You’re the One I Don’t Want

by Carrie Aarons

  A sick, sour feeling crept up along the back of my neck and took hold of my throat as I read texts from two of my buddies on the football team. In a nutshell, they were reaching out to tell me that my girl had fucked that new quarterback, kid with the last name Kent.

  Kenzie, a girl I’d hooked up with last year, had sent a grainy picture of Annabelle and this kid standing by the fire, but that proved nothing.

  It was only when I read the text from one of my best friends, Jeremy, that I knew it had to be true.

  Jeremy: Dude, hate to be the one to tell you this … but, I saw Annabelle making out with that new sophomore quarterback. I’m sorry, man.

  I had to control myself from throwing my phone against the window. Or crushing it in my fist. The poison of rage started to sprint along my veins, coursing through me until I was one big, hot ball of fury.

  How dare she?

  I put a steadying hand on the seat in front of me and looked around, wondering if any of the other guys on the travel team, those who attended Haven High, knew what my girl had done tonight.

  But … maybe it was all a misunderstanding. Maybe she was drunk, and he took advantage of her. Then I’d really kill him. Or maybe the people who were at the party just didn’t realize the situation.

  I could talk to her. We could figure it out.

  I read Jeremy’s text again and knew. No … we were not going to figure this out.

  I remember stomping up those front steps at school, waiting for her.

  I remember people staring as she walked up to me.

  I remember her answers, short and cold and to the point. Did she even care that what we had was over?

  Did she even care how much she’d hurt me?

  After I’d dumped her on that morning, I barely saw her the rest of the school year. I kept my distance, except for the bonfire where I’d punched Cain Kent in the face. Twice. I made it known that she wasn’t to come to the parties I was at and to leave my group of friends alone.

  I went to prom with another girl and fucked a different one at the lake cabin we rented for prom weekend. I graduated and went on with my life, packing away the heartache for Annabelle in a small recess of that organ that stopped beating in my chest. I never dated another person, just had the occasional one-night stand.

  Honestly, I would have been just fine on my own. I would play the game I love, travel the world, and do what I pleased with no strings attached.

  If I’d never run into Annabelle Mills outside that restaurant, I would never have to think about my stupid, fucking heart again.

  Nine

  Annabelle

  Hey Annabelle!

  I hope your week is going well! I wanted to say that I loved that pink suede couch you picked out on last week’s episode.

  Mr. Kutch wanted to know if you would be able to make a meeting with him in the next few weeks to discuss something?

  Let me know,

  Mallory Hues

  Executive Assistant to Kenneth Kutch, CEO of the Flipping Channel

  I’m mildly shocked when I open up my email halfway through the school week. I have a university email which is reserved for classes and professors, and a personal email for all of my Hart & Home business.

  The personal one is a certified mess. I may be good at design and decor, and even handling people most days, but organization is definitely not my strong suit. Nothing is sorted by folders; vendor emails are mixed in with invoices from furniture designers and marble warehouses. And there are about fifty unread messages somewhere in the pages and pages of emails I haven’t deleted, and I’m too lazy to find them and read them.

  So it’s weird when I open a message from Mallory, the assistant to the channel’s CEO. She’s always been kind to me when we’ve had to communicate, but I wonder why she’s emailing now. I wonder what Kenneth Kutch wants to speak to me about.

  Maybe they want to give me my own show.

  I think the thought, and then think about how crazy and egotistical I am to even consider this as a possibility. But then, I take the thoughts or irrationality back, because I know I could have my own show. How ready I am to stop living on the outskirts of Ramona and James’ show.

  I know how lucky I am. How jealous people are. The shit they say behind my back, that I must be blowing a producer or having threesomes with James and Ramona. I am aware of how truly insane it is that a random college intern is now on one of the most popular TV shows in the United States.

  But … at the same time, it’s not insane. Have you ever seen those interviews with celebrities or D-list celebs, like the Real Housewives, when they say that they just always knew they were going to be famous?

  That’s how I felt. How I feel.

  That may sound conceited, but it’s true. From a young age, I knew I was supposed to be in the limelight. At first, I didn’t understand the buzz around me, why people always wanted to do what I was doing or be close to me. But over time, I saw the power I could yield. And now I understand that that power, that control, and presence I command, has propelled me to the place I always wanted to get to.

  So no, I’m not surprised that the channel executives want to have a meeting with me. I am confident and self-assured, which most women like to tear other women down for. Why do we do that? It’s okay to know that you’re kick-ass at what you do. It’s more than okay to be sure in your heart and mind that you’ll succeed and adopt a take-no-prisoners attitude while trying to do that.

  Some might call me a bitch for that. I call it ambitious.

  After catching up on some other emails, I pack my laptop into my school bag and change into workout clothes. Every Monday, Wednesday and Friday, I hit the fitness center before class to get my cardio and weights in. Running is a stress relief for me, and if you add in some pump-up country music at full blast, I’m sometimes blessed enough to stop hearing my own thoughts for five minutes.

  I text Harper before I leave my dorm room to see if she wants to meet me there.

  Harper: Cain isn’t training at the Athletics Center today, so he’s tagging along. See you in ten.

