But it’s not all prose and slam poetry, which though they are thrilling, are nothing compared to our sex life. I almost can’t believe that I can actually say that . . . my sex life! From virgin to fuck-me-anywhere-and-anytime in a whiplash of ‘Oh, God. Yeah!’ Definitely exciting.
Somehow all mixed together, though, Zach and I have reached a place I wasn’t sure I’d ever get to. Excited comfort. Him, my cocky jock who puts up with my prickliness and calls me on my sass. Me, his mouthy brat who challenges him to use his brain and supports his dreams on and off the football field.
I’ve got big plans today.
Big, responsible plans that include such titillating endeavors as writing a three-hundred-word article on the new smoothie cart in the quad, studying vocabulary words for biology, and reading the last section of Paradise Lost for my study session with Zach tonight. But all of that has to wait until I finish my cup of coffee and take a shower because I need the wake-me-up to get rolling on my list that doesn’t sound bad but will definitely keep me busy while Zach hits the weight room with the team this afternoon.
I’m mid-caffeine fix when my phone rings. Recognizing Madonna’s “Papa Don’t Preach” and hoping that my dad will listen to the prayer, I answer.
“Hey, Daddy!” Somehow, my voice usually reverts to a younger version of myself when I talk to him.
“Norma Jean. There’s my little ladybug. How’re you doing, baby?” He regresses to the childhood nicknames he’s always called me too. Secretly, I love it, though I sometimes tease him that I’m not quite as small as a ‘red-headed ladybug’ anymore. He always winks and tells me that to him, I’ll always be his ladybug.
“Doing great, working hard at the paper and keeping my grades up in all my classes. The usual. How’re you doing? What are you and Mom up to?” I ask, knowing that these are just pleasant niceties until we get to the meat of the conversation. I love my dad, and he loves me, but he’s a dedicated businessman through and through, not one for small talk, though I know he keeps up with what’s going on in my life through Mom.
“Good to hear. Keep working, Norma Jean, and you’re going to be running The Chronicle by your senior year.” I smile at his certainty, knowing that’s my hope too. “Your mother is industrious, as always. I believe her current charity du jour is something about rescue dogs? Oh, greyhounds . . . that’s it, rehoming race dogs. She actually mentioned bringing one home, if you can imagine, but when I reminded her that dogs tend to make her sneeze, she doubled down on finding twice as many their forever homes. I think that’s a win-win, for me and the dogs.”
I laugh. Though I’ve already heard the story from Mom, it’s interesting to hear my dad’s take on the conversation. My mom’s version featured him grumping that she ‘wasn’t bringing an animal that had never known grass to live in a penthouse apartment because it’d be torture for the poor critter even if it was luxury to them.’ That’s my dad . . . steel exterior that he shows to the world, and the softest teddy bear center he shows to my mom, and sometimes to me.
“Well, good for them . . . and for you, then.” I wait, knowing he’ll get around to his real reason for the call if I give him the opening.
“I wanted to see if you’re available for lunch today. It’s a business thing and my associate is bringing his son, so I need my daughter there to represent the family name.” His tone has switched to a more clipped professional cadence and I can vaguely hear papers flipping in the background.
“Dad, I’ve got to study today. Maybe some other time?” I say, hoping for the out. I’d love to have lunch with him, but a dry business lunch sounds ridiculously boring and irresponsible with my limited time.
“Norma. I’d like to have lunch with my only daughter today. It’ll help me out, and my associate will be grateful to have someone age-appropriate to engage with his son while we talk business. Please.” He’s not asking, he’s telling me that I’m doing this.
“Fine, Dad. What time and where?” I say, making sure the eyeroll is audible in the sigh I add to the words.
After a quick breakdown of lunch expectations, we hang up.
So much for a useful day of productivity.
“Ladybug, so good of you to come on such short notice,” Dad says as he opens the door. It’s his version of acknowledging that this is a big ask and saying thank you.
