by Teagan Kade
I lift my shoulders, digging into the yoghurt. “Suit yourself.”
“You should really invite me out to dinner.”
I raise an eyebrow. “You want me to invite you out on a date?”
“Dinner, stupid. You know, restaurant? Places with plates and utensils, waiters?”
I’m still daydreaming about her lips. “It’s my one night off training and you want me to spend it babysitting you? Like running you through drills isn’t bad enough.” Though I have a couple of other drills I wouldn’t mind trying out on her.
She places the soda down, lets her legs dangle and leans forward. “Or I could tell Dad you’re still being an asshole to me. This was your last chance, wasn’t it?”
“You’re blackmailing me?”
She winks. “You bet your tight little tushy I am.”
*
As anticipated, the entire gang’s at The Trophy Room. The place is busier than usual for a Saturday night. A couple of girls I recall from the cycling squad are dirty dancing by the band, a Blink 182 rip-off. There’s a pack of track-and-field guys in the corner, a contingent of the gymnastics team sitting at a table with no drinks and looking at everyone else’s with wanton eyes.
The world’s best bar this is not, but it’s the close to campus and not short of charm, AKA random sports memorabilia like the kayak hanging from the roof. It once found its way into the Dean’s bathroom, or so I heard.
“Blake, you fucker you.”
Cutter notices I have company. “Oh, shit. Didn’t know you were bringing…” He looks at Tia.
“Yes?” she queries.
“…Your friend,” he finishes rather diplomatically.
I greet Ethan and Magnus at our usual table near the bar. Magnus’s hair normally looks a little ginger, but under these lights it’s god-damn nuclear.
Sandy, the bartender, arrives with the usual round. She leans down to Tia. “Better watch out, hon,” looking at me, “this one’s trouble”.
“I can handle myself,” Tia replies, and I’m sure she can.
I lay a ten on the table. “A Cruiser for the lady, Sandy.”
Tia puts her hand up. “Fuck that girly shit. Bourbon and coke. Make it a double.” She prods me in the shoulder. “He’s paying.”
I fork out another ten.
The others laugh. She’s in.
All this time I thought she was a naïve, sheltered geek from Orlando, but more and more I’m learning there’s more to Tia Reed than meets the eye—not that what meets the eye isn’t hot as fuck. I can’t remember the last time I was so infatuated with someone.
Magnus sizes her up, the lights above making his head glow amber. “So Tia, what’s it like living with Goliath?”
“Goliath?” she asks.
I’m running my hand across my throat in a ‘don’t you fucking dare’ motion, but Magnus isn’t going to let the fun go.
“Haven’t you heard about Blake and his one-eyed friend?”
Tia, poor kitten, looks completely confused. “I don’t follow.”
“His dick,” Cutter interjects. “It’s got a name.”
Tia looks sideways at me, face scrunched up. “You have a nickname for your penis? That’s… different. Does it go down easily? Is that why you call it Goliath?”
I look for Sandy. Sure could use a beer right now. “It wasn’t my doing. Someone came up with it.”
Cutter interjects. “By ‘someone’, he means the busty blonde from the fencing team. Whole campus could hear her counter-riposte.”
Everyone’s having a great time at my expense, but seeing Tia laugh, seeing the smile on her face, dilutes my anger. In fact, it completely dissolves it. A SWAT team could be busting down the door, but everything would be right in the world as long as she was smiling.
Tia addresses the others. “What do you guys call your dicks?”
My turn. “Sadly, their dicks are too small to warrant special treatment.”
Cutter jumps back. “Hey, not everyone was born with a broomstick between their legs like you”.
“Can we change the subject?” I offer, a first.
“Please,” laughs Tia. “Next you’ll be telling me you’ve named your balls Ben and Jerry.”
*
Sandy keeps the drinks coming. Tia keeps up with us. For such a small thing she can totally pack it away. It’s fucking impressive.
We’ve drifted up to the bar together when a tall girl in a campus sweater grabs my arm, turning me towards her. “Hey, handsome.”