  Annabelle: Yay, third wheel status. As usual.

  Harper: Don’t act as if you really want a wheel so that we could double date. You’ve flattened every wheel we’ve tried to set you up with.

  I have to chuckle to myself as I walk down the last set of stairs in my dorm building and out into the chilly campus air. I wrap my scarf tighter around my neck and curse myself for wearing workout pants with mesh stripes down the calves. My poor legs are freezing.

  Harper is right, though. Three times, she and Cain have tried to set me up with one of his friends from class or the football team. And all three times, I’ve been a complete asshole on the dates. The guys were either too boring, too egotistical, or too … well, I don’t mean to be mean, but dumb. Oh all right, I do mean to be mean.

  I’m just picky when it comes to guys. Which is usually why I’d rather kiss them than talk to them. I may not be my roommate, who should host a Dr. Ruth-type show on the campus TV station, but I’ve had my fair share of one-night stands. All I want is a release. In that moment, sex is not a vulnerability. I’m not showing love to that other person. I’m using them for a couple of blissful seconds of orgasm, and then I want them to get out of my bed.

  It’s probably a harsh truth, but it’s mine. I just don’t want that connection. It’s distracting, and no one has caught my eye in that way since Boone. And look how royally I screwed that one up. No, I was glad to stay the third wheel.

  Harper and Cain walk toward me where I stand at the entrance to the fitness center, their hands interlocked, and I roll my eyes.

  “Please no making out on the treadmill,” I say in greeting.

  Harper laughs. “Of course we wouldn’t do that. I can’t stand the couples who kiss between every chest press.”

  Cain raises his eyebrows. “I can promise that. I can’t promise we won’t have sex in the locker room.”

  I make a gagging noise an
d Harper pushes him. “Gross. I won’t even go in there without flip-flops. I’d never have sex in there.”

  “I think I can convince you.” He grabs her waist and squeezes, tickling her.

  I feel his presence before I turn around and see him. Isn’t that weird? How attuned you can be to a person without having seen them in years? The hair on my arms sticks up, and the cold air around me becomes charged with heat. Even though it’s the middle of winter, I begin to sweat.

  “Figures you’re still with this guy.”

  Boone’s voice is deep and threatening, his eyes glued in disgust to Cain.

  I think I’m so shocked to see him on campus, that I don’t even think about him and Cain being in the same airspace. “What are you doing here? You can’t use these facilities, they’re for students.”

  Those whiskey-colored eyes are flinty as they flick to me. “And I’m a student. So what, you’re with this asshole?”

  Cain smirks. “This asshole is definitely taken.”

  He’s toying with Boone, just for a rise. He’s lucky if he doesn’t get punched in the face again. I can hear Cain grind his teeth.

  Harper is naïve to the situation. She raises a hand in greeting. “Uh hi, Harper. Taker of this asshole.”

  Boone shakes his head as if to clear it, trying to work out the situation. “You are the one he’s with?”

  I butt in. “You attend college here? What … why?”

  I’m so confused. He signed a major league contract. He’s due to start for the Triple AAA team in Austin (okay, so I googled his deal). Why would he be going to college?

  And then my brain starts whooping out alert bells and whistles. He can’t go here. I can’t be forced to see him every day on campus for who knows how long. It was bad enough when we attended the same high school for a couple of months after he’d dumped me. But having to run into him awkwardly years later? My body shudders at the tension of it all.

  Harper smiles, finally figuring out who he is. “Ah, you must be the infamous Boone. Yes, I’m this asshole’s girlfriend. I love him, but good job punching younger Cain in the face. He was a real prick when I met him.”

  “Hey!” Cain reacts to her joking insult.

  Harper continues. “It’s a fucked-up situation, to be honest. Annabelle is my stepsister, who also happens to have slept with my boyfriend, but you already knew that. It was before I met either of them, though. And Cain became my boyfriend before my mom married Annabelle’s dad, so it’s not as weird as you think.”

  I want to walk away from this conversation. I’m mortified from all of this tea being spilled, and jumpy as all hell having Boone standing just feet from me. Dripping in sweat, did I mention he was dripping in sweat? And despite it being cold as the North Pole, we Texas girls didn’t have a thick skin for winter, he’s only wearing workout shorts and a skin-tight Under Armor T-shirt. I have to actually tighten my thigh muscles to keep from rubbing my legs together.

  “No, it sounds pretty fucked-up.” A small smile ghosts Boone’s lips, and my mouth goes dry.

  How can I loathe this man but also want to see him naked all at the same time?

  Ten

  Boone

  How can I loathe this woman but also want to see her naked all at the same time?

  I can’t stop staring at Annabelle’s side profile, especially the lower half of her that is clad in those skin-tight black leggings that the entire female population of the world seems to own these days. Those black leggings will be the death of men, I swear.

  “Hey man, listen, I hope the best for you in the pros. And, no hard feelings.” That asshole Cain Kent holds his hand out to me.

  He wants me to shake his hand, like a man. I search inside and find that I really don’t hold a grudge against him. Plus, his girlfriend and Annabelle’s stepsister is actually kind of funny, in the couple of minutes I’ve known her, so maybe he has changed.

