“I’m screaming at the top of my lungs and running away, then,” Romy says. “And then you can explain to campus security why you’re out of bed.”
I open my mouth to retort and then close it. She’s going to win this; I should have known it the second I voluntarily left our dorm room tonight. I unbutton my cardigan and fold it up carefully, setting it on the gnarled roots of the tree. The cool night air sends goosebumps across my bare skin. I take off my t-shirt and long skirt. I’m only in my bra and underwear.
Romy raises an appraising eyebrow. “Who knew you had a body under that nun’s uniform, Esther.”
I’m embarrassed again but I ignore her, sliding on the spaghetti-strap tank top. I pick up the tattered-edged denim miniskirt and pull it on. I feel so exposed I might as well be naked.
Romy finishes up her makeup and starts changing. “I’ll do your makeup in a minute,” she says.
I shake my head. “I’m already in these clothes. You’re not getting more out of me than I’ve already given.”
Romy pulls on a strapless, midriff-baring top and a tight black miniskirt. “Esther, you came out here with me voluntarily. There must have been a reason for that. Either go the whole nine yards or go back to our dorm room. Either way, shut up about you not wanting to be here. Because I don’t believe it for even a second.”
She’s right. Of course. I sit down at the base of the tree, my arms across my chest, and wait for her to finish changing. Soon, Romy’s covering my face with makeup. I sit there like a mannequin and let her work. The faster I let her finish, the faster we get to the party, and the faster I get to be back in my bed reading my sports magazines.
Romy leans back and purses her lips, holding her iPhone flashlight up to my face. “Not bad considering I was working in the dark. Maybe a little heavy, but…you’ll be fine. You look like a new person. Nobody is going to recognize you. Nobody.” She cocks her head. “It’s a little freaky. If I didn’t know it was you right now? I wouldn’t know it was you.”
“Can’t I peek in the mirror?”
Romy gathers up our clothes and stuffs them in her enormous purse. “No. We’re late enough as it is and I don’t want you wiping it all off before we get there.” She helps me stand up and hands me a pair of high heels.
“I can’t walk in these,” I protest.
“Then carry them and change out of your grandma orthopedic sneakers when we get there. Let’s go, Esther.”
She takes my hand and we wander down the residential streets, Romy’s heels clicking on the pavement followed by my reluctant shuffle. The air smells like autumn: cinnamon and wet leaves and crisp breezes. The wind blows and I shiver. I’m already not used to wearing so little clothing, but even if I’d been in my usual plain garb, I’d still be chilly tonight.
All the houses are quiet, the occasional blue glow of a television set falling through cracks in blinds and onto the front yard. We’re six blocks away when I hear the pounding of music.
Romy smiles at me. “We’re here.” She stops in front of a three-story, falling-down Victorian house. People spill out of it onto the front yard. “Shoes.”
I sigh and untie my sneakers, balling up my socks and hiding them inside. I hand them to her. She holds out her arm so I can steady myself as I slip on sparkly gold high heels. They’re at least four inches high. “You couldn’t have given me a shorter pair?”
“Those are my short shoes. Besides that, they make your legs look ten times longer than they actually are. I wish you’d be more grateful.” She pouts.
“Yes, thank you, Romy, for bringing me to a party I had no interest in attending and dressing me up like…like…”
“Romy! Get your ass over here!” A man’s voice calls out from the patio and I recognize one of the football players. Rick or something. I’m not sure.
Romy leaves me with her purse which she’s unfolded into the size of a tote bag, and runs to greet her suitor. I stare in shock as he lifts her off her feet and kisses her on the mouth. I realize I’m blushing. A drunken party guest bumps into me as they stumble into the street and vomit onto the pavement.
This night is off to a roaring start.
CHAPTER FOUR
SAINT
“Do you mind?” I grunt at Rick sitting next to me on the sticky sofa. I don’t know why the sofa’s sticky. I don’t really want to know.
This is just one of the many quirks of a party house: every surface is coated in something. I just don’t know what that something is. Rick moves an elbow into my ribs and I resign myself to the fact that he’s making out with his girlfriend, they’re taking up most of the couch, and if I want to get up I’ll lose this seat to someone else.
I lean back and cover my eyes. I’d wanted to come out tonight, but this party is a lot less fucking fun than the last one. Of course, the last one didn’t take place the night before a big football game, either. As much as I pretend to not give a fuck, I can’t blow a game. It’s career suicide, and a pro-league scout could be watching.
