Until Now (Not Yet #2)

by Laura Ward

  “I’m out, Sylvie. I’ll be back tomorrow at two.”

  Sylvie turned to me and smiled. At five feet two inches, her petite frame and gray head of hair made some people misjudge her as a softie. Talk to her for a more than a minute, and they’d realize their mistake. Sylvie was direct and snippy to most people, but luckily she had a soft spot for me. My boss owned and managed Maria’s Diner and was the toughest woman I knew. As a single woman who ran a busy diner seven days a week, she had no choice but to be tough. I respected her more than anyone else in my life. Her example was my mantra these days. Hard work pays off. Stay strong, Grace.

  “Right,” she asked. “You have classes until then?”

  I nodded and slung my backpack over my shoulder.

  “Don’t run here and don’t leave class early, Grace. You get here when you get here. School’s most important.” Sylvie turned back to her ancient computer where she slowly entered numbers into a spreadsheet. “Oh, and take that bag of food with you, girl.” She motioned to a large brown paper bag.

  I peeked inside and felt tears prick the corners of my eyes—bread, fruit, cheese, a jar of chicken noodle soup, and a box of muffins. This was enough food for the rest of the week. “You’re the best.” My voice cracked, and I swallowed the lump in my throat.

  “I saw that boy watching you.” Sylvie looked up from her computer. “The footballer.”

  “Really?” I cleared my throat. “I hadn’t noticed.”

  Sylvie’s eyebrows lifted high on her face. She kindly ignored my lie. “Why don’t you go out with any of them? Boys like that baller ask you out all the time, and you’ve never said yes. Why? Doesn’t need to be a big deal. You could catch a movie. I’d cover for you.”

  I twisted the end of my braid around my finger. I almost giggled when she called him a “baller.” With her advanced age and lack of attention to anything modern, Sylvie spoke with an old-fashioned flair and a nod to her deep Southern roots.

  “Sylvie, it’s not happening. I’ve been burned before.” I blew out a long breath. “I’m in Bloomington to get my degree. I have no need or desire to get close to a guy. Not now anyway.” I stopped there before I said more than I should. The fact was, if I got close to a guy, I could get hurt by him. I would never allow that to happen again.

  I picked up my bag of food. “Men are just a distraction from what really matters. I have to stay focused.”

  Sylvie studied me, not saying a word. Her lips were pursed, eyebrows pinched. I watched her expression change when she decided to let it go, and I felt lighter with relief. She turned back to the computer, intent on putting her digits in the spreadsheet she was working on. “Friday’s special is meatloaf. I’ll have a container of that for you to take for dinner.” She didn’t look at me as she typed, but she wasn’t waiting for my response. Sylvie was one of the few people I never argued with. I couldn’t. She only had my best interests at heart.

  “Okay.” I glanced at my watch, and my stomach sank. “Gotta go, or I’ll be late.” Sylvie waved me off as I grabbed the bag of food and headed out.

  I adjusted my backpack and turned the corner. I would have to run if I was going to make it across campus by five o’clock.

  “What’s the rush, princess?” None other than Dean stepped in front of me, blocking my path.

  I sighed. I didn’t have time for this shit. “Excuse me.” I sidestepped to the right, and Dean moved with me.

  “What’s your name?” He grinned down at me from his tall, lean but muscular frame.

  “I’m sorry, I don’t have time to talk. I need to go.” I moved to the left and began walking. Dean turned around and began walking with me.

  “Let me buy you a drink to loosen those lips. Maybe then I can learn your name? It must be god-awful if you’re so hesitant to tell me. What is it? Matilda? Francine? My best friend has an aunt named Agnes.” He grimaced and then chuckled. “That it?”

  I could tell he was trying to be funny, but I looked away, grinding my teeth. “No time for the drink.” I bit the words out and took a step backward.

  Dean’s chiseled face contorted in confusion. “You won’t even meet me at a bar? We can hook up there later if you’re busy now.”

  I rolled my head back and looked up at the sky. Patience, Grace. “No. I won’t meet you at a bar. Not now, not later, not ever. I don’t hang out at bars.” And I don’t hang out with guys like you, I thought. “I have to go.” Dean stopped in his tracks, his eyes wide with shock. I used the opportunity to pass him by and sprint down the street, turning toward campus and slowing my jog when I realized he had given up his pursuit.

