by Anna B. Doe
Why am I not surprised?
Callie: Why don’t you come to my dorm instead?
The last thing I want to do is face Hayden after what happened yesterday in the library. A shiver runs through my body as snippets flash before my eyes. I shake my head to clear my mind.
Nope, I’m not going there. I don’t need his shit in my life.
Nix: No way. My place. Don’t be late.
Huffing in frustration, I type fine, and shove my phone back. Deciding to put this aside for a moment, I turn on the music and open my sketchpad. I pull out my pencil and after a few quick taps against my chin, I start to sketch.
I never let myself think too much about what I’m actually going to draw. At the end of the day, most of them are all the same. Dancers stuck in different positions. I don’t need a shrink to tell me what all of that’s about. Then again, even before the accident, when I found the time to draw it was the same.
My one true love.
My passion.
My obsession.
Every stroke I make is quick, almost harsh. The side of my hand smudging the drawing as I move my hand over the paper. If I pulled my earbuds out, I’m sure I’d be able to hear that scratching sound that comes when a pencil is pressed against the paper.
I’m so lost in it, I’m startled when a hand comes into my view and touches my sketchpad that I jump in my seat.
“Dammit!” Both pencil and sketchpad fall into my lap. I pull the earbuds out and turn to look at the culprit—a girl, probably not older than eleven or so, looking at me curiously. “You scared the crap out of me.”
“Sorry,” she says, looking sheepishly at me. “I didn’t see you had your earbuds on.”
My heart is still beating rapidly against my ribcage, and I’m breathless. I want to snap at her to be more careful the next time, but I know it’s partially my fault. I’m the dumbass who cracked on the music knowing somebody could come in at any moment. Taking a few deep breaths in, I try to get my breathing under control.
The girl bends down and picks up my sketchpad off the floor. Some pages are bent and she carefully smooths them out, her eyes soaking in all the drawings.
“It’s so pretty.” There are legit stars in her hazel eyes as she looks at picture after picture.
“Thanks.”
“Did you draw all of them?” She sits next to me, propping the pad on her lap to look at it. There are a bunch of them, and it’s not even the only one I have. Just the one I started working on shortly before I arrived at Blairwood.
“Sure thing.” Then because I feel like shit, I ask, “Do you draw?”
She shrugs, her eyes still glued to my work. “Sometimes. I’m not really good at it. Especially when I have to draw people. I suck at that.”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to scold her for cussing, but I bite my tongue.
“Want me to tell you a secret?”
She turns her head toward me. She looks so young and innocent. There is still some baby fat clinging to her round, pink cheeks, but the look in her eyes tells me she knows much more than any kid her age probably should.
“What secret?”
“I sucked at it too. Still didn’t stop me from working on it until I got better.”
She thinks it through for a moment, then nods before returning her attention to the drawings.
“Who’s this?” She turns the book toward me so I can see it.
Like all my drawings this one is also done with pencil, but even through black and white, I know the exact color those eyes would be.
Deep green.
The intense, vivid color of the field in the summer.
The rest of his face is a blur, but those eyes, they look at me with so much intensity you’d think he’s real.
“He’s a… friend.” I finally settle, no need to torture this girl with the overwhelming history that connects Hayden Watson and me.
She turns to the book to give another curious look at the sketch. “He’s cute. Is he your boyfriend?”
“God no.” The words come out in a rush. This couldn’t be further from the truth if she tried.
“Well, you should change that. He’s really pretty. And you must like him if you drew him, right?”
More like hate him, but who’s making notes, right?
Thankfully, I’m saved from replying when Yasmin and Vanessa come back. They’re animatedly discussing something.
“You’re back.” Thank God. I don’t think I’ve ever been so happy to see somebody in my life.
“Yup!” She turns back to Vanessa. “This was really fun, thank you so much for showing me around. I’ll let you know about my schedule next week and we can set something up.”
“Sounds good to me. Thank you so much for coming today.” They shake hands. When Vanessa turns around, she notices the girl sitting next to me. “Hey, Gabs, just coming in?”
“Yup. She was drawing when I came in, so I came to look.”
Vanessa gives me an apologetic look, but I wave her off. “Do you like her drawings?”
“They’re pretty cool. Almost looks like a picture book.” She closes the sketchpad and gives it back to me. “You should come back and teach us how to do it. Maybe then I’ll get better too.”
Then, before I can say anything, she jumps to her feet and skips away.
“Ready to go?” Yasmin asks.
I look down at the book in my lap, Gaby’s words still ringing in my ears. A picture book? Shaking my head to clear my mind, I get to my feet. “Ready when you are.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
HAYDEN
“Watson! Where the fuck is your head at?” Coach’s loud bark breaks me out of my thoughts. I turn to look at him. His face is beet red from all the screaming and if it weren’t directed at me, I might find it funny.
“Sorry, Coach.”
“I don’t want to hear your sorry excuses. I want to see you catch that damn ball. Do you remember how to do it or do you suddenly have amnesia?”
He throws his clipboard and starts marching toward me. Pushing me out of my place, he takes it himself.
