice to catch up with old friends.”
A snort escapes me, and all eyes are trained on my face.
“Something to say, Frank?” Jonas gets straight to the point.
My palms itch, the urge to reach across the table and wipe the smug smile off his face strong.
But I can’t.
“Well, for starters, I didn’t invite you. I’d be just fine with never seeing your face again.” Lies. “Also, I have an issue with the word friend. We aren’t friends, Jonas. We never have been.”
I don’t know what I expected to come of the tongue-lashing. I wanted to hit him where it hurts in the best way I could, maybe even make him get angry.
But the last thing I ever expected—and I mean the very last thing—was for Jonas to throw his head back in laugher like what I said is the funniest thing he’s heard in ages.
I also didn’t anticipate being hit so hard with longing.
When I first saw him yesterday, I was angry. Bitter.
/>
Though it didn’t take long for me to feel the hole in my chest—that one I pretend doesn’t exist—widen.
Now, seeing him laugh so freely—even at me—I feel it stretching bigger and bigger.
It makes me even angrier.
How dare he waltz back into my life with his stupid, sexy new beard that looks insanely lickable all trimmed up. That ridiculous ball cap pulled low over his green eyes. His muscles bigger and more defined than I’ve ever seen them before.
How fucking dare he make me feel things I haven’t felt in years.
The pain. The anger. The…tingles.
Yesterday, after Julian left, I cried over Jonas Schwartz for the first time in four years.
I don’t even know why I cried. It could have been that I’m still angry, that I’m annoyed by this hold he still has over me.
Or that it’s clear to me I never stopped loving him.
No matter what it was, once the tears began flowing, it was impossible to get them to stop. Sleep eluded me, my mind racing in circles, and I’d be surprised if I managed a whopping three straight hours. My eyes were still swollen from crying and lack of sleep when I walked into work with Julian’s beloved donuts clutched in my hand, chin held high as I tried to pretend everything was okay with me. He didn’t say a word when he spotted me, just accepted his donuts and wrapped his arms around me as if he knew what was going on in my head and heart.
I loved him a little more in that moment.
Until he told me that even though I obviously spend the entire night reminiscing about the past and trying to scheme up a way to get out of it, I was going for drinks tonight whether I liked it or not.
Then he brought up how he saved me from that Wilson guy perving on me at the store the other day, and drinks were back on.
Now, here I am, sitting across from Jonas.
The guy who took my virginity.
The guy who broke me.
The guy who can still make me cry all these years later.
The guy who makes my heart race, even when he’s laughing at my own stupid words.
“Oh, Frank.” He laughs, leaning across the table, encroaching on my space, making me feel smaller than I already am. “You kill me. Everyone at this table knows you and I were much more than friends.”
Team Player 2: A Sports Anthology Page 52
