SNAPPED: Part 1

by Ketley Allison

CHAPTER 5

  Week 1 – Sunday, September 7

  The cluster of people surrounding our building’s entrance could be heard fifteen stories above the street.

  I stepped back, pushing away from the balcony’s rail.

  “You ready, babe?” Slade stood at the French doors, a towel slung low on his hips. The buzzing and clicking increased a few decibels, and I made a face and pushed him inside.

  “Don’t worry about them,” he said and ran a hand down my arm before walking to our shared closet.

  I sat at the foot at the bed and watched him change. “It’s just a little mind-bending. Having, like, paparazzi at our door.” I shook my head. “It just makes no sense in my life, you know?”

  “This may shock you, but I feel the same way,” he said, standing in front of me and pulling on his jersey. Lucky number thirteen. “I think in order to survive it we just have to ignore it.”

  “Easy for you to say,” I said, moving to help him straighten his shirt. “You weren’t labeled worst dressed yesterday.”

  He was at the mirror, about to run texture cream through his hair, but he paused, locking his eyes with mine in the reflective glass. “Char, it was one blog. And you were heading to the library.”

  “They didn’t mention that.”

  “Of course they didn’t.” He sat next to me and jostled me against him, trying to get a laugh. “It wasn’t part of the story.”

  I sighed, resting my cheek on his shoulder. “Who knew a hoodie and sweatpants would even be a scoop.”

  He smacked a kiss on my forehead before standing up. “Hey, at least you were wearing my number.”

  I laughed. “Always finding the positive, aren’t you?”

  “Gotta.” He zipped up his athletic jacket, shook out his arms, and did a little dance. “Tell you what; how about I set something up with one of the boys and his lady? We can go to dinner, have drinks here, something, and maybe they’ll have some advice for you on how to deal. For me, too, even.”

  “That sounds wonderful.” I held out my hand to him, and he grasped it hard. “Don’t be nervous,” I said, standing up and wrapping my hands around his waist. “You’re going to be awesome. New York won’t know what to do with you.”

  He rested his chin on top of my head. “Having you there in the crowd will get me through.” He kissed me longer than usual, cupping my cheek and making that sexy sound at the back of his throat.

  “You don’t have time,” I said against his lips before pushing away from him.

  He always got this way the day before his games, when the adrenaline was sweeping through his body at such a rate he just had to expel it. And to be honest, it was fantastic.

  It was a time he would grab me, throw me against a wall and pull my legs around his waist, grinding against me and holding me up with the strength of his hips alone. His hands would tear at my clothes. My sounds would be hot, but his words hotter. He’d pull me from the wall and slide me on whatever flat surface was near—bed, table, floor—and I would feel beautiful, turned on, and desperate as he took what he needed and I demanded the same in return.

  The sex was ravenous. He wouldn’t be sated until I cried out my release.

  Just thinking of it made me want to pitch him onto the bed.

  He was hungry, raking me with those blue jewels of his as he studied my pajama shorts and my tight white tank with no bra.

  I backed away, holding my hands up. “Slade.” His name was like fire on my tongue even though I was trying to emit a warning.

  “Fuuuuuck,” he said, turning and rubbing a hand across his face. “I gotta go.”

  “You definitely do,” I said. “Here, I’ll help.”

  I pulled my robe off a hook I installed beside our nightstand. It was an extra fluffy, not even slightly form-framing, pink terrycloth muumuu. I shrugged it on and scrunched one side of my face, curling one side of my lip and mussing my hair for extra bird’s nest effect, and said in a granny voice, “You sure you wanna resist this?”

  “Sorry,” he said, reaching for the door. “You’re still hot.”

  “You’re impossible!” I said to his retreating form.

  “I’ll see you at the game tomorrow!” he called back.

  Crap. “Slade, wait!” I said as I ran to the door. I poked my head into the hallway. “I can’t go.”

  He stopped in the middle of tying one shoe. “What?”

  “I thought I told you,” I said, coming out into the hallway. My heart sank even though I knew I’d told him a week ago and reminded him three times since then. But that look on his face…I hated when I was the cause of it—hurt, disappointment.

  “I have a contracts exam coming up and I…” I stopped, kneeling on the floor with him. “I suck at contracts. I need this time to study.”

