by Hazel Grace
However, our definition of “later” might be different, there is no possible way he missed the signs on what I was trying to tell him.
I still love him.
I’ve never stopped.
He was all I’ve ever wanted, so much so that I would stop and push away anyone who tried to come between us for the second time. However, I’d need to speak with him about Jake because that would be a hard friendship for me to break.
A slither of doubt creeps up my spine as I recall my phone call with Gavin.
Gavin.
That son of a bitch. He knows everything that went down with Principle McMahon and playing the copycat fits right into his ammo. Have me blame Colson for his crimes and start world war three right back up again.
I’m going to play smarter than him. Never again will I be corralled by Gavin because once upon a time, I trusted him.
Then once upon a second time, he struck out again, devastating everything in its entirety. But the third time, I’m going to pounce upon his head with a baseball bat and my knee to his nuts.
Ten years ago
I want to hold her hand.
It sounds stupid and implies that she has some strong validation on me but, the truth of the matter is, she fucking does. Sawyer has me eating out of the palm of her hand right now and, thank God, she doesn’t know it yet. I’m starting to turn into a guy that listens to what someone else wants by following her dumb rules.
For now, I’ll comply, needing to know how it feels to be near her, alone. It’s hard, especially with my need to pull her into my lap just so I can wrap my arms around her. All night, her scent has surrounded me—fresh laundry—her tresses of red are a wavy shield to a view of her neck that I want to lick and suck on.
I want to know what she sounds like. Does she moan or gasp? Is she the kind of girl that digs her fingers into my shoulder silently begging for more or is she soft? I’m thinking soft.
I can change that. Gavin is a fucking amateur when it comes to me and women.
I take Sawyer to see The Day After Tomorrow, it was decent, but I barely focused on the movie.
Couldn’t, trust me, I tried.
My attention kept veering back to her forearm that casually settled on the armrest between us. She offered her popcorn, I turned it down, because I’d want to do some dumb ass shit like lick the butter off her fingers and lips—but there were rules.
Ones I’d follow, for now, to gain an ounce of trust and time with the infamous Sawyer Boyd. Along with keeping this “hang out” a secret, yet another rule for tonight, that she repeatedly told me over fifty times over text messages throughout the week. Leaving her to be the only girl to ever say that to me.
But I let it slide, shit, I’d take her across the country just so she’d spend a night hanging out with me. I’ve spent weeks imagining this, and I wasn’t going to blow it on my cock taking charge tonight.
When the movie ends, I expect awkward silence, but like everything else, she surprises me by prattling on about what she’d do in an apocalyptic ice storm and how she’d survive. I notice that when she gets excited, her arms flail around like she’s getting electrocuted, but it's her, and I can’t seem to get enough.
“Would you follow me?” I shake my thoughts, trying to remember the last thing she said. I wasn’t listening, obviously, so I nod my head. “Really?”
I shrug, not knowing what I was agreeing to. “Sure.”
Her face brightens into a grin. “Wow.” I glance over to look at her. She tucks a piece of her hair behind her ear, and I see her smirk.
“Why did you say it like that?”
And what the hell did I just agree to?
“Just thought you’d go off with the people who were going to be saved instead of looking for people that were lost or injured.”
I chuckle. “Well, who would save you if you fell or something?” She draws her lower lip between her teeth as I open the front door of the movie theater for her.
“I wouldn’t have a choice, I’d have to stay, people might need me and my camping skills.” I use the moment to check her ass out as she walks through the theater doors, and my dick hardens.
If she only knew that she could use her powers for evil, we, as men, would be so fucked.
Sawyer walks in front of me, leading me to my rusty pickup truck. “Thanks for taking me out here. I know it was a little further out.”
“No big deal, nice to get away for a little bit.”
“Yeah, it was.”
I shove my hands into my jeans’ pockets. “You wanna go grab some ice cream or something?”
“Nah, I’m full from all the popcorn.” I exhale a breath, disappointed that this is about to come to an end. This night was probably the most fun I’ve had in a long time other than at my baseball games. “Let’s go do something fun.”
Color me curious now because my definition and hers are going to be way different.
“Like what?” I ask, rounding the front end of my truck then chastising myself because I didn’t open the door for her.
We’re not on a date. Chill out.
She jumps into my truck. “What do you usually do on a Friday night?” Is she serious right now? Because she seems to paint me so wonderfully in her head. I fuck, get fucked, fuck people off—oh—I fuck some more.
I raise a brow at her. “Is this a trick question?”
Sawyer rolls her eyes. “Alright, forget I asked.”
“You wanna go watch Crestwood play football, we can make—we can be undercover agents or something and report back or some shit.”
“You don’t seem like a rat, Colson,” she jests. I turn over the truck, starting it up, searching within the depth of me for something to do. Anything to do that doesn’t involve being naked, me on top of her, or my lips on any part of her body.
“I don’t think we share the same extracurricular activities,” I voice honestly, pulling out of the parking lot.
“So, all you do is fuck?”
Geezus Christ.
That word. I don’t know what it is when she says, it but it sends a surge straight to my cock, wanting to act upon the dirty version of the word with her.