Shit. This is one of those awkward moments where I can’t recall the name of someone I’ve slept with. “Do I…?”
“No,” she laughs, rolling her eyes, “but I’d like to get to know the infamous Johnson & Johnson”.
Yep, she’s staring at my dick. That’s signal for ‘I want to fuck your brains out’, but I’m not on the hunt tonight.
I look behind myself at Tia, now standing awkwardly alone while I try to deal with whoever this is.
“I’m Emma, running.”
I’m wondering what a weird name ‘Emma Running’ is until I realize she’s listing her sport like everyone does here as if it’s some disease or addiction. ‘Hi, I’m Blake, Blake Swimming’.
Emma Running drags a finger across the bar, a droplet caught below it. “Do you come here often?”
I look back again but Tia’s gone. Fuck.
I can’t believe Track & Field used my own line on me. “Look,” I start, “I’m actually really busy, sorry, I can’t—”
“Oh,” she pouts, “you haven’t got time for timid little me?”
She’s trying to look sexy but it’s coming across like constipation. I never thought I’d ever say this, but I just want her to go the fuck away.
“Another time.” I flash her my pearly whites, moving to leave, but Emma isn’t done. She takes my arm, pressing herself against me. “Come on now. We’ve barely gotten to know one another.”
Picking up has almost become too easy around here. Every girl on campus wants to tick Goliath off her bucket list. It’s a rite of passage.
I’m so busy trying to stop this girl pulling my pants off right here I haven’t noticed Ethan draw Tia off to the side of the bar.
“I placed third in…” Emma continues.
He’s leaning towards her, hand on the bar but moving closer. I’ve seen this guy work before. Hell, I taught him everything he knows, used him as a wingman countless times.
“My dream is to…”
Tia looks uncomfortable at first, but the more Ethan talks the more relaxed she seems to become. Come on. You’re smart. You can see through him.
“Do you work out? Your arms…”
I wish Marion Jones here would get out of the way so I get a better look at what Ethan’s up to. She places a hand on my chest. “I’m all yours if you want me.”
I push her aside as gently as I can. “Sorry, I’ve got to go.”
I hear “asshole” behind my back as I cut in next to Ethan. “What’s happening over here?”
He shoves something back into his pocket. “Blake. Thought you were busy with your running friend over there?”
I put on a smile. “Not really in the mood for crazy tonight.”
I look at Tia. “Let’s get out of here. What do you say?”
“Actually, I think I might stay a while,” she says, looking at Ethan with those shamrock eyes I can’t seem to shake.
The fuck? I can’t believe she’s being sucked into his web. Wasn’t she paying attention at the pool?
I turn my attention to Ethan. “Big day of training tomorrow, brother. We should all hit the hay.”
He chuckles. “Since when did you become the sleep police, Johnson? I mean, fuck, you’re normally the life of the party.”
“Is he?” notes Tia, watching me.
I reach out to her. “Come on.”
She backs away. “I’ll see you back at the apartment.”
“Fine,” I snap, throwing my hands up. “Suit your
self. I’m out of here.”
“Blake?” Cutter calls, but I ignore him, heading out into the cold with my fists clenched and temples pounding.
For the first time in a long time I’m pissed off and I can’t place why. Even when I get back to the apartment I storm around, pacing and kicking at anything sizeable or foolish enough to stand in my path.
Billy comes out of his room, handful of tissues in one hand, holding his pants up with the other. “Fuck, bro, what crawled up your ass tonight?”
“Nothing,” I respond, looking through the fridge for a beer but coming up empty.
“Whatever,” says Billy, closing his door.
I sit on a stool and think, trying to pinpoint why I’m feeling like this, and then it hits me, a feeling I haven’t felt in a very long time.
Holy shit. I’m jealous.
CHAPTER FOUR
TIA
I’m nervous sitting at the café next to the gymnasium complex. It’s one thing to socialize with people online where you can hide behind anonymity. It’s quite another to meet them face-to-face in real life. For all I know ‘Lacey’ might be a balding fifty-year-old guy with a pot belly instead of pigtails. Thankfully, that’s not the case.
