by Sierra Hill
An angular jaw covered by a nice day’s growth of facial hair. I don’t know what it is, but facial hair always does me in. It just makes a guy look so virile and masculine. Maybe Kincaid used the scruff to hide his boyish features. But his obvious pubescent attitude wasn’t masked by the beard. If I ever saw Kincaid again, I think I might be tempted to smack him in his face for being a whiny little bitch. Or run straight into his arms. Which alarms me to no end. Because I shouldn’t be attracted to this guy. He isn’t a grown-up. And when I fall for a guy, it’s going to be one with character, integrity and maturity.
I slip on my sandals, loving the feel of the airy open-toes which have my feet singing the theme song from The Sound of Music. I swing the strap of my messenger bag over my shoulder, grab the doggie bag of food, and walk out the door into the late afternoon sunshine.
I’m immediately assaulted with the heat that chokes me like a boa. But my greeting from Crockett turns things around.
“Well, there’s my sweetness. How was your day, Ainsley?”
I hand him the food bag - just a leftover meatloaf sandwich and a piece of peach pie that I know he’ll share with Tubs. He gives me a toothless grin of thanks as I squat down to scratch the top of Tubs’ bristly, mangy head. I overlook their unwashed selves in favor of showing affection. Everyone – and everything – in this life is deserving of some form of human kindness.
Even guys like Kincaid? The unbidden thought comes out of nowhere and I groan inwardly.
Instead of dwelling on that dweeb, I give Crockett a big sigh and a so-so hand gesture, flipping my hand from side-to-side. I stand up and check Tubs’ water dish to make sure he has enough water.
“Another day another dollar, Crockett. So that’s good.” I smile and give him a little wave as I begin walking toward the street corner. When I’m a few feet away I turn back around and say goodbye to him. “See you on Monday, Crock. Make sure you both stay hydrated. And by that, I mean water.”
Crockett gives me a snort of agreement and crosses his heart with his fingers as I turn back in the direction of the transit station, hoping he keeps his promise. I worry about him between shifts, since I’m never really sure if I’ll see him again. Once a few months ago, he and Tubs were gone for two weeks. I had no idea what happened to him and had asked around to some of the other regular street guys. It turned out that Crockett had been attacked one night in an alley and had to recuperate from his punctured lungs and cracked ribs at Valley General.
I’d been both relieved and angry when he finally returned to his spot in front of the café. After that, I made him carry my contact number in his personal belongings so that the EMT or ER nurses would have someone to call if he needed something. Poor guy had no family and no one to care about his well-being.
And while he would never accept anything from me other than the few scraps of food I’d offer him after my shifts, at least he allowed me to be his emergency contact.
I know what it means to be homeless. And if there was one thing I could do to never forget my past, it would be to remind Crockett that he always had someone to count on.
4
Cade
I’m so freaking mad right now I can’t see straight. And that may be the reason I don’t notice her coming around the corner until I smack right into her. All I see is red, then black, then hear a loud clatter as books go flying everywhere.
“Watch the fuck where you’re walking.” I rail, snorting out a loud curse as I rub my arm where the girl plowed into me. “Keep your eyes on where you’re fucking going.”
My anger shouldn’t be taken out on this innocent by-stander, but in the mood I’m in right now, I don’t care. I’ve just left the arena where I had a meeting with my coach and the news is not good. I don’t know what I was expecting, but it wasn’t that.
Almost in slow motion, the girl staggers to her left from the impact of our collision, and reaches a hand out to the brick wall to maintain her balance. My own hand instinctively darts out to grab hold of her opposite arm, tugging her upright to keep her on her feet. She squirms, trying to get out of my hold, her shoulder jerking back from my hand.
Fine, be that way.
Now that she seems to have her balance, she gives me the scariest death glare I’ve ever seen on a chick. Her eyes bore a hole in me and she looks like she’s casting a spell to make my dick shrivel up and fall off. I shudder at the thought.
Although I’m pissed off over this interruption, and from the ass reaming I just go from Coach, my brain can’t help but take in the scene in front of me. The girl is on her knees now picking up her tossed books – giving me a moment to check her out - starting at the top of her head, down her chest, to her legs, and then back up again.
I take note of a few things while I do this. The girl seems somewhat familiar, but I can’t quite place her. Maybe I hooked up with her a few years back. Even with the “I’m about to gouge your eyes out” glint and obvious angry expression on her face, she’s really hot.
Her dark, raven hair is pulled back in a shiny and sleek pony tail. Her face appears make-up free and those wide, angry eyes of hers are a brilliant blue, like a stormy sea, with thick black eyelashes that fan across her cheeks.
As she rises to her feet and lifts her head back up to me, I now see a wave of hostility sweep over her face. She’s ready to unleash that storm. I’m not sure if I should cover my nuts or be turned on. The girl is beautiful.
“Excuse me?” she chokes out, taking a steady step toward me, her finger poking me in the middle of my chest, the sharp edge of her nail digging into my pecs. It’s kind of a turn on, to be honest. She’s feisty and I can’t help that my mouth edges up into a smirk.
Probably not the reaction I should give her right at this moment if I want to keep on breathing. Or have children one day.