  “Exam?” He was trying not to be pissed but failing. “You’ve been in school for a week.”

  “I completely agree with how nuts I sound right now. But law school is unlike…anything.” I dropped my chin, letting him in on a disturbing secret. “People in my class started their reading assignments in July, back when there were no reading assignments.”

  “You can’t skip one day?” he asked, squeezing my arm. “You’re missing my first game tomorrow because you have a few classes and an exam in a few weeks?”

  I shook my head. “It’s not like that. There are all these procedures and rules and—”

  “I get it.” He stood up.

  “I don’t think you do,” I said as I rose with him. “I feel really horrible about this.”

  My stomach quivered in agreement. Slade steadfastly supported my dream, but at times like these when it clashed with his, it took both our efforts to keep our goals in perspective.

  “I’ve worked so hard this past week so I would be able to make this game, but no matter how many practice tests I take or how long Reagan quizzes me, I’m sucking hard, Slade.”

  “You are the smartest person I know, and you kill yourself with all the studying you do. Exactly like college. You’re going to make yourself sick.”

  “Law school isn’t like college. It’s whole new way of thinking, and I’m painfully slow at it.”

  “You need a break and you know it.”

  “Slade…”

  “Just think about it. A few hours in a crowd, cheering, getting caught up in the atmosphere, chilling out because you have no worries, would do you a ton of good.”

  “You are so very wrong,” I said, punching him lightly in the gut. “I would absolutely be worried. About you and winning.”

  “A healthy kind of worry in my view.” He tucked my head to his chest, weaving his fingers in my hair. “So come. Please. A few hours won’t make a difference. You’ll study the bejesus out of it anyway.”

  I tensed in his hold, and he said in a softer voice, “I do understand. I know dedication. Look at me right now. I have to go to a hotel tonight because they want me focused and away from all temptations.” He bumped a knuckle across my nose. “I.e., you. I’m not mad.”

  “Just disappointed.”

  “Well, that I can’t help. I love you.” He rested his hands on my shoulders and drew me back gently. “Study tonight. Come to my game tomorrow.”

  I stared at him, pushing his hair back from his face, his expression so open, so gentle—so accepting.

  And within that expression, I had my answer.

  “Okay,” I said.

  His lips stretched wide. “Yeah?”

  “I’ll be screaming your name so loud you’ll hear me on the field.”

  He crushed his lips to mine.

  “I love you, too,” I murmured against his mouth.

  We pulled apart, and he gazed at me for a moment before laying one last kiss on my nose. “I’ll see you tomorrow. And I’ll call you tonight.”

  “Yes to all of the above. I have so much faith in you.”

  “I know. Same goes, sweetheart.” He flashed me his half smile before he opened the front door and
disappeared with a click.

  After his departure, I rested my hand against the grainy wood as if he were standing on the other side. The churning in my stomach had been in a constant gnaw ever since I realized law school was going to be a lot harder than I thought, but it was a stirring I’d gladly deal with if it meant I could be there for Slade’s debut on the field. Maybe there would be repercussions later, but for now, it felt like the best decision I’d ever made.

  “Jayzus, what’s with the elderly wear?”

  Lara appeared from the hallway, her hair freshly blown out. She stopped at the oval mirror by the front door and uncapped her lipstick.

  “I’m aiming for number one on the worst dressed list this time,” I said. “Don’t you want to rise to the top with me? Where are you off to?”

  “I’m going shopping.” Lara turned to the double wide closet and fished for her jacket. “Need something for Slade’s game tomorrow, obvs.”

  “You’re going?” My stomach unclenched, replaced with floaty kind of feeling. “But you hate this stuff.”

  Lara slipped one arm through her black trench coat before glancing at me.

  “Shit, don’t think of any excuses to bow out,” I said. “What I meant to say is that’s amazing.”

  “Damn right,” she said, fixing her collar. “Truth—I had to help Slade out. Figured if I was going, there was no way you could say no.”

  “You two,” I said. “Teammates even when you guys don’t know it.”

  “He got to you first, didn’t he? Figures. Bastard has more game plan than I ever will.”

  I laughed. “Same result, though. I’m going.”