  ***

  TWENTY-FOUR HOURS LATER I’d forgotten all about Dean Goldsmith. I concentrated on the reason I was here at IU—school.

  My last class of the day was Art History. The elective course was a nice break from the business classes that were required for my major. I walked into Maria’s and waved at Sylvie before heading to the back to change clothes.

  Since meeting Sylvie during my freshman year of college when I had come looking for a job, she had arranged my work schedule around my classes. Without this job and her flexibility, I would’ve never been able to stay in school full time.

  I clocked in and walked into the dining area, tying my apron strings behind my back. Sylvie motioned to a table, and I responded with a quick nod. Grabbing my pencil and pad of paper, I made my way over.

  “Well, hello there.” The hello was long and drawn out. I winced. Dean and his friend were back. His friend was wearing an IU football jacket, and I recognized him by his shaved head and close-cropped beard. Dean looked, as he always did, like a sexy surfer who had just rolled out of bed.

  Probably some girl’s bed.

  His blond hair was disheveled in a way that made it seem like he didn’t care when I was pretty darn sure he really did. His faded football T-shirt was snug in the arms and chest. God, his arms—I had a thing for arms. I liked them cut but not bulky, and I particularly liked tight, corded forearms. Dean had all that going on and then some.

  I noticed cute guys before, but I’d never really been attracted to any. Dean’s looks, personality aside, called to parts of me that had been dormant for years. He was a “take me to bed, no questions asked” kind of good-looking. Good thing I was the queen of questions and the furthest thing from a bed hopper. I squared my shoulders and shook off my lusty thoughts. Never going to happen, Grace, so erase it from your mind.

  I looked over to see his friend watching me, an arrogant smirk on his face. He snickered in Dean’s direction. “What can I get for you guys?” I asked.

  “Cheesesteak sub and a coke for me.” Dean’s friend looked down, focusing on his phone, and I relaxed a bit.

  Dean looked me up and down. “What’s your favorite thing on the menu?”

  I stared back. “Everything here is good.”

  “What’s your favorite, Red?” His grin was slow to form and hot as hell.

  Red. How original. “My favorite thing is the turkey club,” I answered.

  “That’s what I’ll have then. Oh, and a sweet tea and your name. What’s your name, Red?”

  I looked down. I’d forgotten my name tag again. A small smile slipped onto my face before I could stop it. “Red.” I ducked my face to hide my blush, or more likely red cheeks, as I left to place their orders. I heard Dean’s friend’s loud laughter as I walked away.

  As soon as their meals were ready, I delivered them with a smile. No matter how obnoxious the customer, I counted on the tips I made each day. “Can I get you anything else?”

  Dean looked up with an impish grin. “Come with me to a friend’s party Saturday night. I promise you’ll have fun.”

  “No, thank you.” I waved as Mr. Davidson walked in. He came in every afternoon for coffee and a Danish.

  Dean’s friend coughed the word “rejection” into his hand, and I held back my grin. Irritating Dean was kind of fun if I was being honest with myself. Turning down one of the top
dogs at IU was amusing. I wasn’t doing it to be mean. I truly had no interest or ability to go to a bar or a party with him.

  Dean scowled at his buddy, then looked back up at me. “What’s your deal, Red?” He cocked his head to the side and scratched his chin. “Everybody likes to party.”

  “Not me—unless by party you mean study. And I don’t think that’s what you mean at all, now is it?” I grinned cheekily when Dean’s jaw dropped. “Enjoy your lunch, boys.” I headed over to Mr. Davidson and caught Sylvie’s worried glance. I waved her off with a smile. She didn’t need to worry about me. I could handle the Dean Goldsmiths of the world.

  Chapter Three

  Dean

  “DID YOUR MOM send pierogies?” Jon walked into the kitchen of our apartment with a big-ass grin, sniffing the air around him.

  Damian laughed. “Sure did. Mom would never send me to Bloomington without your favorite dinner.” He pushed the container laden with pierogi toward Jon. “Thanks for letting me crash here tonight, man.”

