Tricked Steel: A Friends To Lovers Standalone Romance

by Fields, MJ

  Chapter 17

  “There never was any heart truly great and generous,

  that was not also

  tender and compassionate.”

  ~Robert Frost

  Patrick

  After walking Kiki to class, I text Brand, reassuring him that Kiki got to homeroom unscathed. Promised him yesterday that I would take care of it, and I did. I would have even if he wasn’t the father of her baby. She’s crew.

  Max was right beside her, too, which, to be honest, I was more worried about someone saying something in front of him than to her. He’s been wound up tight lately.

  I put my phone on silent as I walk into homeroom as the bell rings.

  JT is sitting beside her in the back, where we sat the only other day she’s been in school, due to Chloe the kissing bandit.

  I drop my bag on the floor, because I didn’t have time to hit my locker, and sit on the other side of Savvy.

  “Morning, Savannah.”

  “Still Savvy,” she mutters as she flips the page in some book.

  JT leans forward. “Everything chill?”

  I nod and whisper, “I’m not worried that Kiki will have an issue. More worried Max will.”

  JT nods. “Agreed.”

  “Truth okay?”

  “Damn right, she is.” He crosses his arms and sits back.

  “Aren’t there two other girls in your little crew who you don’t think can handle themselves?” Savvy asks dryly.

  Before I can explain, JT says, “They’re covered, too.”

  She glares at him, and he glares back.

  “They can handle themselves just fine. We just like to be around for the what-if moments,” I explain.

  “And what is a what-if moment?” she asks, obviously a bit annoyed.

  “What if someone steps over the line and need their ass kicked,” JT says.

  “Just because they’re women doesn’t mean they’re weak.” Savvy stares straight forward.

  “No shit,” JT again speaks before I can. “But they don’t have to be stronger than necessary, because some fuck like Reeves, or one of the cunts around here, decides to spout off shit, especially when we’re around.”

  I lean over and tell her, “What he means is—”

  “I said what I mean,” he growls.

  “—it’s a show of support.”

  “Maybe for you, but obviously, your buddy over here prefers intimidation.”

  I nod. “Well, it’s not like he’s wrong. If they’re brazen enough that they want to spout off shit that doesn’t mean anything to them, to be bully-ass bitches, they should be prepared to get it handed to them.”

  She looks over at JT and throws a thumb back at me. “See? Use your words. It sounds less asshole-ish.”

  I can’t help but chuckle.

  JT leans closer to her, his eyes narrowed, not saying a damn thing.

  She leans closer to him, and they stare at each other before he shakes his head and leans back.

  I just sit back and take it all in, and when she looks over at me, her eyebrows lifted high, I whisper, “Savage.”

  Her eyes smile, but not those lips, and then she looks away. I’ll take it.

  The homeroom teacher does her thing; tells us what’s going on; talks about the spring musical that Tris, Brisa, and Truth are doing; the winter sports we were too late to join, which is cool because I don’t have time; and then tells us permission slips for the spring sports are due.

  “Shit,” JT mumbles as he flips through the folder on his desk then hands me his form for baseball, which I sign, along with mine for the surf team, and then pass it forward.

  Then she announces some talent show that’s in June. This garners some excitement.

  “You should do it,” JT says.

  “Yeah, maybe.” I shrug. “Not sure I have time, though.” And I don’t. Lots of shit going on.

  “You don’t have time to pluck a few strings and sing?” JT’s brows knit. “Make time. That’s your thing.”

  He looks at Savvy. “What’s your thing?”

  “Avoiding things,” she says as the bell rings. Then she stands up and quickly exits the classroom.

  “She’s a ball of joy,” he says as we stand.

  “She’s cool.” I grab my bag.

  “Yeah, I’ll take your word for it.”

  Once in the hall, we both head in different directions; me toward the senior hall to lay eyes on Kiki, and him toward our next class—AP Calc.