  “Awesome! Later tonight we can practice our cheer. How do I look?” She spun around, her belted trench coat giving her a stunning street style so many celebrities wore with ease. Her long, fine hair, the color of black licorice, shone underneath the recessed lighting. She rested her sunglasses on her face and disguised the tiny crest of freckles across her nose she hated more than death itself.

  “Terrific,” I said. “And you’re only going shopping.”

  “One must always look fabulous. Especially with those critters down there,” she said, fixing her glasses in the mirror and swiping a finger at both corners of her lips. “All right lady, I’ll see you later.”

  “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

  “I’ll do better.” She blew me a kiss before she sauntered out.

  After she left, I took the opportunity to grab my school bag from the floor and dig through it, searching for something so magical Lara would explode with glee. During a break between classes, Reagan let me in on a wonderful fact of New York City that hadn’t yet occurred to me: Anything I wanted, from anywhere in the world, I could probably get.

  In this instance, Reagan showed me a candy shop specifically dedicated to British and Australian lollies. Lara, during the one time she joined her father and his new wife on vacation overseas, said the best moment she’d had was when she discovered black and white Freddo chocolates in Sydney.

  They were just milk and white chocolate molds of a frog in a T-shirt, but she said the taste alone had made her oceanic jaunt with the insufferable Mrs. Stalquist II somewhat pleasurable.

  And I found them. Excited to give her a little unexpected joy, I went into her bedroom and placed the purple packet on her pillow. It was a game of giving we played with each other as kids. Fairy tricks, we called them.

  Not that she didn’t take advantage of our spritely benevolence. One time I found a pile of worms on my pillow.

  I yearned for a drop of nostalgia ever since coming here, and I know she did, too.

  Shouts and screams sounded outside, so loud I heard them over the wailing ambulance rushing down my street, drawing me out of Lara’s room and into my own. I shoved open the French doors and went out onto the balcony.

  There he was.

  I’m not sure what delayed him, probably a phone call with his agent or one of his coaches, but Slade was just leaving our building now, his blue and white athletic gear a bright beacon in the midst of the dark clothing of the photographers. His duffel bag was slung over his right shoulder, and his hair was a shining cap of burnished blond, lighting up under the flashes. My gaze shifted to the left, and I noticed his other ornament.

  Lara had an arm looped through his left arm, her hair gleaming with white flashes as he led her to the waiting SUV.

  “Charlotte! Charlotte! Over here!”

  I dropped down, ducking and peeking through the railings. I hoped, hoped, they hadn’t seen me.

  “Charlotte! Slade! Side by side!”

  “Before you get in the car! C’mon!”

  I wrapped my hands around the railings, iron framing my view as I watched them. I rested my forehead between the cold columns, feeling like an inmate forced to see the world from the inside.

  Neither Lara nor Slade said anything. Nor did they pause for a picture or even acknowledge the requests.

  But, I thought, neither bothered to correct them.

  They believed Lara was me, that Slade was bringing his girlfriend with him even though players weren’t supposed to consort with their companions prior to a game.

  But I shouldn’t rush to stupid thoughts—he probably offered her a ride, asked to drop her off somewhere rather than wasting money on a cab.

  Yet the tug on my insides wasn’t regret or logic. It was, ever so slightly, jealousy. She was beautiful. She was with him. I was up here, curled up on the balcony and sporting terrycloth and stress pimples in the background.

  He opened the door for her, and she swooped in with him following behind. The door slammed shut, and the car vroomed away from the curb, leaving the flashes, clicks and shouts behind.

  I sagged against the bars, blowing out an annoyed, desolate sigh.

  “Charlotte!”

  I stiffened.

  “I see you, girl! Down here!”

  Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

  I flipped to all fours, squeezing my eyes shut as though I could scrunch out what was happening, and crawled to the balcony door.

  Please don’t have zoom capabilities.

  “Charlotte! Why aren’t you with your boyfriend! Who’s the lady with him?”

  Door. Get to the damn door.

  “Charlotte! Charlotte! Char—”

  Slam.

  I shut the French doors, transforming the sounds from below into muffled murmurs, almost nonexistent.

  And if I were to be honest with myself, I felt pretty nonexistent right now, too.