  “No problem.” Jon pulled the foil from the casserole dish and shoved a whole pierogi in his mouth, groaning in satisfaction. “Fuck, yes. Still warm,” he said around a mouthful of meat and potatoes. He swallowed before continuing. “Besides, you’re Dean’s little brother. You’re family.”

  I leaned back in my chair. “Jon, no parties here tonight. He cannot be hungover when he meets with Coach K tomorrow. I’m serious. If he fucks this up, he’ll end up at Purdue with the twins.” Our brother and sister attended our rival school, and I had to make sure Damian got accepted here. Long-standing family competition and some serious ribbing were at stake. True, I was a proud party animal and a general asshole to my younger siblings, but I still looked out for them—especially when they were eighteen and visiting my campus.

  Damian was hoping to get a football scholarship to IU like I had. My dad worked in a factory back home, so money was tight. Plus with six kids a year or two apart in age, my parents would have three in college at the same time for the foreseeable future. Scholarships were a necessity. I was pretty sure that Coach K wouldn’t have asked him here if he wasn’t planning on extending him an offer, but having my little bro show up hungover could change that plan real fast.

  “I hear you.” Jon shoved another pierogi in his mouth and then walked to the fridge to grab a beer. Giving Damian a nod, he twisted off the cap and handed it to him.

  “Jerk-off? What did I just say?” I shouted and pulled the tray of pierogies over to my side of the table.

  Jon grabbed the tray and held it over his head. “If you take these from me, I will kill you. They’re that good.”

  Damian laughed and then took a long drink of beer. “Newsflash, bro. I’ve had beer before. Lots of it. You know, down at the river? Just like you used to do.”

  I couldn’t argue with his point, so I grabbed a pierogi before my pig of a roommate polished them all off. “I know that. But tomorrow’s important for you. Be cool.”

  Damian nodded, his face sobering. “Thanks for setting it up. I can’t believe you’re almost done playing at IU.”

  Reaching behind me, I opened the fridge door and grabbed myself a beer. “Me either.”

  “Can you call some chicks to come over tonight? A hookup would put me in a great mood before I meet Coach K.” Damian waggled his eyebrows, and I threw my cap at his forehead. It landed dead center, and I barked out a laugh.

  “No way in hell. Your Justin Bieber hair and tiny dick would hurt my reputation.” I grinned at the look on my brother’s face as he smoothed his preppy hair.

  “You’re the small pecker in the family. My junk’s so big girls tear up when they see me.” He grabbed his crotch and tugged.

  I rolled my eyes. “They’re crying cause they can’t feel shit.”

  Damian punched my throwing arm. Hard. Fucker. “You dating anyone or just hooking up with everyone?”

  Jon licked his fingers as if in anticipation of what he was about to unload on my brother. “Your bro, the ladies’ man that he is, has an honest-to-God crush on a girl that can’t stand the sight of him. She won’t even tell him her name.”

  “What? Fill me in.” Damian rubbed his hands together in anticipation.

  “I don’t have a crush, nutsack. I just want to know her effing name, and she won’t tell me. It’s driving me crazy.” I dragged my fingers through my messy hair and finished my beer in one gulp.

  “Where’d you meet her?” Damian asked.

  Jon folded his hands behind his head and smirked. “She’s a waitress at a diner. She’s a knockout redhead. And she isn’t buying what our man is selling.”

  Damian laughed too loud and too long for my liking. I smacked the back of his head. The last thing I needed was my dad, coach, or my annoying brothers and sisters figuring out that anything was distracting me from playing ball this fall.

  But they wouldn’t. Because there were no distractions. There was only football.

  ***

  FIVE HOURS LATER Damian was passed out in my room, and Jon and I were well past shit-faced. I threw the controller of our Xbox down on the table and fell back against the couch. “Fuck, I’m drunk.”

  Jon laughed through half-mast eyes that didn’t seem to be focusing. “Me too. Isn’t it great?”

  “Not in the morning it won’t be. Especially when we have sprints at seven o’clock.”

  Jon threw me a can of beer, and I popped it open. “We’re this far gone, let’s have one more.” He opened his can and held it up in salute.