  The only classes I don’t have with them is Women Studies and Pottery. Those are the two I get to chill with Savvy.

  * * *

  Why the hell are we taking classes heavy in AP courses is a question I ask myself often. All three of us are focused on the arts, not STEM, so this is some bullshit torture we students do to ourselves and, in some cases, parents push on their kids to rank against others.

  The constant competition is never going to stop, though, and I’m not sure I give half a shit about that in real life. But even in art, there’s competition. With music, it’s charts and now algorithms for what gets shown on social media and in the big monster stores that have killed the mom and pop shops.

  Money trumps all, and wrongs are far too often diluted to make them right. The only place that doesn’t play in is home, family, and love—matters of the heart.

  As I get older and more exposed to the world, I see where even those get tainted, which is why I want whoever it is I’m going to be with, my forever, to be solid in who they are.

  Savvy, as much of a shitshow as her life has been, is the most solid female I’ve yet to meet. I hope her no-bullshit ways never gets fucked by society.

  I sit down beside her, Chloe sitting on her other side, and look at her.

  “I’ve never seen her so happy.” Chloe smiles and leans her head on Savvy’s shoulder. “Whoever this Trisha is, I’d like to hug her. She’s—”

  “Chloe,” Savvy whispers a stern warning as she shimmies her shoulder, trying to get Chloe to stop kittening up to her.

  “Sorry.” Chloe straightens up.

  “So …” I ask, “who is this Trisha?”

  Savvy scowls at me and rolls her eyes as she looks away.

  “I said sorry.” I hear Chloe whisper.

  Except for homeroom, I haven’t seen her in three days, which is pretty much the longest stretch since we have technically become “friends.” I straight up missed the hell out of her.

  I hit the side of her leg with my knee, and she looks at me, her annoyance slowly disappearing, then looks away. Then she pushes her knee against my leg, and it feels better than any kiss I have ever gotten in my life.

  I catch her checking me out, and she catches me doing the same.

  “Trisha?” I whisper to her, and her lips purse together as she tries not to smile, but that dimple pops.

  She sets her phone on the desk, and I see it’s shattered.

  “You got the IOS 21 update, huh?”

  She rolls her eyes.

  The entire class, I spend wondering who the fuck Trisha is.

  When the bell rings, she jets out the door again, and I remember what she said about me walking with her. I still think it sucks, but as the saying goes, Rome wasn’t built in a day. It actually took about seven years to completely build the Colosseum alone, and one earthquake to fuck it up forever. I’m hoping seven years isn’t the case with her and me getting closer. Obviously, the goal is to spend the rest of my high school career being with her. I was pretty solid on the fact it was leaning that way … until this Trisha thing came up.

  No regrets. I have done what I have done to ensure that any type of physical need that “pops” up—because I’m all sorts of wanting to get up inside her, and not just physically, and she’s pushing me away like she’s done in the past—doesn’t become too hard on my resolve that I hook up with someone to feel the release I crave and ruin something I know could be good. So, JT and I snuck into the city yesterday. Some chick he’s worked with d
id my piercing, and he decided to do it, too. He’s got a PA; I’ve got a deep shaft reverse PA. The entire way back, he was moaning and whining. Yeah, it hurt, but straight-up, it was quick. I’m giving it a solid four to twelve weeks for healing. By then, I’m hoping she’s figured out what I already know.

  She’s been raised to hate men, then she comes here, and these fucks show her she should, but her eyes are opening to the fact that it’s not just men who can be shitbags. Humans have a choice to be good or bad, to love or hate, to crave power or want harmony—none of which are gender neutral.

  She says she likes girls, but she never once uttered the words “I’m a lesbian.” If she did, I would accept that and still be her friend—best fucking friend outside my crew—but I would be getting that physical need met elsewhere. Down deep, though, that pull, that ache to see that one person, that crackle inside, like your soul is on fire, that’s different, so much so that it can’t be ignored.