“You are the one that plowed into me, asshole. You are the one not looking where you were going. God, you arrogant prick.” She lets out a loud huff, like a petite, fire-breathing dragon, dropping her hand from my chest.
She mumbles something about ‘Goddamn jocks’ and then walks around me, giving me a wide berth, toward the street as I stand there in complete rapt.
All of a sudden I want her to stay. I can’t let her leave. Something in my memory is triggered, and I remember now where I know her from. My hand darts out to wraps around her small wrist bringing her progress to a halt.
“Hey, I know you…we’ve met before. You were my waitress at that restaurant last Friday.”
Honestly, I can’t recall the name of the place where we ate. In fact, I don’t remember much after the weekend I spent trying to forget it all. I was clearly in a fog that entire morning and it seeped into my weekend, making me a miserable and ornery bastard.
I spent Friday and Saturday night holed up in the apartment I share with Lance and Carver on the edge of campus. We’d have normally made an appearance at one of the frats or out at one of the local bars on Mill Ave, but because I was on lock-down from any place where I could get caught in violation of the terms of my probation, I stayed home. The guys were actually pretty supportive and we sat around all weekend playing video games and watching sports on TV.
And then today I had my meeting with Coach. He literally ripped me a new asshole over the last hour. It was the shittiest, most humiliating part of this whole ordeal. Even getting caught in the act, being recognized by the cops, wasn’t as mortifying as listening to the Coach and assistant coach lecture me. They went on and on about how I’ve embarrassed the team, impacted the reputation of the program, and just plain acted like a stupid juvenile idiot. Yeah, tell me something I don’t already know.
I didn’t expect him to go soft on me or do me any favors just because of who I am to the team, but I wasn’t expecting to be made an example of. Coach told me that he was going to make my “stupid lapse in judgment to serve as a ‘teaching moment’ for the younger guys on the team.”
Just great.
You break the law? Or get cau
ght doing anything that disrespects the team and the values of the program? You face the consequences and you get hung out to dry.
So to say I’m in a pretty fucking shitty mood right now is an understatement. And now, to compound matters even more, this beautiful girl makes it clear she doesn’t even know who I am, and also blew me off when I tried to flirt with her the other day. And now she’s insulting me.
This chick is a total ego-killer. Yet for some strange reason, it makes me want her more. To reveal myself to her, showing her every part of me. Letting her get to know the true me.
I don’t even know her name and she’s glaring at me like I’m a piece of dirt. A bug. Lower than a snake. Her head is cocked to the side and she’s wearing an incredulous expression on her face, her bee-stung lips tightly pinched in disgust.
Shoving her book inside her bag that’s strapped across her chest (which for the record makes her rather large breasts stand out enough to be ogled – but I don’t fall for it), her hands land on her hips as she responds to my comment.
“First off, it’s called Bristol’s Café. And second, you don’t know me or anything about me. I’m not one of your fans, Number 23. And I’m not going to bow down and worship at your feet like some fangirl groupie. Now, please let go of me so I can go. I’m already late as it is.”
Not going to lie. I get a slight thrill knowing she remembered my number. That tells me she was a little bit interested in who I am. Maybe she even Googled me. Read through my stats. Gawked at my images plastered all over the internet. That thought makes me smile. Oops, maybe poor timing, as I watch her glower at me with angered scrutiny.
Reluctantly I drop her arm and she wiggles away from me, turning without another word or glance as she hustles away. I watch her jog across the cross-walk to the other side of the street. My eyes track her impatient movements. She looks down at her phone, then to her watch, her body in constant motion, shifting from one foot to another. I soon lose sight of her as a bus pulls up blocking my view. The moment it pulls from the curb, I’m disappointed to find she’s no longer standing there.
A foreign feeling takes residence in my body - creeping up my limbs like ivy wrapping around a fence post, ready to overpower anything in its path. I’ve never felt this before. If I’d have to put a name to it, I’d say it’s longing. Or amusement. Or just plain astonishment. Because this girl – this nameless girl whom I’m only seen twice - has somehow managed to not only ruffle my feathers by taking me down a few notches, but intrigue me in a way no other girl has done before.
In a weird way, this encounter with the girl seems to have doused my anger and turned around my negative mood. I’m still pissed off, but I don’t have the need to pummel the next guy that I cross paths with.
Speaking of which, as I turn around to head back the other direction, my buddy Van heads me off at the pass.
He gives me the typical guy-greeting – our fists bumping before exploding open. “Yo, Griff. How’s it going, bro?”
As teammates, we all call each other by a nickname. Hence, mine is Griff, short for my last name. His real name is Donavan Gerard. So we’ve shortened his name to Van. It’s another jock thing, I guess.
As he stands there waiting for my response to his question, I’m weary of what everyone has heard so far about the trouble I got myself into. So I decide to keep things vague in my reply. Plus, Coach asked that I not share this publicly, as the court papers were sealed to shield my identity. I guess that was a favor called upon by my honorable father.
“Eh, you know. It’s going.” I shrug nonchalantly. “Got a pretty full load this semester and I need to stay ahead of things before the season starts, ya know?”
