Team Player 2: A Sports Anthology

by Paige, Rochelle

  “Nice,” he whispers as Mrs. White begins her lecture. “Didn’t know you’d given me a nickname. Guess this means you’ve been thinking about me.” He pauses. “I kind of like it. Fits me. Truthfully, I’d prefer Hot as Fuck, but you do you.”

  I glance at his face, taking in the long patrician nose, the sculpted cheekbones, the way his dark hair curls around his face, slightly softening his scar. He’s rolled up the sleeves on his button-down, the muscles of his forearms tightly roped and defined. His upper arms are bulky, his shirt tight against them.

  I tear my eyes off him and stare down at my laptop, shuffling around to get my things together. I slam down my notebook and pen.

  What if he was the one? jumps into my head.

  Yet, I do remember him leaving the party early with Tawny. I do. His hand was tucked into the back pocket of her jeans as they walked away from the bonfire and got into his car.

  Did he kiss her?

  Why doesn’t he kiss?

  WHO CARES? Right.

  “We’re going to be working on a movie project for the next few weeks, so where you’re sitting today is your permanent seat for a while.”

  “Great,” I mutter.

  Knox gives me a dark look. “My sentiments exactly.”

  Mrs. White continues. “We’re going to focus on movies at least twenty years old. Some perhaps you’ve heard of. Some are iconic, some suck, and I can’t wait to get your thoughts on the issues they cover, which you’ll put in a five-thousand-word essay.”

  “What kind of movies, Mrs. White? My dad doesn’t let me watch sexy films, so I hope they’re all G-rated.” It’s Dane, his voice lazy as he sits next to Piper.

  A few people snigger until Mrs. White gives them a pointed glare. “I’ll make sure you get Charlotte’s Web, Dane. Too bad, really, especially with so many good movies on the list I have, like The Godfather, for one. Guess I’ll pass that one to someone else.”

  He deflates. “Please don’t give me Charlotte’s Web. The spider dies and all that crap. And Wilbur is whiny.”

  “Too late,” she says, already writing his and Piper’s names on the board.

  I chance another glance over at their table, and Piper does a gagging motion at me as she points to him. I grin. Dang, I’ve missed her.

  The teacher goes down the list of pairs, assigning movie titles. Field of Dreams goes to Chance and his partner, Brooklyn, and from the way she’s tracing her fingers over his hand on the desk, she’s evidently happy to be next to him. I stare at him unabashedly, my eyes lasers of hate, and he reddens.

  I flip back around and face the front, my hands clenched in my lap.

  “Not over him?” Knox drawls. “He’s dating her, you know. Might be serious.”

  I ignore him.

  “Nothing to say? I guess that means you’re still carrying the torch. Can’t blame you. He’s a good guy most of the time.”

  “Zip your lips, Cold and Evil, or I’ll punch you in the face.”

  His head leans in close…too close. “I believe you, which is funny, because I always took you for the quiet scholarly type, but underneath is a little hellcat.” He moves back, the air around him shifting as I catch his cologne. He smells like the ocean, salt and sunshine and coconuts, and my chest swells at the sensations and tingles that tiptoe down my spine. The scent is so familiar.

  I turn my head and stare at him, facing off with those gunmetal gray eyes. “What kind of cologne is that? Eau de fish? It reeks.”

  His face is blank. “Nobody says that shit to me.”

  “They’re pussies then.”

  I swear I see his mouth twitch. He taps his pen against the desk. “It’s actually something my mom picked up in Paris.”

  “Ah, Paris. Nice. Beautiful place, Eiffel Tower and all. I shop there all the time.”

  “Really? I wouldn’t have known from the state of your shoes. When’s the last time you had a new pair?”

  A fissure of anger mixed with…something makes me shiver. I chalk it up to missing the usual breakfast at Sisters of Charity. The nuns put out eggs and toast most days, but I was too queasy to eat this morning.

  I give him a fake smile. “Maybe I like worn-out things. At least they’re original and not a cookie-cutter leather loafer. Let me guess…” I tap my chin and take in his perfect footwear. “Fresh from Italy, no doubt.”