  Watching her in Lit and Gym, there was another first time feeling brewing inside of me—jealousy.

  Fucking Trisha. How does a guy fight for a girl with a girl?

  Two periods long, I think of that shit. Then the crew and I stay through our lunch period at the fitness center, and I work through some of it by raising those endorphins, but not totally.

  European History class, I sit with Truth and Justice as I have been since we started here. Savvy is two rows back, by herself. I look back frequently, and her nose is in the textbook the entire time. The rest of the class opts for using an electronic device, but not Savvy, and I dig that about her. I wonder if Trisha does.

  Truth, however, holds most of my attention. She’s sucked into the drama on that app.

  “T,” I whisper, “ignore that shit.”

  She shakes her head.

  “T, seriously, whatever they’re saying doesn’t mean shit.”

  “I know, but this wasn’t how this was supposed to be.”

  I nudge her with my shoulder. “Or maybe it’s how the whole world actually is, and we’re just seeing it. Gotta look beyond the dead leaves of society and watch the snow fall.”

  “I hate snow,” she sighs. “So do you.”

  “Not anymore, T. I changed my perspective.”

  I wonder if Trisha likes snow.

  I already see my evening is going to be spent at home, in the gym, and slipping off into the bathroom to soak my dick in a cup of saline.

  Walking into Pottery, thinking I’m going to be early enough to ask her about Trisha, I see Ziggy and Roach already there.

  I sit down beside her, and she nudges me. “Wanna help us pad our volunteer hours for college apps?”

  I’m a little thrown off, because I was pretty certain she decided on the Peace Corps and Ziggy and Roach wanted to fuck the Seashore name by starting a pot farm. But hey, we’ve got another few months until we decide on whether to spend hundreds of thousands of dollars to get a piece of paper to drop that may not do shit for us.

  “Sure?”

  “They’re doing that talent show for the first time this year. We’re going to suggest it be a sit-down dinner or dessert event of some sort. You know, to increase ticket prices. And that money can be donated to a charity that we will mutually agree upon.”

  “I suggested a Save the Titties theme.” Roach grins. “It’s for women.”

  “I like titties. I’m all for saving them.”

  As soon as the words leave my mouth, she kicks me under the table.

  I look at her, my eyes narrowed. “What?”

  “I was thinking we use it to increase some of the scholarship money here, putting less stress on the families who have to pay a substantial portion for their kids to not only attend here but live on campus.”

  I know damn well she’s talking about situations like Chloe is in, and I like it. But I like titties better.

  “And maybe we find an organization that helps fund mental health clinics, helps the homeless, or both. But they can’t be one of those that just fattens the CEO’s pocket.”

  “Love those ideas, too.” I also love that her fire, that passion, is at work.

  “And, for obvious reasons, I’d like our charities to be run by women.”

  “Maybe your friend Trisha knows someone,” I suggest, my sarcasm kept in check.

  She grins. “Maybe she does.”

  Fuck Trisha.

  She continues, and I try to stay focused.

  “A hundred dollars a plate. We make the plates here in class so everyone can add it to their apps, or after school, if we have time. The people who buy tickets get to take them home, like a collector’s item.”

  “Savvy, you can smell the money when you walk in this place; you charge a thousand and serve them shit, and you’ll get it.”

  “Not without a name, we won’t.” Roach looks at me, his eyebrow arched.

  “I said no.” Savvy lunges over the table at him.

  I grab her and pull her back.

  Roach shakes his head. “I agreed not to ask him to call in a favor from his father, so chill, Savvy. But Tricks would bring a crowd. That Christmas song he did on TikTok had five million hits on Christmas alone! Just asking if he’ll enter.”

  “He does that, no one else will sign up. He would obviously kill the competition. His voice is …” She shakes her head. “You know he’ll win.”

  “So, he emcees,” Ziggy suggests.

  “Charge a thousand, and I will.”