I’ve never wanted someone so much in my life, and it’s pathetic. I could nail any girl in school. The captain of the cheerleading team, the girl that mumbles to herself in class, Miss Ruben and her obvious obsession with student athletics. But Sawyer Boyd has held all my attention, every damn drop of it, and I can’t shake it off.
“Let’s go to that football game,” she beams with a chuckle. “We’ll get you out of your comfort zone.”
Yep, because this hands-off thing is definitely out of my comfort zone.
I drive the fifteen minutes to Crestwood High, the parking lot is packed, so I show her how rebellious I can be and park on the grass. She complains about how I’m going to get towed. I tell her to get out of her comfort zone of parking on gravel or cement, and she rewards me with a genuine smile.
As we approach the stands, I look for a spot for us to sit, but Sawyer has other, more secretive ideas.
“Come on,” she whispers next to me, walking underneath the silver stands that are littered with wrappers, pop cans, and someone’s sweater.
“What are you doing, Bases?” I ask, following behind her like a loyal puppy. Or maybe it was her curvy ass that beckoned me, take your pick.
She glances over her shoulder at me. “Top secret, remember?” She stops in the middle, hunching down between the bench seats to look out at the field. Doing the same thing, I try not to touch anything that could be down here, and I’m surprised no one is under here already. I use the bleachers at school for plenty of different endeavours.
“You want something to eat?” she giggles, nodding at all the garbage on the ground.
“No, thanks,” I reply. “You sure you don’t want to get comfortable and sit with the normal people?”
“What fun is there in being normal?” she counters, yanking at her sweatshirt over her
head and stampeding my heartbeat on what the fuck she is doing right now.
To my dismay and gratefulness, she lays it on the ground and sits on it. She pulls the fabric toward me and offers the spot next to her. My body immediately takes advantage for any way and how I can be close to her.
Our knees touch through jeaned fabric, and I feel myself start to sweat like a virgin.
“Do you know anything about football?” she inquires, studying the players positioning on the field.
“It’d be un-American, if I didn’t.”
“I don’t know too much,” she confesses. “Just what Dad has told me.”
I clasp my hands that itch to touch her together. “Not hard to learn.”
“What made you want to play baseball?” she continues on. I welcome the stupid conversation to keep my wavering thoughts on other things.
“My dad was a pitcher,” I deadpan, squeezing my fingers.
“Yeah, I heard. Gav—” she stops and tucks her chin into her chest. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to say...his name.” I nudge her with my arm and extend a weak grin.
“Now you know how I feel except I’ve known the dip shit longer.”
She peers over at my lap, falling on my clasped hands. “Did your dad ever make it to the MLB?”
I shake my head. “Nah, he never wanted to go. But since I did, ever since I could speak, he supported me. The University of Florida is where I want to go to.”
“Warm weather and palm trees.” She smirks. “Not sure why that’d be something you choose.”
“And the best baseball college in the country,” I retort. “Where do you want to go?”
“Anywhere I can get a full scholarship, honestly. I’m not picky.”
“Be picky. Not everyone deserves Sawyer Boyd at their university.” Sawyer’s hand finds my two and buries it between them. We don’t say anything, she doesn’t need to.
This is enough.
This tranquility through the turmoil and stress of trying to land a scholarship for baseball and keep my grades up. She soothes it all down for me.
“You should be picky about your friends moving forward,” she says through the rumbling of the crowd above us. “It’ll save you a whole lot of trouble.”
I give her hand a small squeeze. “I wouldn’t have met you if I was.”
A weak tilt of her lips uplift into a small smile. “You don’t mean that.”
“I do.”
“That would’ve saved you a lot of headache, Hayes.”
“Yeah, but it feels like it’s going to be worth it in the long run.” She peers over at me, her cheeks reddening, but her eyes latch onto mine.
“How do you know?”
“I know.”
“Just another vague answer to go along with your other ones.”
“Bases,” I retort. “You’re not like everyone else to me. I want you to know that and believe it.”
The loud sound of whistles pitch through the air, announcing the end of the game. I didn’t realize we had gotten here after the second half or I would’ve came up with something else to do.
“Can we stay a few more minutes?” she asks softly. How can I say no? I’d stay here all night with her if she wanted me to.
“Sure.”
“I’m happy we did this.”
My brows furrow. “You are?”
“I am. You’ve been...awesome and respectful. I can’t thank you enough for making this—” she lets out a heavy sigh. “—I’m going to regret saying this, but the best ‘hang out’ I’ve ever been on.”
I really wish she’d stop sometimes with the shit she says. Yes, I’m happy to hear that she’s had a good time with me. Yes, I want her to be comfortable with me.
But I want more. I want to be able to wrap my arms around her and kiss her when I want.
“I’m glad,” I deadpan, fighting the never-ending battle within my head.
“Colson?”
“Mhm?” She leans closer to me, halting my breathing in place. I can smell her clean scent, her bare arm rubbing against mine, and my body starts to hum with her proximity.
“Sawyer,” I mutter in a hoarse voice. “Are you—” Her lips press light and sweetly into mine.
