by Mariano, Sam
“That’s easy for you to say now,” I mutter. “You think you’re invincible. I’ve had visions of onesies dancing through my mind all day. I can’t handle the stress of risky sex. We can’t do that again. I’ll go on the pill or the shot or something, but it takes a good month to kick in, so for the foreseeable future, if we’re going to have sex, you need to wrap it up.”
“I don’t think I’m invincible,” he disagrees. “It just doesn’t scare me as much as it does you. We don’t see it the same way. You view an accidental pregnancy as something that would automatically ruin your life. I don’t. While I’m certainly not trying to get you pregnant, if it happened, I wouldn’t fling myself off a bridge over it.”
“No, you’d fling me off the bridge,” I mutter at him.
Carter smirks. “I wouldn’t fling you off a bridge, either. I’m an asshole in a lot of ways, but not when it comes to kids. I like kids. If I knocked you up, I’d take responsibility. I wouldn’t run off and leave you here slaving away and taking care of my ‘Carter clone’ all by yourself. And you’re too smart to go to community college, anyway,” he adds dismissively.
“Just for the first two years,” I defend. “To save money. I’d only be takin’ general education classes anyway, then for my last two years I’ll transfer somewhere else.”
Carter’s eyebrows rise. “Wait, that’s your actual plan? Not just your teen mom horror scenario, but what you actually plan to do?”
“Unless I can get a full scholarship elsewhere, yeah. I mean, I’m still hoping for that, but I’m trying to stay realistic to avoid being crushed if it doesn’t happen. I can’t afford tuition at out-of-state schools without financial aid. There’s a school in PA where students in the top 10 percent of their classes get free rides. Out of all the schools I’ve looked at, that one seems like the best fit for me, so I’m hoping I can go there. The campus is beautiful, too. You should see pictures of it in fall, with all the trees.” I sigh. “I want to go to school up north so badly.”
“Fall’s my favorite, too,” he agrees. “You ever experienced a northern fall?”
I shake my head. “I’ve always lived here. Never even visited. For my 18th birthday present, my mom wanted to surprise me with a weekend in New York, but she couldn’t come up with enough money to pull it off.”
“That sucks. A weekend in New York isn’t long for a first visit, but better than nothing. Where were you planning to stay?”
“I don’t know,” I offer, eyeing the basket, debating whether or not I want to keep eating. “We never got that far. Somewhere in Manhattan, I imagine.”
“When the season’s over, I’m going for a visit. You should come with me.”
I’m glad I’m not eating or drinking anything when he says that, because I might actually choke. “Come with you? In a few months? To New York?”
Nodding like it’s no big deal to make plans for us a few months out, he says, “Yeah, why not? I’ll be going anyway, and it’ll be more fun with company. I can show you around that corner of the city, show you around campus. I’ve gone for school visits already, but this time I’ve gotta go check out the apartment and sign some papers.”
“What apartment? Columbia is setting you up with your own apartment?”
“No, not Columbia. My parents. It’s my graduation present.”
Blinking, I reiterate flatly, “Your graduation present is an apartment in New York?”
As if that’s a normal gift, he casually reaches for a French fry. “My dad got a pretty good deal on it. Ugly divorce. NYC real estate is always a good investment,” he offers, when I continue to stare. “It’s a 10-minute walk from the school, and since I’m going to be there for many years, it makes more sense to buy than to rent, anyway. We aren’t renters.”
Still struggling to wrap my head around the ability to buy your son a New York City apartment, I offer, “I guess four years of rent in New York would be pretty pricey. Does that mean you won’t come home for summers?”
“Not just four years. After I graduate, I plan to go on to Columbia Law. I’m sure I’ll come home for visits, but not the whole summer. I’ll have a life there, not here. New York is home; Texas is just a pit stop.”
Every part of what he just said is fodder for some intense dissection, but I am stuck on the absolute hilarity of the first part. “Did you just say, Columbia Law?”