  I reach out and take his hand, shaking it. “Yeah, thanks.”

  For a second after we have our tender bro moment, the awkward silence penetrates the air.

  And then Harper speaks. “Well, we are off to work out. See you in there, Annabelle.”

  She drags Cain away, leaving a pissed off and gaping-mouthed Annabelle standing in front of me. Her eyes are throwing daggers at her retreating friends’ backs, and then she turns to me.

  “Seriously? You can just forgive him, but you got into a shouting match with me on the street the other day? And you go here? You can’t be a student here.”

  I chuckle. “Always telling people what they can and can’t do. I am a student here. I want to get a degree. I’m not just some caveman baseball player, unlike what you may think about me. And yeah, I can forgive that guy. There really isn’t anything to forgive him for, honestly. We aren’t going to be friends, but I don’t hold anything against him. He wasn’t the one who cheated on me.”

  I had to shove it in her face again because the wound she’d left in my heart still hadn’t scabbed over all the way.

  “I get it, Boone. You hate me. I’m not your biggest fan either, so just stay away from me and I’ll stay away from you.”

  Her admission reminds me of her words on the sidewalk by the Big Cheese that day. “What did I ever do to you?”

  I want to rile her up. I want some kind of actual emotion from this cold robot-woman who never let me completely in. “I’ll avoid you, you avoid me.”

  Annabelle dodges the question and skitters away into the fitness center. She’s running scared, I’m just not sure why. And I’m reminded that it’s going to be very hard to avoid her. Sure, our college campus is big, but its fate’s cruel joke that we’ve run into each other twice in two weeks in a city of more than a million people. It’s going to happen again. I could avoid her at the gym, though. Today, I’d just gone to get a change of scenery for my workout. Students here didn’t recognize me as much as someone would at the team’s practice facility, which usually featured reporters here and there.

  I’m not crazy enough, today at least, to go after her. But something in me wants to. What the hell is wrong with me? I came here to do two things. Earn my college degree and kick-start my professional baseball career. I have no time for women, especially those who broke my damn heart.

  I need to get a damn grip.

  Baseball, baseball, just think about baseball.

  From the time I could hold a whiffle ball bat, I knew that baseball would be it for me.

  The strategy, the superstition, the quiet, steady rhythm of the game … it all intrigued me. I would stay up late at night reading the backs of baseball cards, memorizing stats and facts about the game’s most famous players through its history.

  When I was about twelve, I’d been at a clinic for hitting and fielding. Back then, my parents and I had thought it was just a hobby. Something I was good at and could probably make the high school team when I got there, but nothing super serious.

  And that’s when it happened. Something fell into place in my mind, and I began hitting every single softball pitch they threw to me over the fence of the little league park. Some local travel team coaches had been in attendance and had approached my mom and dad about getting me onto their roster.

  From there, it escalated quickly. I practiced twenty hours a week year round. There were private lessons and professionally fitted gloves. I traveled every weekend from February to August for tournaments. The press started wanting to talk to me. Mom started clipping newspaper articles and making an album of my accomplishments. Our travel team won State. Dad began putting together highlight reels from my high school games since I’d made varsity as a freshman. Then scouts started approaching me at games, telling me how much so-and-so college would love for me to be a part of their program.

  This was my ticket. This was our ticket.

  It wasn’t that I grew up poor, but the Grahams definitely weren’t the wealthiest people in Haven. Both of my parents had jobs, and they kept food on the table and the heat on in the win
ter … but there wasn’t much left over. I wore clothes from Walmart or Goodwill, I saved up years’ worth of birthday money for the clunker of a truck I drove once I got my license.

  And especially now, with what’s been going on at home for years … we need it more than ever. I still needed to sit down with my agent and the team to hammer out my rookie contract, but once I had that money, I’d be sending a chunk of it home for Mom.

  And hope to God that she didn’t use it to enable Dad.

  I started the SUV I’d rented since moving here, someday I’d get around to buying something, and drove back to my apartment. Downtown Austin was buzzing on this weekday, and it took me twice as long as it would have to get home when I was at my original college choice in Pennsylvania.

  Austin was in Texas, and it was a city, but it pretty much qualified as its own brand of Country with a capital C. Sure, people here still listened to Blake Shelton and Carrie Underwood, but I mention the younger country stars because that’s what this place is. Young. It’s a living, breathing millennial hub, with tech companies and liberalism weaved into the old Texas ways. There is both a shop for cowboy boots and a vegan taco counter on my block.

  I’m enjoying the city and am more surprised that I enjoy being back in my home state.

  But I need to stay focused. I need to become a drill sergeant about dedicating myself to my sport. And the only other thing that I can let be a distraction are classes.

  There is no room for Annabelle Mills and her drama in my agenda.

  Eleven

  Annabelle

  “Let’s go up and introduce ourselves.”

  James is acting like a giddy schoolboy and I could slap him right now.

  I rode back from the country house we’d been working on all day with him and Ramona. They said we needed to have a design meeting, and no better way to kill two birds with one stone than by using the hour commute back to the city to have that discussion.