“Catch the damn ball,” he repeats again, like I need an additional reminder of what a screwup I’ve been today. “Cole, again.”
In utter silence, the guys get in position. It’s not strange for Coach to get into the game if he thinks we’re too dumb to understand something on our own. The dude might be in his fifties, but he can take any one of us at any given chance and come out a winner.
The ball is snapped into Nix’s arms and he lets it fly. Coach starts to run, something I should be doing, and catches the ball. Another thing I should be doing.
But apparently, I’ve suddenly lost the ability to.
Fucking Callie Stewart.
She’s been in my head since the library and I can’t get her out no matter how much I try, but this is just too much. It feels like high school all over again. When she had all the power and I was just a dumb, girl-obsessed kid who couldn’t get his head straight. No, not just any girl obsessed. Callie-obsessed.
This shit has to stop now.
In the last second, I see the ball flying toward my chest, my hands curl to catch it. The sound of the pigskin snapping against my palms echoes through an otherwise silent field. Nobody says anything for the fear of pissing Coach off even more than he already is. He’s been in a mood lately, God only knows why, it’s not like we’re losing. Then again, it doesn’t exactly mean we’re at our best either. And we’ll need our best if we want to win that championship this year.
End game. Think about the end game.
“Do I need to repeat myself or do you think you’ll be able to catch that ball now?”
My fingers grip the ball tighter. “I’ll catch it.” I nod, pushing everything else out of my head. There isn’t another option. No place for screw-ups.
“Again!”
And that’s exactly what we do. Over and over again.
The doorbell rings just as I get out of the bathr
oom. My muscles are still burning and protesting from the workout Coach put them through. Wrapping up the practice just moments before we all started to puke.
I stop, listening to see if somebody will open the damn door, but nope. ‘Cause that would be too much to ask. I’m debating whether I should even bother when the bell buzzes again.
Sighing, I let the towel with which I was drying my hair fall over my shoulders.
“I’m coming!” I yell. It better not be one of those door-to-door idiots trying to sell shit.
Taking two steps at a time, I run down as fast as possible, pulling open the door just as another annoying diiiiiing fills the room.
“What?” I bark, but there is no one there.
Until I look down.
Fucking Callie Stewart.
CALLIE
The mother of all that’s holy…
I shouldn’t stare, I know I shouldn’t, but damn, it’s all there, out in the open. And he’s literally getting in my face. All that glorious naked skin is right under my nose and there is nowhere else to look but at him.
A few droplets of water still cling to his tanned skin, and when one starts to slide down the ridges of his stomach, I can only stare.
My throat goes dry as the wave of heat spreads through me and suddenly the leather jacket I’m wearing seems to suffocate me. I can’t help myself but count in my head as the drop goes lower and lower and lower…
Eight.
Damn…
I nibble at my lower lip to prevent any sound from coming out of my mouth and embarrassing me in the process, but no such luck.
“My eyes are up here, Stewart,” Hayden says dryly.
My head snaps up instantly, heat coloring my cheeks. “Well, if you didn’t burst out of the house as Rambo, maybe I wouldn’t face plant in your chest.”
“It doesn’t seem like you mind it one bit.” He flashes me his teeth as he grins. Pompous jackass.
“It’s not like I had a choice, now did I?”
“Girl, pretend all you want, but you like what you see.”
Unfortunately, he’s right. I think I actually swooned when I took him in, not like I’ll admit it out loud.
I give him another look. Hey, you’d do it too, trust me. I mean, I knew he was fit, I saw the guy more than it was good for my sanity, I had that hard body pressed against mine, I just didn’t realize how fit he actually is.
There isn’t even a little bit left of that skinny boy I met in high school. He’s all muscles now. Strong and powerful, his body is made into a well-oiled machine. And tattoos, don’t even get me started on tattoos. They cover the better half of his torso and both his arms. Everything is etched into his skin, different images as well as text. Do they have a special kind of meaning? If so what? I want to ask him, touch him, but I know better than to do either.
At least a foot taller than my five feet two his shoulders are wide, bicep bulging just right. And his hands... God, I noticed them before because there’s just something about a man’s hands that makes you feel safe. His fingers are long, skin rough from all the work he puts in. His chest is well defined and then it narrows down into that eight pack and V that leads into what’s hidden behind that small white towel.
Why can’t it just fall off?
“I’ve seen better,” I scoff at him.
Hayden isn’t offended, not one bit. Instead, his smile grows wider, smug even. I guess when you look like a Greek god you have the ego to match. He knows my words are just empty bullshit.
He leans in, surprising me. I inhale sharply, the scent of soap, water, and sandalwood overflowing my senses. It’s like his nearness is sucking out all the air between us and I can’t breathe.
And then he touches me and my body goes completely rigid. Ever since the accident, I didn’t let anybody touch me except doctors, and apparently Hayden. His fingertips brush against the corner of my mouth and my pulse skyrockets. My heart beating so loudly I’m sure he can feel it.
I’m completely under his spell and it takes me a while to register his next words.