His brown eyes sparkle with a hint of shared amusement. “I did.”
“You’re going to law school,” I repeat, dumbstruck. “You are going to law school?”
Flashing me a grin, he says, “That’s right. I’m going to be a trial lawyer. Not what you expected?”
I throw my head back and laugh. It’s probably an inappropriate response for a lot of reasons, but I can’t help myself. When I catch my breath, I bring my gaze back to him. Seeing he’s not offended by my laughter, I ask, “Are you at least going to be gettin’ the bad guys off, or are you the one puttin’ them away? I have to know how deep your hypocrisy runs.”
“Does it really count as hypocrisy if I’m well-aware of it?” he shoots back. “Most hypocrites are in denial, fumbling around with bullshit justifications and empty reasons why they’re special and breaking the rules doesn’t make them a bad person. People who do bad things but need to believe they’re still good—that’s a hypocrite. That’s not me. I don’t lie to myself like that. I don’t have to justify my actions in order to sleep at night. I don’t blame anyone else for the way I behave, or pretend I’m being fair when I’m not. I know I’m fucked up, I just don’t care.”
Sighing, I tell him, “You’re shameless. I think that’s one of the reasons I like you, though.”
“Probably. One of the many,” he half-jokes.
“Oh, so many,” I mockingly agree. “It’s impossible to keep track of all the reasons. I should really keep a spreadsheet for all of them. Update it every time I think of one.”
Smirking, he grabs the last fry and drags it through my cheesy ketchup concoction as he stands up. “You’re such a nerd.”
“Better than being a sociopath,” I tell him, watching as he gathers up all our garbage and takes it over to toss in the trash. I grab my drink and follow him, taking a few quick gulps so I can finish it before we leave.
Carter glances back at me over his shoulder. “I told you before, I’m not a sociopath.”
“You’re something abnormal,” I tell him.
“I protect my inner world from people, that’s all,” he offers. “Give them something easier to swallow, since that’s what they need. Keeps everybody happy.”
I shake my head as he opens the door for me. “You can’t make everybody happy. That’s impossible. If you try to, eventually you’ll snap.”
“Well, I did nearly rape a girl in an empty classroom. Does that count?”
My heart freefalls and my jaw drops. I look at him with wide eyes, but he merely shrugs and heads for his car like referring to what he did to me is no big deal. Trailing along behind him, I say, “Wow, I don’t even know what to say to that.”
Because he’s absolutely depraved, he follows up that reminder of our first encounter by stopping in front of my car door, locking an arm around my waist to draw me against him, and giving me a lingering kiss.
Because my depravity apparently matches his on some level, I wrap my arms around his neck and kiss him back, allowing myself an intoxicating hit of his affection. His free hand moves to cradle my face and he deepens the kiss. His tongue tangles with mine and sends an answering jolt of electricity through my veins. Thoughts of last night suddenly spring to mind, memories of his hands on my body, the tightness of arousal in my core, that incredible fullness when he pushed himself inside me.
That tightness is back, twisting and tugging. Carter’s arm around my waist loosens and his hand drops lower so he can grab my ass while he kisses me. I gasp against his mouth, closing my eyes and dropping down from my tiptoes to break the kiss before we get too carried away.
Bre
athing a little unevenly, I tell him, “We need to get back to school.”
Instead of agreeing, he caresses my face and gives me another, briefer kiss. “Or I could fuck you in the backseat now, and then we could go back to school,” he suggests.
Smiling faintly, I shake my head and step out of his embrace. “There’s no time. Mr. Fitz is waiting.”
“Mr. Fitz likes me,” Carter insists, but he lets me move away. “I can just tell him I need your assistance for something football-related, I bet he’d let you skip the whole period.”
“Don’t even try it, Mahoney. You’re bad enough for me without tanking my grades. If you ruin my GPA, I’ll follow you to Columbia just to cock block you. I’ll follow you everywhere you go and tell all your potential wives that you have a small penis.”