I heave myself off the sofa and fight my way through the crowd to the bathroom. It’s closed. I bang on the door.
“It’s occupied!” someone calls back to me.
I bang on the door again. “Whoever’s in there, you better be taking a shit and not having sex. I have to piss like a racehorse.”
Nobody yells back at me, so I wander back through the crowd and out the back patio door. There are fewer people out here, but most of them are smoking weed. I can’t risk even a contact high. I go back inside. A few women wave me over to their threesome of dancing but for once, I’m not interested. I scan the room for any activity that will keep me here. It’s only nine o’clock. I can’t sneak back onto campus yet, they’re doing hallway checks.
That’s when I see her.
Her blonde hair is pulled into a low, demure ponytail, and she’s pulling self-consciously at the hem of her top. The thin straps holding the fabric up look like they’re about to break from carrying her perfect tits around. She’s wearing one of those dime-a-dozen ripped miniskirts, but on her? It actually looks different. It sets off her pale, curvy thighs. I can’t see her feet but I’m hoping to God that she’s wearing a pair of fuck me heels.
I grin to myself. She is wearing a pair of fuck me heels.
This should keep me occupied for quite a while. I push through the crowd and stop in front of her. She’s been pushed into a corner by an increasingly drunken mob doing some ridiculous dance and filming themselves for social media.
I clear my throat. “Hey,” I say to her.
She looks up at me with hazel, round eyes. “Uh…hi,” she says.
God, her lips are perfection. Full and round and I can already picture them wrapped around my cock. “I don’t think I’ve seen you around here before. You a freshman? Or just a lost woodland creature?” She really does resemble a scared little animal right now. It’s almost like she hasn’t experienced human contact before.
“What?”
“I’m Saint,” I say, reaching out my hand.
She takes hold of it with uncertainty. “Nice to meet you,” she replies.
“What’s your name?” I ask, wondering why she’s playing hard to get like this.
“I gotta go,” she replies, pushing past me. I lose her in the sea of people and curse.
“Fuck!” She was the only thing keeping me here. Now it looks like she’s leading me on a chase. I like a challenge.
“Saint!” Rick grabs my arm, his drunk girlfriend hanging on his shoulder. “You leaving?”
I shake my head. “No. You?”
Rick laughs. “We’re headed upstairs. Don’t leave without me. You’re the only one who knows the nighttime key code to the dorm, alright?”
“Rick, how many times have we done this? I know the drill. Just be sure to wrap it up before you fuck your woman.”
His girlfriend laughs. I can’t ever remember her name. Rory? Something like that.
“Like I’d let him fuck me otherwise,�
�� she says with a chuckle.
They disappear upstairs and now I’ve thoroughly lost the trail of my mystery woman. I push through the crowd, beating feminine hands off of me. One of them grabs my ass and it’s all I can do to tear myself away from her.
I could fuck any woman I want to here tonight. But there’s only one girl I actually want to fuck. Now I have to find her.
CHAPTER FIVE
ESTHER
I run away from Saint like he’s on fire. I don’t even know why he walked over to me. But he’s bad, bad news. I can’t get involved with someone like him; I shouldn’t even be seen with someone like him. I shouldn’t even be here.
Tears prick at my eyes and sweaty bodies push against me as I try to make my way to the other side of the house. I open several doors and accidentally walk in on at least half a dozen people having sex.
I’m blushing so hard my ears feel like they’re on fire. I find the last room and realize with a shock that I’ve found wonderland.
It’s a library.
“Oh, thank you, Heavenly Father,” I whisper.
There’s a plush, leather armchair next to a round mahogany side table. I pull the chain on a Tiffany lamp and enjoy the orange glow. I pace around the room, trailing my fingertips across well-worn paperback spines.
I land on a copy of The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn and pull it off the shelf. This book is like running into an old friend. I snuggle up with a cashmere throw and drape my legs over the arms of the chair, cracking open the book and getting lost in a more familiar world than the one I’m sitting in currently.
I’m so intensely involved with the story I don’t even hear the door open. I don’t hear the footsteps growing closer and closer. I don’t even realize I’m not alone until a masculine voice whispers a foot away from my ear.
“Good book?”
I yelp and drop the book on the floor, pulling the throw up around me absurdly, as if I’m actually naked and someone walked in on me in my bedroom.