Van gives me a quizzical look like he’s about to say something else, but then laughs, tugging at the loose-fitting beany on his head.
“Yeah, it’s crazy, man. Can’t believe we’re seniors. Time flies.”
Van glances around, his gray eyes darting around before landing back on me again. He shifts uncomfortably on his feet and his cheeks color up like a Paint-by-Numbers water color picture. His voice goes low and soft.
“So, listen man. I heard you might not be back on the team this year. Is that true?”
Well, I guess that the rumor mill is in operation if he’s heard about my problem. But fuck, word travels fast considering I just got out of Coach’s office fifteen minutes ago. The rumor he’s heard, though, is a bit more over-exaggerated than what really went down.
I shake my head, wondering where he heard this from, but decide not to interrogate him or appear like I’m looking for the rat. It really doesn’t matter, as long as Coach Welby sticks with the plan he outlined so vehemently to me in his office. It still sucks that I’m benched for the first three pre-season games, but the good news is I’ll still get to practice with the team when they start-up in a month and it won’t ruin the entire final season for me.
“Nah, dude. It’s nothing like that. I’m still on the team. Just can’t start the first three games.”
Van gives me a grumble of solidarity. Good man. His loyalty has me marveling at the true bonds I have with my teammates. Even though we aren’t tight as some of the other guys, Van’s still got my back and vice versa. That’s what I love about playing. You never lose that connection, even after the game is done.
“Well shit. That sucks. But glad to know you’ll still be on the court this year. We need your skills, dude. Gotta get back to the championship our final year.”
“Yeah, no doubt. We’re going to crush Duke and Kansas.”
I’ve always liked Van, ever since I met him playing in the high school prep school leagues. He stands a little taller than me, and is now sporting a dark-haired man-bun, which is usually held back by a headband of some sort. While I think the long hair would be a hassle on the court, I won’t give him any crap about his girly-look. I’m sure the guy gets plenty of action for it.
In fact, out of the corner of my eye I see a trio of girls watching us and clucking like little groupies, but he seems oblivious. Come to think of it, Van has been dating the same girl since high school. So loyalty seems to be in his true nature.
I give the girls a quick wave and smile. Any other day I’d be all over those girls, giving them exactly what they are looking for. To hang and score with a hoops player. But not today. I’ve got other things on my mind.
Van lifts his hand in front of us and I lean in and grasp it in my fist, as we go in for the dude hug. That’s how we roll.
“You know it, bro. So you gonna be at the gym tomorrow morning for the workout and scrimmage? Sounds like Wagner is putting his money where his mouth is and betting he’ll crush Lancaster. I’ve got my bets on Lan.” He laughs, suggesting what I already know. Which is that Christian Lancaster, our nearly seven-foot center, is gonna crush the ever-living shit out of small forward Scott Wagner. Easy bet.
I shake my head in agreement before adding, “Yeah, I’ll be in the weight room at seven a.m.”
“Cool. Listen, I gotta take off. I got a Stats study group at the campus lounge. I’ll see ya later, Griff.”
“Yeah,” I say, glimpsing one more time over my shoulder toward the bus stop, hoping for a miraculous sighting of the girl again. But I’m sadly disappointed. “See ya.”
As I head off to my next class, my thoughts immediately return to the girl.
If I had been in the right frame of mind today, I wouldn’t have let her leave. We would at this moment be grabbing some ice cream or drinks over at Reggie’s. And after a few hours of flirting and eye-fucking, I’d have her naked in my bed. Or maybe we’d skip all the foreplay and just head straight to fucking.
But I’m not easily discouraged. It may not have happened today. But it will.
Mark my words.
That girl will be all over me the next time I see her.
5
Ainsley
“You’re looking a little tired today, Ainsley. Everything going okay with school?”
My boss,
Gail, looks me over like a mother-hen, probably wondering if I wore blue and black paint under my eyes today. Because I am beat. I don’t blame her for her worried expression. I was pretty shocked when I glanced in the mirror at my reflection this morning. And that was over five hours ago when I got out of bed at six a.m.
I open up a can of fruit cocktail and pour the contents in a large bowl, spooning the juices around to evenly coat the fruit. I add a few cut-up banana slices and fresh pineapple because I know Mr. Forsberg absolutely loves the pineapple chunks. It’s nearly time for lunch and my job today is to prep the meal and then help get whoever wants to eat set up at the table.
Throwing the empty can away, I turn back to Gail, who is sitting at a side table doing a crossword with Mr. Parker.
“Thanks for asking. I’m just exhausted. I had to pull an all-night study session last night. I got home around six, made dinner for Anika and helped her with her homework, then had to study for my Anatomy and Physiology exam. It’s tomorrow and I’m not sure I’m ready for it.”
Gail lets out a little laugh, her shoulders lift and jerk in movement. “You say that every time, Ains. And yet you always do well. You’re too hard on yourself, you know that?”
I know she means to be humorous, but she’s right. I have to be hard on myself. To push myself farther because no one else will do it for me. Certainly not my mother. And I don’t have a father to support me, either. Anika has my back but she’s only fifteen and her head is in the clouds most of the time.