She wears leggings and a Princess Peach sloppy tee about sixty sizes too big for her tiny frame. She does, in fact, have pigtails, but one’s blue, the other red—very patriotic. Her nose is pierced, her eyes an unnatural blue, but apart from that she is otherwise as normal as any other student around here.
I start to stand. “Lacey?”
She throws her training bag down by the table and slumps into the chair opposite. “Azagoth, I knew it was you.”
“I actually go by Tia out here.”
She slaps herself on the head, laughing. “Shit, sorry. You get so caught up in the game sometimes.”
I reach out and take hold of my coffee. I don’t drink the stuff, but I thought it would make this socially more acceptable.
There’s a moment of silence where I’m thinking this is a big mistake, just awkward awkward awkward, but then Lacey breaks into a beaming smile.
She leans across the table. “This is weird, isn’t it?”
I nod, a smile widening across my face in return. “Yeah, I think I’d be more comfortable if you were in armor chasing a band of wild orcs.”
She leans back. “What can I say? Guys love a girl with an axe.”
“Until they lose their head,” I add.
Lacey grins back. “Ain’t that the truth.”
I look around. The gym complex is monstrous, a perfect example of brutalist architecture if ever I’ve seen it, but that’s Carver—one giant no-pain-no-gain compound. “You train here?”
She nods, crossing her legs over and wincing. “Six to six pretty much every damn day of the week. You’d think we were in a Russian gulag.”
“You specialize in the beam, the, what do they call it, the uneven bars?”
“I do it all,” she replies nonchalantly, “but I’m a gun when it comes to vaulting. That’s why they dragged my ass over here from the west coast”.
I wanted to be a gymnast growing up. I think every little girl does after they spend too long running around the backyard with ribbon in hand post-Olympics. “You enjoy it?”
“Leaving training feeling like I’ve been gang-banged by the wrestling team? Sure, who wouldn’t?”
I laugh, choking a little on my coffee. “I think we’re going to get along just fine.”
She leans closer again, lowers her voice. “How’s it going with… you know?”
“Good,” I reply simply, conscious of the other students in the café.
Lacey puts a finger to her lips. “Say no more. As long as you still think you’re up for it?”
Truthfully, I don’t know if I am. I want to help, but the closer I get, the more dangerous it seems. “I am. Another couple of days and we’ll be ready to go.”
She winks. “Nice. Where does your dad have you staying in this shit-hole?”
I take another sip, try to look casual even though I’ve got no idea why people drink this liquid excuse for an ash tray. “He put me in with one of the swimming guys and his friend in an apartment just out of campus.”
Lacey looks confused. “He what now?”
“There’s no space in the dorms and Dad’s place on campus is way too small for the both of us. It’s two rooms, but the second one is the size of a shoebox. Besides, we haven’t lived together in… a while.”
Lacey rubs her shoulders. “So, who are the lucky guys?”
“Blake and Billy. I can’t remember their last names, sorry.”
Lacey sits upright, eyes wide. “Blake Johnson?”
“Yeah, that’s him, I think.”
She shakes her head. “Holy hell balls, you’re shacked up with Blake Johnson?”
“I suppose you could say that.” I really can’t work out what the big deal is. “Is something wrong?”
“Not wrong, in a manner of speaking, but it’s certainly an interesting development.”
“Because he’s on the swimming squad?”
Lacey leans close again. “Because Blake Johnson is bad news for any vagina within fifty miles. The guy’s a complete man-whore. It’s a Carver must-do, sleeping with him, or Goliath, should I say. They should print a picture of his cock on the brochures.” Lacey draws her hands apart.
I roll my eyes. “So I’ve heard.” Why is everyone so damn obsessed with his penis?
The coral tip of Lacey’s tongue sweeps over her upper lip. “Sneak into the shower and take a look. See what I mean. Just make sure he doesn’t collect you with that thing on the way out. It’s a concussion waiting to happen.”
“I’ll be fine. I can handle him.” I realize what I’ve said too late.