  “Man, it’s so nice being rich. What’s it like being poor?” His eyes glow at me.

  He likes fucking with me. Why am I not surprised…

  I bite my bottom lip on purpose, goading him, getting a thrill when his eyes dip to my mouth. “Cold and Evil, do you get off on arguing with me?”

  His voice is husky. “Tulip, you can get me off whenever you want. Wanna meet me under the bleachers later? I don’t mind slumming.”

  My breath whooshes out. “Who the fuck told you my middle name?” I hiss as Mrs. White talks at another table, assigning another movie. It wasn’t Piper, because she knows how much my middle name annoys me.

  He laughs darkly. “I know things.”

  “Did you rape me?” The words come out unplanned, but there they are, and I’m glad I said it because his face goes from bored amusement to shuttering into a mask.

  I watch him intently, cataloguing each little change, searching for the truth in the granite-cut curves of his face. His jaw pops, betraying emotion, but when he looks at me straight in the eyes, all I see is an arctic winter in those depths.

  “I don’t have to take by force what is offered to me on a daily basis. I’ve never, ever touched a girl unless she begged for it. You aren’t even on my radar, Tulip. I like them willing. But, hey, the offer’s still open for a pity-fuck.”

  Not on his radar. Good.

  “But you were there.”

  “Doesn’t mean it was me. And I left that party—with my very willing date. Fucked her at my house then took her home.”

  We’re facing each other now, our heads bent low, our voices hushed, mine angry, his taut and firmly in control.

  “You’re one of them, a Shark. I can’t believe a word you say,” I bite out. “You’re all liars.”

  “We’re all liars. Sure,” he mocks. “I saw you drink Fireball like it was iced tea. I saw you dancing in a circle of at least six guys.”

  “Huh, I thought it was more. Did you count them? Funny, I didn’t see you in that video.”

  “Because I don’t do that shit.”

  “Why not? Am I too ugly for you?”

  “I have a football career to think about,” he says, that unflappable control holding strong.

  I’d give my right boob to see Knox Grayson lose his cool.

  “Yeah, everyone knows you’re high and mighty. Everyone kisses your ass. Guess what—I don’t. I think underneath that exterior is a guy who’s got some real problems. Mommy and Daddy not love you enough as a baby? Is that why Dane is still snorting coke?” I pause at the thunderous expression he now wears. “Oh, yeah, I know what it looks like. Grew up with an alcohol and drug-addicted mom—did you know that about me too? And in case you didn’t know, my mom is still around, only she dumped us years ago to take off to California. See, it’s bad all over, right? No matter the social class we belong in, when it comes down to it, we’re all just humans with the same fucking problems. Mine’s dealing with not remembering what happened that night. Yours is…I don’t know. You’re just a cold sonofabitch.”

  It was quite a speech and he blinks rapidly, his chest inflating as he flashes a look over my shoulder to glance at Dane. He gazes back at me, eyes hard. “Leave my brother out of this.”

  I can’t stop. “All I had that was mine—my body—was taken without my consent, by you or one of your precious teammates. There’s nothing else you can do to me, Cold and Evil. Go tell your little brat pack that today. Tell them I’m coming for them. I’m going to figure it out. Something’s going to trigger my memory and when it does, I’m going to kill him with my bare hands.”

  “I’ll kill him wi
th my bare hands.” His eyes flash like lightning.

  My heart drops, confusion making me suck in a breath. What?

  His face is inches from mine, and from the outside it might appear as if we’re having a moment, but we both know the truth. He and I…we don’t mix.

  I search for words. “Why…why would you say that?”

  His gaze traces the lines of my face. “Maybe not everyone here is your enemy, Tulip. Think on that. And while you’re at it, let it all out. Say everything you’ve obviously been holding back for months.”

  He wants me to go off on him? WHY?

  I swallow, caught between my need to lash out at a Shark—something I’ve dreamed about for months—and my urge to ask him to explain why he’d kill the person who hurt me. Anger wins. “Fine. I hate you and your Sharks. You ruined me last year, but I won’t let you take this year from me or shape the person I’m meant to be. If you make my life hell, I’ll do the same to you.”