I nod. “Of course.” As I come in, I see that Mom has had the foyer painted again . . . or at least I think it was blue last time I was here. Truth be told, I don’t come to this property often. It’s right downtown, near Blackstone Industries and close to campus, but Dad’s rarely here. He spends most of his time in luxury hotel rooms on his innumerable business trips. And Mom prefers to stay in the ‘country house’ just outside the city limits. Yes, that’s actually what they call it. Admittedly, I live in a strange world, straddling the ridiculous wealth I grew up in and my own rather middle-class current situation, but even that is funded by my parents. But one day, I’ll be self-sufficient. I can’t wait to have a little studio apartment of my very own with my name on the lease. Maybe an odd dream for a ‘spoiled little rich girl’ but it’s the truth. I want to make it on my own. Just like my dad. Just like my brother.
“Come, let me introduce you.” I follow my dad into the living room where two men stand up as I enter. They’re obviously father and son, looking like a time-progression photo of the same person. “Norma, this is my friend, Joe, and his son, Jake. Joe, Jake, this is my daughter, Norma.”
Joe offers his hand, which I shake politely. He’s probably my dad’s age, late forties or maybe a well-preserved fifty, but a bit broader with a slight paunch beneath his dress shirt. “The photos Lewis has shown me don’t do you justice, my dear,” he says complimentarily.
“Thank you.” And then I turn to shake Jake’s hand and freeze. Why does he look familiar? I can’t place him, but something about him tickles along the periphery of my mind. He shakes my offered palm, not giving me anything to work with about how we might know each other.
We sit down to dinner, the dry chatter between Dad and Joe boring me to tears, especially as Joe waxes on about Jake joining him in the family business. But it gives me time to try to tease out the mystery of Jake.
And then like a bomb, Joe offers the answer. “Norma, I hear you’re a journalism major now? Jake’s in college too. Plays quarterback for the Ravens, actually.” He says it with pride, patting Jake on the shoulder.
My eyes jump to Jake, who’s smiling mischievously. “Yeah, I think I’ve seen you around campus. Seems I’ve heard you’re dating one of the guys on the team, right?”
Dad chokes on his water. “You are? I didn’t know that, Norma. When do I get to meet this young man?”
This cannot be happening. One, the slimeball sitting across from me is Jake Robertson, the guy who pissed Zach off so badly and almost ran him over with a fucking car in a dangerous flare of temper. Two, he just outed my relationship with Zach to my dad. No, I’m not hiding Zach in any way, and I’m actually damn proud to be with him, but there’s a step-by-step to these things, and jumping from seriously-dating to meet-the-parents skips a few rather important steps.
Jake smirks, obviously pleased with himself for stirring up drama. I narrow my eyes at him, trying to figure out his game because he’s got to have one. But I realize my dad is saying my name and turn to look. “When I’m ready, Dad. And not a moment before.” I let the hard tone I learned from him coat the words, and he must hear the warning because he doesn’t press, though the look in his eyes says this conversation is far from over.
“Yeah, I hear you’ve been helping Zach study quite a bit, even got his English grade up from failing to an A. A girlfriend better than any tutor. Say, you’re working with him on Paradise Lost, right? Maybe you could read over my final essay for class too? Give me a few pointers, you know, since you’re already helping him?” Every word is said with the sweetest of smiles plastered to his face, like my helping him would be the ultimate kindness. If I didn
’t know better, I’d even believe him. That’s how well he has this good guy act down.
“Oh, I don’t know about that. I’m just so busy these days. And I’m not tutoring Zach. We have study dates. I guess the extra time hitting the books is paying off for him.” I let saccharin sarcasm drip from every word as I say, “I guess I’m just a good influence like that.”
Jake laughs. “God knows, I need a good influence. How about we let the father figures talk business, and you meet me over at the school library? You could look at my paper really fast, and I know it’d help me so much.”
Before I can say no, Dad interjects. “I’m sure Norma would love to help you, Jake.”