A surprised exhale leaves my lips as I clutch her hand tightly together to keep mine from roaming to her neck.
I promised to be good, not touch her, technically I didn’t start the hand holding, and I’ll be keeping my damn word.
And this is what it felt like to be kissed by Sawyer Boyd.
I let her kiss me, fighting back the use of my tongue to deepen my fantasies. I want to taste and know every inch of Sawyer’s mouth, to consume her like she does me.
The redhead beauty has done exactly what I didn’t want. I didn’t want to want her, didn’t want to get enraptured with her presence and become what Gavin had been—obsessed, enamoured, completely swept away by what she means. The definition of her isn’t in the dictionary, leaving no man ready for what to expect.
And I’m not ready.
I can’t do this with her.
She can’t take my dreams away from me.
But I want her to take everything else; my pain, the memories of seeing my dad hanging in his office, the way I feel like I have no one’s support.
How I feel alone.
Sawyer breaks the kiss, leaving my brain and body in shambles. I wish I could read her right now. If she regrets what she’s just done, if she isn’t as affected as I am right now.
She just broke her own rule, and my mind sprints to what that means. Again, no definition in a dictionary to look up.
It’ll be something I’ll never regret. I don’t care how much she fights this attraction we have toward each other because I know she feels it. It’s too fucking hard to miss.
Sawyer squeezes my hand, making my heart do a somersault. “Now you made me break a rule.”
“Why did you do that?” My mouth is so dry that my words barely come out as a whisper.
“To make you forget,” she replies. “And because, you were right. I always wondered if it was you I should’ve kissed that day.”
Present day
Looking over paint swatches and samples of tile for the last hour, I throw the last one on my mom’s kitchen island and sigh. I’m not going to miss this fucking place at all. The moment I sign the closing papers for this shit hole, I’ll feel like the weight of years filled with memories will be lifted off of me. It was the one place I never missed when I left Freemont.
Coming back here is like living in a haunting of reminiscences and reminders of times when Dad was here. When we sat in this exact kitchen, minus the white marble countertops and fancy lighting, talking about baseball and the adult league he was on. Where we compared batting averages and who could score the most RBIs for the season.
It was a memorial of when my life was euphoric and hopeful. Then tragic and miserable when he took his own life within these very walls.
My dad’s office has been taunting me since being back. I’ve passed it a million times but refuse to go inside. I’m afraid of what I might feel or what fucked-up thing might impede in my damn mind. My body goes into panic mode because I can’t face reliving that day I walked in to him hanging from the ceiling fan.
He possibly didn’t mean to fail me, I’ll never know the answer to what he thought he’d find afterwards or why he’d leave me behind, but I delve short on my end of the bargain too.
I didn’t make it to the big leagues. I went to school to be a fucking coach and picked up a side gig of being the gym teacher at Freemont. I didn’t need to feel Dad near me right now to hear about why I didn’t listen, why I left, and what I gave up over a girl at eighteen. Everything that was, didn’t work, even when I ran away. No matter where I went people haunted me.
Except my mother, surprisingly, even though she was dramatic as hell when she was alive.
I donated all her things to Goodwill, had her expensive paintings auctioned off to get whatever money they co
uld get for them. I was keeping the money for Jace. The kid deserved a damn good life with his talent, I was just happy his mom seemed to have a good head on her shoulders to support him. I hope she continued to because I didn’t want Gavin sinking his grubby claws into him if he hit the pros.
As long as Gavin stayed the fuck out of his life, the kid would be fine.
My front door opens and slams, followed by clicking sounds off the hardwood floors, announcing heels. I glance over at the threshold of the kitchen expecting...not her.
Sawyer stands in my kitchen, wearing a pale yellow dress and nude heels, showing off her perfect legs. Her hair is down and draped over the thin straps of her dress, looking all sorts of bothered and pissed.
Immediately, I stand from my stool and start to round the island. “Hey, what’s wrong?” Her eyes are glazed with unshed tears, and my heart sinks into my stomach.
“You wouldn’t do that to me again, would you?” she croons. “Not after...the other day.”
I furrow my brows. “Do what?”
“You said this wasn’t a game, Colson.” She begins to shake her head. “You said you—” I reach for her, my hands landing on her forearms.
“Tell me what happened, I didn’t do anything,” I vouch. “I’ve been so busy with the guys for baseball, and I’m picking out—”
“The dean from my college called me,” she blurts. “Accusing me, in so many words, of copying off someone’s essay paper.”
I frown. “I didn’t do a thing. I don’t even know which college you go to.” She bites her bottom lip and looks away from me.
The pricking urge at the back of my neck screams at me to get her to believe me. After what happened the other day, in my soon-to-be new house, something cracked and shifted. Instead of loathing her, seeing Sawyer here overwhelms me a little because I’ve wanted to text her to see how she’s been, but I’ve prohibited myself from doing just that.
I’m still organizing the chaos of what we are, and I don’t want to say things I don’t mean. But when I said I care for her and what we were doing wasn’t a game, it was the truth. And right now, I wouldn’t hurt her or her career, no matter how much my thoughts are in turmoil over the other day and our past.