  His eyes lower, his long dark lashes closing briefly. “I don’t want to make your life hell. Maybe you don’t know me at all, Tulip.”

  “You’re their leader,” I grind out. “I’d like to see you walk in my shoes.”

  His gaze goes down to my Converse. “No thanks.”

  “Asshole,” I say, my jaw tight.

  “Yes.”

  “Major asshole. Like the biggest dick at this school, and I don’t mean size-wise. I mean, douchebag of major proportions. I can’t believe girls actually want you. You’re disgusting.”

  “Yes.”

  “And the truth is, you’ve probably peaked as a quarterback in high school. Someday you’re going to be a lonely, middle-aged man with deep-seated commitment issues. You’ll be in AA, hooked on porn, and crying a lot—”

  His hand scrubs his mouth, and at first I think he’s pissed; then I realize his shoulders are shaking.

  “What’s so funny?” I snap.

  His eyes spear mine, amusement laced with…excitement. “You.”

  I recall the way he used to look at me when I walked the halls, how he’d glance away quickly, but something about me…

  I reach out and ruffle his hair. It’s silky under my fingers, and I flinch back, feeling branded. Shit, I never got this close to him in three years, and I just touched him.

  What is wrong with me?

  It’s this place. It’s the new ME.

  He freezes at my touch and jerks away as if I shocked him.

  His lips part, his chest heaving. “Don’t ever do that.”

  I will my pounding heart to slow down. “Oh, I think you do like slumming. Very much.”

  Mrs. White clears her throat as she approaches our table. “Well, I’m glad to see you two getting along. I’ve got some movie choices for you. You’ll need to watch it together and work on the essay. Is that going to be a problem?”

  “No,” Knox says tersely.

  I flutter my lashes. “Oh, I can’t wait to work with Knox. He’s very…solicitous. What do you have for us?”

  She smiles, clueless. “Ah, well, I have two here, either Star Trek V or Dirty Dancing. Which one?”

  “Dirty Dancing,” we both say at the same time and then dart looks at each other.

  She grins. “Excellent. I’ll leave it up to you to decide on the topic, but might I suggest how the movie portrays societal differences and overcomes them by bringing two groups together, or perhaps a discussion of how the romance in the movie has managed to capture the hearts of several generations.”

  “Societal differences,” I say.

  “Romantic aspect,” Knox says over me.

  We glare at each other.

  Are you for real, my eyes say.

  Oh, yeah, his say back. And this—fucking with you—is going to be so much fun.

  She laughs. “Whichever you want. Maybe you can come up with something more original. You need to have it watched and notes turned in two weeks from now.”

  She walks off, and Knox and I sit in silence.

  Finally, I’m the one to break the tension. “Romantic aspect? Seriously? What is wrong with you?”

  “What? Patrick Swayze was my mom’s favorite actor and Ghost was the one movie she’d watch over and over.”

  “Was?”

  He seems to take a deep breath and I think he might explain, but then he clamps his lips tight.

  “What?”

  “Nothing.”

  I narrow my eyes at him. Oh, it’s definitely something. Truthfully, I barely know a thing about him. Man of mystery, indeed. Kinda like James Bond. I laugh a little at that image and my randomness. James Bond is sort of a hero, albeit a dark one, and Knox is no hero.

  I pick up my pen and twirl it around. “Keep your secrets then. I don’t care.”

  He gives me a careful look, and I think I see banked emotion there. His throat moves as he swallows. “My mom died when I was thirteen.”

  He rubs his hand over his messed-up mouth, as if he’s surprised the words came out.

  I blink rapidly, trying to realign what I thought I knew about the inscrutable Knox Grayson. How did I not know this?

  It’s as if he reads my mind. “Happened before you came to Camden.”

  Okay, so he lost his mom. Don’t feel sorry for him, Ava. Fuck that. He’s Knox, a Shark, and he doesn’t deserve my—

  He gives me a tight nod. “People die. In fact, do you know that from the moment we’re born, we’re actually dying, our bodies decaying? It’s the circle of life. Life is tenuous, and we get no clue as to when it’s going to be over.”