  I saluted him back with a belch. My phone buzzed, and I read the screen with one eye closed. I found closing the one eye steadied my eyesight when I was inebriated. “Christ. It’s Steph again.”

  Jon sat up in his recliner. “Steph’s been calling?”

  I tossed the phone to the side. “Only since she heard I might go pro.” Stephanie Romley had been my on-again, off-again high school girlfriend. We were mostly off, leaving me plenty of time to hook up with interested females, but Stephanie and I tended to go to dances and other important events together. We were in the Homecoming Court from freshman to senior year and Prom King and Queen. We were never anything serious, but she was hot, easy, and wild as fuck. Now that she got wind of my money and fame potential, she was up my ass sideways.

  “Gold digger. Seriously though, you’re gonna have to be on the lookout for users. Girls are going to do anything they can to get with you in hopes of becoming an NFL trophy wife.”

  I took a long gulp of my beer. “I’m not the smartest, but even I can see through that plan. Never gonna happen.”

  Jon grabbed a handful of corn chips and shoved them in his mouth. How the hell was that guy still hungry? Sure, we burned a ton of calories each day in football, but Jon was always eating. Non-fucking-stop. I think he’d polished off twenty pierogies at dinner, and that was nasty no matter how good my mama made them.

  “You can still lose it all. Look at Landon,” he mumbled around half-chewed chips.

  I sat up, placing my beer on the coffee table, and rubbed my eyes with the palms of my hands. “You don’t think that runs through my head all the time? Jesus, man. He fucked up so big. He could be sitting here with us right now.” I slammed back the last of my beer. “But he chose a girl over football at IU with you and me. I would never be that dumb. I’d never lose my career over a chick.”

  “Bros before hoes.” Jon laughed.

  And football above all.

  ***

  I RAN MY fingers through my wet hair. Mission accomplished. I didn’t puke after my workout this morning, and that was achieved by pure luck. I felt like dog shit when I woke up, but luckily Damian did not. Coach said he did fine during his interview, which for Coach was a rave review.

  Yes, Coach had told me football first, but I had a few vices. Number one was beer with the boys. As long as he never found out, what was the harm? I survived the workout and had time to grab a shower before my nine o’clock American Studies class.


  American Studies.

  The class was total bullshit, but if I could get an A analyzing How I Met Your Mother and Survivor, then I was all in.

  I walked up the steps to Ballantine Hall and felt a tap on my back. I looked over my shoulder. Leslie. Tall, blond, curvy, and flexible. Leslie made last Thursday night beyond good for me.

  “Hey, handsome,” she purred into my ear, and my lonely dick stirred to life.

  Vice number two were girls just like Leslie. Ones that eagerly told me their name and wanted nothing more than to call mine out at night—because of what we did together in bed. That’s all.

  I turned to face her, and she pressed up against me, wrapping her arms around my waist. I rested my hands on her hips. “Hey, yourself.” That was enough small talk for the lovely Leslie as she moved her lips against mine, slipping her tongue in before I had a chance to take control of the kiss. I wasn’t a fan of girls who shoved their tongue in my mouth, but at least Leslie knew what she was doing.

  I pulled away, and she stuck out her bottom lip in a pout. “Don’t be mad, sugar,” I whispered into her ear. “I’ve got a class now, but I could always meet up with you later. Text me.” I bit the lobe of her ear, and she moaned. Loudly.

  I heard a snort—one that sounded oddly indignant—and looked to my side to see who it came from. A redhead was walking up the stairs with her eyebrows raised high on her face. Is that my waitress? Red? And what the fuck was that look for? I opened my mouth to ask her just that, but lovely Leslie took that moment to give her parting farewell by re-inserting her tongue. I kissed her for another minute, and when I looked behind me, Red was gone.

  “Bye, sugar.” I kissed Leslie’s cheek and ran into my class as the professor started her presentation.

  For the life of me I couldn’t concentrate. The subject was a damn television sitcom, and I still couldn’t focus. Red’s condescending look when she saw me with Leslie had my blood boiling. Who the fuck does she think she is? The princess thought she was too good for me. Her daddy probably warned her off football players. Or was she just playing hard to get?