I hiss, “Dad,” and then school my features into the placid steel of my mother. “May I talk to you in the kitchen for a moment, please?” It’s not a question.
He nods deferentially to Joe and follows me into the kitchen, but before I can say a word, he whispers, “Norma, I don’t know what’s going on out there, though I realize there’s more than what’s on the surface. But I also know that Joe is an old friend and a business associate I’d like to maintain a positive relationship with. So, read his paper, give him a few suggestions, and be done with it.”
“Dad, I’m not some pawn to be used in your business deals, and that guy out there is basically Zach’s nemesis. He’s using his dad and you, and probably me. I just don’t know what his end game is yet.”
“Then go with him and see if you can figure it out. That’s one of your special talents, isn’t it? Investigate what his nefarious plan is.” Though he says it like it’s a silly idea, it’s actually not a bad one. His voice softens, the dad I know and love and who loves me. “It’s not a big deal, ladybug, unless you say no and make it one.”
“Fine,” I agree, though it’s the last fucking thing I want to do. But Dad’s right. Maybe I can use the time to figure out what Jake’s up to, because he’s sure as fuck up to something.
Back in the dining room, Jake is already looking smug. It doesn’t help when I say, “Sure, Jake, I can go to the library now, if you want to go get your paper.”
He’s up out of his chair faster than a blink, gesturing for me to go first. “After you.”
I give my goodbyes to Mr. Robertson and Dad, making sure to give Dad a bit of a stink eye.
At the library, I sit down at a table right up front, surrounded by people entering and exiting, grabbing snacks from the vending machine, and surrounding us at all times. I want the safety net of a crowd. I wish I could’ve gotten ahold of Zach on the way over, but the phone reception in the concrete-built basement weight room is non-existent.
“Okay, so . . . let me see your paper,” I say brusquely as Jake comes in a minute or two after me and sits down.
Jake grins and pulls it out of his backpack. “Thank you for doing this.” Something about the way he says it seems off, though he’s smiling calmly.
I take it from him, careful not to touch his hand, and begin to read it over. It’s fine, not great literary critique, but nothing that warrants a tutor, for damn sure. I hear my dad on one shoulder, telling me to give a few tips and suss out any ill intentions. But there’s the prickly, mouthy brat Norma on my other shoulder, begging to just put it all out there and see what happens.
The devil wins.
“Your paper’s fine, Jake, though I’m sure you knew that,” I say, narrowing my eyes, and he has the grace to look chagrined. “So, what’s this all about? Why the smokescreen? Especially when you know it’s only going to cause problems with Zach and with the team.”
He sits back in his chair, looking casually calm as if he hasn’t a care in the world, and rubs a thumb along his bottom lip. “Look, I’m not a nice guy, or at least not always a nice guy,” he says with a shrug, like it’s beyond his control. “But I just don’t like the way Zach’s treating you and I didn’t know how to talk to you without the ruse. That’s why I got my dad to arrange lunch with Lewis and you today. If I just came up to you randomly, I figured you’d blow me off, but I just don’t think it’s right and you deserve to know.” He shakes his head, puppy dog eyes looking at me sadly.
I sigh, not believing his schtick for a minute but figuring that maybe this’ll get me the information I’m looking for. “Fine, I’ll bite. What’s he saying?”
I’m expecting him to say Zach’s engaging in some colorful locker room chatter. Goodness knows, he’s got enough ammunition for some racy stories, though I don’t think he’d blab like that. What I’m not expecting are Jake’s next words.
“He keeps talking about how he needed a tutor and Coach set him up with some fake girlfriend thing to cover it up, but that he’s such a fucking god that he turned it into a pussy-on-demand situation for the semester. Basically, he says he just uses you as a place to stick his dick, if you’ll pardon the vulgarity.” His tone is sincere and disgusted, like he can’t believe someone would say that.
There’s so much information in what he just said that I can’t even process it all at once, and instead, I have to take it in bits and chunks. My mind whirls.