  I chance a look at him and his mouth is compressed, tight and drawn.

  Without thinking, I give him an answering nod. “I get it. We don’t know when our time is up, which is why I’m not in a million years letting anyone at this place ever get to me again. My life isn’t over because of what a Shark did to me.”

  He exhales. “Right. I imagine you don’t want to spend any time with me that you don’t have to. We’re just going to pretend to watch Dirty Dancing together.”

  I nod. “I can’t imagine being alone with you.”

  He doesn’t answer, and I turn to look at him. He’s toying with his laptop, rubbing his fingers absently across the silver keyboard, looking at nothing. Suddenly, he frowns. “Because you’re afraid of me? It wasn’t me.”

  I think about it, studying the wavy dark hair, the silkiness of it. The guy who raped me had dark hair…I think. The night was dark, so maybe I’m wrong, and I can’t trust those memories.

  I say quietly, “I just don’t like you.”

  He jerks out a piece of paper from his notebook, scribbles a number, and passes it over to me. “Here’s my cell. Don’t share it, okay? Maybe we can watch on the same night and talk about what topic we want to pick when it’s fresh.”

  Oh.

  Oh.

  Knox Grayson never gives out his number. I know because every girl since freshman year has tried to get it, to sext him or whatever. I wasn’t one of those. Rumor is he’s warned all his buddies if they share it, they’ll be sorry.

  I take the scrap of paper, instantly recognizing that the number isn’t the same one in the letter that’s been lingering in the back of my mind since I found it. Well, at least my “secret admirer” isn’t him. It was probably from Jolena or one of her minions.

  “No problem. One night this week? Watch around nine and chat at eleven?” I exhale. “I could do earlier but the younger kids get the TV after dinner, and I have to wait for them to go to bed. I don’t have one in my room.”

  “Younger kids? I thought you only had one brother.”

  How does he know about Daniel?

  “I live at Sisters of Charity. I only have one blood brother—actually he’s my half-brother—but there are twenty little ones there and then the older kids.”

  He scowls. “You’re still there? I thought you’d—”

  I give him a glare. “Where else would I be? I just turned eighteen, but they’re letting me stay until I g
raduate. I wanted to get a dorm here, but I don’t know if that will work out…” My voice trails off and I shrug. I’m sure he doesn’t want to hear the details about me coming back to Camden.

  He frowns, his brow wrinkling as if he’s in deep thought. “I see. Fine. Just text me when you want to watch it. Whatever.”

  I look away from him and back at the teacher. Fine. I just want this first day to be over.

  Chapter Four

  Ava

  I walk down the hall, staying on the right-hand side near the line of lockers, headed toward the headmaster’s office. I try to keep up with the flow of foot traffic as everyone walks and talks around me. Sometimes the loneliest place on earth is in the midst of a crowd. I’m feeling it hard right now.

  I enter the office, and it’s frantic with students and teachers milling around.

  “What is it, doll?” says Mrs. Carmichael, the office secretary. Unsurprisingly, she looks flustered, her gray hair up in a tight bun with a pen tucked behind her ear. Little strands stick out everywhere. Slightly plump, she’s wearing a blouse, the flowy kind with giant pink flowers on it.

  I clear my throat. “Headmaster Trask asked me to come in this morning. My name is Ava Harris. I would have come earlier, but I barely made it to my first period.”

  She blinks, obviously registering my name. Yeah, I’m her.

  She gives me a concerned look. “Are you sure he didn’t mean the end of the day?” She looks over at the headmaster’s shut door. “He’s very busy on the first day back.”

  Someone, a mailman, bumps into me as he carries in a large box full of printed pamphlets and places it up on the counter. She signs some papers for him, obviously forgetting about me, and I start to argue and let her know he told me I was to come in the morning, but I decide to let it go.

  RING!

  The bell rings over the intercom, and I watch tardy students through the glass doors, darting around and running to class.

  I let out a sigh. My English class is on the opposite side of the building. I turn back to ask for a hall pass, but she’s arguing with the deliveryman who brought the box of pamphlets, telling him the colors are all wrong.