“That’s not true,” he points out.
“But they’ll never know that, because my methods will be so effective they will stay far, far away from it. I’ll bring a Tootsie Roll for visual aid. I will become the bane of your existence, and then I’ll be like, ‘Well, you should’ve let me maintain my GPA and then I’d be at college in PA right now, but nooooo.’”
Carter smirks, catching me around the waist again and pressing me up against his car. “One small flaw in your plan, princess.”
I let him smash me against the warm metal at my back. Holding his gaze as he leans in until our chests are touching, I ask, “Oh yeah? What’s that?”
“If no one else is paying my dick any attention, I’ll make you pick up the slack.”
It shouldn’t send a thrill through me when he tells me he’d ‘make me,’ because he’s him, and I know he actually would. He seems to have twisted something in my brain though, because instead of wanting to push him away for saying something so perverse, I want to hook my leg around his hip and draw him closer. I want to spread my thighs and feel his heat between them. I want to play with him, egg him on, tell him to go on and do it, then.
But I can’t, because I really do need to get to class.
“Maybe that was my diabolical plan all along,” I tease, lightly.
“Maybe it was.” Carter smiles, dragging the back of his hand along the curve of my jaw. “Well played, Ellis. I hope you read the fine print, though. Now you’ve locked yourself inside a cage with the beast.”
“That’s okay,” I joke, just before his lips brush mine. “I’ve got thick skin, and I’m beginning to like when you nibble on me.”
Chapter 25
The middle-aged man beside me hasn’t washed his Longhorns jersey since the season started. He’s afraid if he does, it will interrupt the team’s winning streak. I would have been able to guess his jersey was unwashed from the faint musk wafting in my direction every time he stands and calls out encouragement to the guys on the field anyway, but I know it for a fact because in the slower moments, he strikes up conversation with me since we’re both here alone.
Given all Grace knows about Carter, I didn’t feel right asking her to come to the game with me tonight. Grace knows I have absolutely no interest in football, and that after everything went down with Jake, I would never attend a game. Yet, here I sit in the bleachers, my nails painted blue, and wearing a Longhorns tank top on top of it all. I certainly didn’t own one, but Carter brought me one after school, telling me I needed some team gear.
I don’t care about football. I still hate all of this. But I want to be supportive, so here I sit.
The team must have scored or something, because the man beside me jumps up and hollers at the top of his lungs. I wince, covering my ears to protect them from the roar of the crowd. I look out at the field, then the score board, trying to figure out what happened. There’s still time on the clock, so the game must not be over. I think the score changed, but I wasn’t really paying attention to what it was before.
I really need to do some research and figure out at the very least how the game is divided up, and how scoring works. I think football is four quarters, but to be honest, I’m not entirely sure.
Pushing up off the metal bench, I ease my way out of the row and down the concrete steps. I need a break from the football aspect of this game, so I’ll go to the concession stand and get something to drink. Carter says we’re all going for food afterward, so I won’t get myself a snack, but I’m so bored, I’m tempted to get food just because eating would give me something to do.
Technically, I brought a book in my purse and I was hoping I could sneak a few chapters between plays. The stands are too noisy though, and every time I look at my purse and think about getting it out, I figure that will inevitably be the moment Carter looks up at me. Then he’ll think I spent the whole game reading and not even paying attention to his whole golden arm thing.
Not that I really understand what he’s doing when he throws. I don’t know a good pass from a shitty one. The only barometer I have is the noise level. When the crowd goes nuts, I figure something good happened. When they’re quiet, I guess not.
There are two people in line when I get to the concession stand, so I pull out my phone to text Grace while I wait. I was supposed to head over to the church early tomorrow morning and put the finishing touches on the baskets, but Grace decided to go tonight and get a head start. While I wait to hear how it’s going, I move forward in line.
“Well, I’ll be damned.”
My shoulders drop with disappointment and I turn to face Jake Parsons. I assumed he would be on the bench, not in the crowd, so crossing paths with him hadn’t even crossed my mind.