Okay, there is no way, I mean literally no way, Zach is talking about me like I’m a cum receptacle with no emotions, not after everything we’ve shared. And the mere fact that I don’t even consider that a possibility speaks volumes about just how far we’ve come. No doubt, no second thoughts, no insecurity. I know without question that Jake is lying about that and using the obscene insult to poke at my emotions, expecting my horror.
But I’m not horrified. I’m furious but force the explosion of words bubbling in my throat down as I consider the rest of what Jake said.
Tutor. Fake girlfriend. That was our original cover story. But no one is supposed to know that. Just me and Zach. Coach and Erica. And it’s certainly not true now. I don’t think it ever really was.
I wonder if Jake overhead Coach talking about it to Zach or maybe to someone else? He is around the locker room with the rest of the guys, so it’s definitely possible, I suppose.
And then an image pops in my head. Of Erica in full Ravens gear. Like a super fan. Like a . . . groupie.
And though I have no reason to think Jake and Erica know each other, every instinct I have says that’s who told him the whole secret setup.
Jake looks at me expectantly, waiting with a sad face for my breakdown, but I can see the eager glee in his eyes. I take the fastest second to compose my thoughts and then strike.
“Tell me, is Erica part of your whole evil plot to destroy Zach? Or did she just share some pillow talk after what I’m sure was a disappointing fuck?” My face is stoic, nothing more than mere curiosity.
Jake’s jaw drops. “What? Erica didn’t say shit, and she’s a better fuck than you are. I know because Zach’s been mouthing.”
I smirk. “Oh, so you do know Erica? The editor of The Chronicle, who it seems is rather unable to keep her mouth shut. Kind of an important skill for a reporter, wouldn’t you say?” Anger lights up in his eyes, and though I know it’s a dangerous button to push, I can’t stop my mouth. “And I wasn’t talking about her being a shitty fuck. I was talking about you, Snake.” I say it like it’s beyond obvious that it’s the most ironic nickname in the world, like the guys in the locker room who called him that were joking about his size, or the lack thereof.
“You fucking bitch! I was this-fucking-close to finally getting my shot. Zach was almost failing, mostly on his own right, but a little cash here or there never hurt, and it was going to be mine. I should be the star quarterback of the Ravens, the one the team looks up to, the one the scouts come to watch, the one headed for the pros. And if it wasn’t for that fucking contract-blocker, it would be me. Me!”
His anger is getting out of control, his voice louder, and we’re drawing an audience in the quiet of the library. I’m pretty sure I even see a few cell phones recording Jake’s apparent breakdown, and he follows my glance around, seeing the attention centered on him. But though he seems to want it on the field, deserve
d or not, right now, he wants out of the limelight.
He grabs his paper and backpack, slinging it over one shoulder as he points at me, saying loudly enough for everyone to hear, “Fucking whore . . . sold your pussy to the quarterback. And for what? An interview with Coach? You’re worse than a whore. You’re a cheap slut.”
There’s a collective gasp, and then Jake stomps out of the library. All eyes turn to me, questions and judgments and concern in every one of them. I dig for a shield, throwing up some sass, and say with a tiny laugh, “Sold my pussy to the quarterback? He means my boyfriend. And trust me, I gave it freely because . . . have you seen him? Whoo!” I let a saucy smile take my face, and my weird response seems to have put most folks off. I guess they were waiting for my breakdown too. Fucking vultures.
I grab my bag, knowing that Zach’s in the weight room and that I need to talk to him now. And Coach. And Erica.
But Zach first.
Zach
“All right, man. Throw that weight up and give me three. I got you covered,” Tim Perkins, one of the wide receivers, tells me. I spread my hands wide on the cool metal bar, pressing it up before lowering the weight to my chest. I do the three reps and set it back on the rack.
Standing up, I stretch a bit. “Okay, your turn,” I say as we switch places and he lies down on the bench.
The Virgin Diaries: The Complete Series Page 35