Lacey nods knowingly. “You think? Pretty, fresh thing like you—perfect target. I’m surprised he hasn’t tried to jump you already.” She clues in. “Ah, but you’re Coach Reed’s daughter. Yes, that’s it. He couldn’t touch you even if he wanted. You’re kryptonite.”
Now there’s something I understand. “Bingo. I haven’t seen Dad in a while, but I do know if he caught anyone trying to put moves on me he’d have something to say about it.” He’d have more than words to say about it. He’d probably put a slug through the poor bastard’s chest.
Lacey takes a box of mints out of her bag, pops one into her mouth. “But why put you with those guys, of all people?”
“Something about teaching Blake responsibility, he said.”
Lacey pushes her spoon back and forth on the table. “Take it from me, the only responsibility Blake Johnson knows is keeping that clam hammer of his well fed.”
I narrow my eyes. “You haven’t… have you?”
She throws her hands up. “Hell, no. I mean, not after… you know.” Her face darkens.
“We don’t have to talk about it.”
The smile returns. “Yeah, gaming’s so much more fun, right? Sounds silly, but I’d take an hour in Second Life over sex any day.”
I smile back, but the funny thing is, I wouldn’t know.
Two similarly pixie-like girls approach the table in matching leotards. They speak to Lacey. “Hey.”
“Hey,” she replies, directing her attention back to me. “This is Tia, from Orlando. She’s kicking it here in this excuse for a juvenile detention center for a while. Tia, this is Leah and Lexie.”
Lacey, Leah and Lexie—that’s going to be fun to remember.
Lexie, who for all intents and purposes has hair so white it looks like the color was shocked out of it, looks me over. “Track?”
I grab my coffee with both hands, hold it in my lap warm against my crotch. “Swimming.”
“Cool,” Leah nods.
“She’s rooming with Blake Johnson,” Lacey adds, a little more proudly than I’d like.
That gets their attention. They each take a seat, flanking me. I’m not used to being surrounded like this. I pull a little tighter into myse
lf. “It’s nothing, really, temporary until Dad can find me my own place.”
“Coach Reed,” adds Lacey again, filling them in.
Lexie leans forward. “The plot thickens.”
“It would be the only thing thickening,” Lacey laughs.
Leah shifts her chair a little closer. “You’ve seen the elite squad’s little Fuckbook project then, I take it?”
Lacey looks visibly uncomfortable, but she manages to pull it back together. “I haven’t had time to fill her in.”
I act dumb. “Fuckbook?”
“Real Pulitzer material,” continues Leah, “a website with all the girls they fuck, rated, pictures—the works”.
I hold my tongue before I ask what girl would be stupid enough to allow herself to sleep with these guys so casually before letting them take photos and upload them for the world to see.
“No faces are shown,” Lexie butts in, “but everyone knows who the girls are. It’s almost like they do it for the fame.”
“And how do you know who the guys are?” I query.
Two seconds later Leah has thrusted her phone in my face with the offending website. She points below a highly compromising picture of what appears to be the backside of a Latino girl. “See?” she says. “This post was put up by user Goliath. That’s Blake Johnson.”
“Yep, getting that loud and clear.”
Lexie’s looking at me like I’m the Holy Father. “I can’t believe you’re living with him. I mean, wow, just wow. Have you seen it?”
“Seen what?” I feign, knowing full well what she’s after.
Leah shakes her head. “His womb broom, his porridge gun, Dora the Explorer—you know.”
“No,” I state, “I have not”.
Lexie smiles. “Oh, you will. Like the moon, it’s fucking hard to miss.”
*
I had a fun day with the ‘Triple Ls’, as they call themselves. I can’t really fathom the idea of having real friends, fellow sisters in life to share things with. It’s an abstract concept I’ve yet to come to terms with being an only child, but one I’m coming to understand is essential to college life.
I see the distorted figure of Blake standing at the end of the lane. I break out of the water, reaching for the wall, gasping and trying to fill lungs with air instead of concrete.