  Savvy shakes her head. “No. You’re my friend and—”

  “And that’s why I’ll do it. I know you’re doing it for good reasons, not to fuck me.”

  “Wait—did she just say friend?” Roach asks.

  “So what if I did?” She scowls.

  “So, does that mean we won’t get our heads bit off if we call you our friend?” Ziggy laughs.

  “That all depends on how this works out.” She points to her notebook. “And we figure out all the details before presenting them to the art department. Keep it here.” She taps on the table. “They might take the idea and run with it. Then it’s a waste of our time.”

  I nudge her with my knee. “This is a pretty cool idea.” I look up at the guys. “Seriously love it.”

  “It was all Savvy. We’re just here for the ride.” Ziggy smiles at her, and now I’m not sure how much I like him.

  As soon as Ziggy and Roach get up, I turn toward her fully. “Who’s Trisha?”

  “Ha, ha,” she says.

  “You don’t have to tell me, but—”

  “Oh my God, you’re jealous!”

  “No right to be; we’re friends,” I say tightly. “Just wondering.”

  She pulls her phone out of her blazer pocket and sets it on the stone table in front of us. “Text me.”

  “What?”

  “Just do it.”

  I pull out my phone and send her a message.

  When I lean down to look at her shattered screen, she grabs my face. Like a bolt of lightning hitting me, a current runs through my body. She turns my face toward her, and she looks just as stunned. She looks like she’s feeling the same as I am.

  She releases my face and clears her throat. “Just glance at the screen.”

  Takes me a beat to look away from her, but she’s not looking away from me either. When I finally do, I see what I know says Tricks through the cracked glass.

  “I dropped my phone. She picked it up, and I grabbed it from her,” she says, crossing her arms, as if to hug herself. “She knows I don’t text. She also knows I’ve been doing so a lot lately. She thought it said Trisha. I let her.” She picks up her phone and hits the message, and I sit here, knowing what she’s reading as my heart beats like a sledgehammer against my chest.

  1:59 p.m. - Crazy jealous, Savannah. Tell me you’re not feeling this thing with us, and I’ll do whatever I can to make it stop.

  2:00 p.m. - You’re my first true friend. That took time. I’m leaving here after high school, so why chance hurting each other?

/>   2:01 p.m. - Could be the best year of our lives. Will be regardless. Just promise me I’ll be the first guy. Any others wouldn’t be good enough for you.

  2:02 p.m. - You wouldn’t be the first, Patrick. But you’re not wrong. I feel lots of things I never thought I would. If I give into this, and if things progress to a sexual relationship, and I didn’t like the whole sex thing, how could I lie to you, my friend, and tell you it’s not for me? That would ruin what I have come to treasure—our friendship.

  2:02 p.m. - We make a promise that we’re always friends first.

  She puts her phone in her pocket and, without looking at me, whispers, “Why do I feel like you’re expecting a timeline?”

  “Did he?” I ask, trying to keep the rage hidden from my tone.

  She doesn’t answer, which is telling as fuck.

  “That’s fucked up, Savvy, and that’s not me.”

  “You’re already expecting this to turn to that.”

  “I didn’t say sex; that was you. And regardless, that shit is only scheduled if you’re hooking up. That’s so fucked up. So fucked up that someone put a timeline on you. So fucked up I wanna fuck him up. So fucked up I want a damn name, so I can fuck him up. So fucked—”

  Her silent chuckle catches me off guard.

  “Shit’s not funny, Savvy. It’s so—”

  “So fucked up, I know. You’ve mentioned that literally five times in a row, five seconds ago,” she says with way too much amusement in her voice for my liking at this moment.

  I sit back in my seat and stare straight ahead. “Does he go here?”

  “No.”

  “Do you still talk to him?”

  “No.”

  “Do you—”

  “Are we really doing the whole how-many-people-have-you-been-with-and-what-are-their-names-so-I-can-hate-them?”