He’s smiling at me, his amused gaze raking over my Longhorn gear. “Did Hell have to freeze over to get you here, or is Carter really that good and he’s already made his way between your legs?”
My face flames at the truth in that comment, but I narrow my eyes at him anyway. “Nice to see you, too, Jake.”
He steps into line behind me, even though he’s already holding a Longhorn water bottle. Judging from the smell of his breath when he gets close to me, it’s not water he poured into it. “Oh, it’s always nice to see you, Zo.”
I fight the instinct to take a step back, but he’s too close. Jake is taller than me—not as tall as Carter, but still taller than me—and like Carter, when he wants to make himself look more intimidating, he uses every inch of his height.
“Don’t be a jerk,” I tell him, my tone low. I really don’t want trouble with him, but I’m not unarmed anymore. I have more than my own voice to protect me—I have Carter, and I’m not afraid to wield him.
Jake’s arm comes to settle around my shoulders and I stiffen. “Am I bein’ a jerk?”
“Get your arm off my shoulder.”
“Is that sexual harassment now, too?”
“You know what, Jake?” I snap back. “Touching a girl who doesn’t want you to touch her anywhere is pathetic, no matter what you want to call it. It’s pitiful.”
His blue eyes harden, turning from oceans as warm as summertime to little chips of ice. “Only when it’s me though, right? I seem to remember Carter touching you an awful lot when you didn’t want him to, and you’re datin’ him now. All comes down to what you can get out of it, I guess.”
“Tell yourself what you need to, Jake,” I tell him, shrugging his arm off. “Carter also happens to be a hell of a lot more interesting than you, but yeah, obviously that couldn’t have anything to do with me liking him.”
“Interesting, my ass. It’s his money or his dick that has you singin’ a different tune, and I hate to think you’d sell out for the latter,” Jake tells me, smirking a little, eyeing up my tank top and shaking his head.
“I’m bein’ supportive. That’s what you do when you’re with someone who’s into shit you don’t care about.”
“You don’t have to defend yourself, darlin’. I get it. You’re certainly not the first girl to chase after him, I just thought you were smart enough not to. Guess I was wrong.”
I open my mouth to point out I am not chasing Carter, that he is the one who pursued
me, but I stop because it doesn’t matter. My words will fall on deaf ears. Jake has already made up his mind and sold himself on a narrative he needs to believe. The truth isn’t just irrelevant, it’s something he is actively disinterested in.
That his position is rooted in the idea that he and Carter are equally entitled to me and my desires are beside the point is a whole heap of sexist bullshit, but there’s no point trying to engage him in conversation about it. Unlike Carter, Jake is close-minded and set on viewing himself as a good guy, regardless of his actions. As crazy as it seems given his behavior and tendencies, Carter can be reasoned with. Without the emergence of a genuine desire to grow and evolve as a human being, Jake is a lost cause.
Telling Jake he’s not currently smart enough to interest me despite his boorish behavior—while true—wouldn’t help, so instead of responding, I turn my back to him and wait for the person at the counter to finish up.
“If you have fucked him, he’ll get bored with you now. Cast you aside like any other slut he goes through,” Jake continues, ignoring the cue that I no longer want to talk to him. “That’s what he does. You were nothin’ more than a novelty, some little virgin he wanted to nail. If you gave it up, you don’t have anything left to hold his interest.”
“Actually, I think I have a lot to offer regardless of my virginity, but my sex life is none of your business, so...”
“That’s your problem,” he states, moving to stand beside me. “You’re so damn full of yourself.”
“Thinking I have more to offer a guy than orgasms isn’t being full of myself, it’s having a healthier sense of self-worth than a snug napkin ring.” Meeting his gaze, I tell him, “Maybe if you had looked at me as something more than a pair of boobs and a vagina, you would have been the one to catch my interest. You didn’t. I’m not interested. I can’t be any clearer. Move along.”