“From the drool on your face, I’d think otherwise.” The victorious glint in his jade irises pisses me off almost as much as his words.
Gritting my teeth, I plant both my hands on his oh-so-naked chest and push him away with all I have in me. He barely moves an inch. “You’re an asshole.”
Hayden laughs. “So you’ve said, yet you’re still here. You always seem to come back. Why is that again?”
“I’m…”
But I don’t get to finish because a hand slips around my shoulders, startling me.
“I invited her over.”
I look at Nix casually standing next to me, his car parked at the curb of the street. When did he get here? And how did we not hear him?
My gaze fixes on the side of his face, but he ignores me in favor of a staring contest with Hayden. How much did he hear? Based on the smile on his face, I’d say enough.
“And why is that?” Hayden asks, looking between the two of us. The smile he was sporting only seconds ago replaced by a frown.
“Studying.”
The glare Hayden has been throwing at Nixon suddenly turns to me like it’s somehow my fault his friend invited me over. If I could have chosen, it would have been anywhere but here, but Nix insisted so I figured it would be easier to go with it instead of resisting it. Apparently, one way or the other, fate will keep on throwing me at Hayden Watson. Might as well get used to it. To think I was foolish enough to believe this campus is big enough for the two of us to never cross paths.
“So if you’ll excuse us.” Nix urges him to move away, but Hayden stays still. His jaw is clenched so tight I’m surprised his molars don’t break.
Finally, he takes a step back, leaving barely enough space for me to pass through.
Nixon lets out a sound that’s a lot like he’s choking on laughter. Pushing Hayden back, he grins at me. “Come on, Cals. I need to practice my Español, or I’ll fail.”
Hearing his thick accent, I’m not sure he’s mistaken.
Putting one of his big hands on the small of my back, he guides me toward the stairs.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
Nix looks over his shoulder, his whole body vibrating with suppressed laughter. “My room.”
I don’t turn around, but I don’t have to. I can feel Hayden’s death glare on my back all the way up the stairs just fine.
“It’s the first door on the right,” Nix says as soon as we reach the top. I nod, following silently. “It’s technically Maddox’s house so we let him keep the master. He needs the extra space for all his shit anyway.”
I’m not sure who Maddox is, I don’t think I’ve ever seen the guy, so I don’t comment.
Nixon’s room is spacious enough as it is, even though a king-sized bed takes most of the space. But if you’re as big as one of the football players, I guess you need all the extra sleeping space you can get.
It looks like what I would imagine a total boy room looks like, not that I’ve seen many in my life. The bed isn’t made and there are some clothes thrown in the corner of the room, right next to the hamper. There are a few footballs scattered around, and different sports magazines on the nightstand next to his bed.
I take one ball that’s in the corner of his bed, right next to his pillow. The leather is soft in my hands and I give it a playful toss in the air.
“You sleep with balls too?” A smile tips my lips.
“Only when there isn’t anybody to keep my balls warm.” He wiggles his brows playfully.
“Poor baby. I don’t know how you manage it.”
“You can always volunteer as a tribute.”
He jumps on the bed, making the mattress squeak loudly in protest underneath his weight.
“God, I really pity your roommates.”
“How so?”
“Having to listen to you getting it on all the time?” I’m not sure if I want to laugh or frown, so I do a little bit of
both.
“You’re not going to join me on the bed?” He laughs, jumping a little to make the mattress squeak louder.
“Yeah, I think I’ll pass.”
God only knows how many of his conquests he’s brought to that thing and the last time he changed the sheets. Yup, thanks but no thanks. I have enough shit on my plate without adding an STD to the mix.
The door shuts loudly somewhere down the hall. I don’t have to even ask who it is, because there is only one answer—Hayden.
The silence falls over us, Nixon’s curious gaze settled on me as we wait to hear something, but nothing else comes.
“Did you bring me here to taunt him?” I ask, breaking the quiet.
“Did you accept to get a rise out of him?” he challenges back.
“Touché.”
Sighing, I sit in the chair and turn toward him. I grab the books out of my backpack and settle them on my lap, propping my legs on the edge of the bed.
When I finally lift my gaze, I find him still looking at me. So I stare back. I’m not sure what he really sees and I’m not about to ask him either. Apparently I don’t have to.
“You get a rise out of him just by breathing. I want to know why. He doesn’t want to tell me, so I’ll find out on my own.”
“And you think I’ll be the one to tell you?” I raise my brow in question.
“You don’t have to tell me anything.”
“I came here to forget, Nixon. To move on, not to remember.”
“How is that working for you so far?”
My lips press in a tight line, no words coming out. That in itself answer enough.
“I figured.” Getting off the bed, he grabs his books before plopping back down. Another loud squeak comes from the mattress. I glare at him, but he just smiles sheepishly. “If I really wanted to piss him off, I’d be bouncing on this thing for the duration of your stay. As for forgetting…” He trails off, a somber expression coming over his face. “Wanting to forget and actually being able to are two different things, Callie.”
I open the book, going to the lesson we were working on this week. Looking over the top, I meet his gaze head-on. “Are you saying that from experience?”