Then I realize who it is.
It’s Saint.
“You scared me!” I say unnecessarily, trying to calm my racing heart. But looking at his blue eyes is making it hard for my heart to stop running at a million miles an hour.
He laughs, giving me the cock-eyed grin that lights up TV screens across America every single Saturday. “Yeah, I kind of picked up on that.” He crouches down and picks up the book, looking at the title. “Mark Twain fan?”
“Obviously,” I spit back at him.
He raises his eyebrows. “Alright.”
“I’d like my book back, please,” I say sternly, holding out my hand.
“You hate me. What I can’t figure out is why?”
I gape at him. “How can I hate you? I don’t even know you.”
“And I really, really don’t even know you. And you won’t give me your name, either, so that’s making this even more difficult.” He stands up and paces around the room, staring up at the bookshelves. “Though I guess Shakespeare had it right. A rose by any other name would smell as sweet.”
“You know Shakespeare?” I ask him. I silently scold myself for that. My plan is to avoid Saint. Not to keep talking to him.
“I’m not just some stupid jock after all,” he says. He bites his lip and smiles at me. “I’m going to guess your name.” He pauses, staring at me hard. I cross my arms over my chest as his eyes dart south. “Ruth. No. Alexa. No. Hmmm…”
The harder he stares, the more I blush. I look away from him, hoping he hasn’t noticed the effect he’s having on me.
“I’m not telling you my name,” I say.
“Why not? You go to Fullerton, right?”
I hesitate. “That’s not really any of your business, either, I don’t think.”
He walks closer to my chair and I stand up, dropping the blanket and pulling at the hem of my skirt as if thirty more inches of body-concealing fabric is suddenly going to appear there. “I make you nervous.”
It isn’t a question.
“I really shouldn’t even be here,” I say. But I’m frozen in place.
Saint walks closer and closer to me. Soon, he’s only a foot away from me. I can smell his cologne. I can see his rippling muscles underneath his tight, black t-shirt. The hint of a tattoo peeks out from under his sleeve and I can’t help but stare. He sees where I’m looking and rolls his shirt up. “It’s a cross,” he says. “For God, you know.”
I shake my head. “I don’t really need to know-“
“Because it’s against the honor code? Right. So is saying fuck.” He takes a step closer to me; I’m glued to the floor. “So is being at this party.” Another step forward. “And so is this,” he’s inches away, and my heart is thudding so loudly it could substitute for a drum in the marching band tomorrow at half time. His lips brush against mine so softly I wonder if they really connected. Then he kisses my left cheek. Then my right cheek.
I feel like I can’t breathe.
He steps back and holds the paperback out to me. “You should take this with you,” he says.
“That’s stealing,” I stutter.
“You need to loosen up a little. Delilah,” he replies, walking out of the room.
“That’s not my name!” I yell after him, clutching the book to my chest.
But he doesn’t respond or even turn around.
I know who Delilah is. She’s no biblical role model, that’s for certain.
CHAPTER SIX
SAINT
I walk into the locker room bright and early. No one’s in here yet.
I take a hot shower even though I bathed last night. I can’t get Delilah out of my mind. No woman has ever played hard to get with me. Ever. She’s the first.
I stay in the steaming water so long my fingers turn to raisins. I shut off the tap when I hear the voices of my teammates echo through the locker room.
“Saint!” Rick calls out to me, pulling open the shower curtain. “Naked again, I see. I’m assuming that’s how you were last night. I couldn’t find you, man!”
I grab a towel and wrap it around my waist, my hair dripping. “Yeah, I turned in early.”
“And left me to fend for myself. You broke Man Code.”
I shove him out of the way with a smile. “I’m sure you found a way to spend the night someplace cozy and red-headed.”
Rick smiles at me. “Yeah, something like that.”
“Well, if it isn’t golden boy, here early again.” The voice of my mortal enemy fills the air.
My hand pauses on the door to my locker. “Scott,” I say as a greeting. It takes a lot of restraint for me to not call him Fuck Face, which is my preferred nickname for him.
Scott leans against the lockers. “You ready to not fuck this game up?”
Scott is a third-year senior. Really. Seriously. I think he’s going to die as a senior at this university. I took his place as quarterback my sophomore year. He’s hated me ever since.
“You ready to actually throw a pass better than your grandma does?” I snap.
Scott gnaws at the toothpick between his teeth. I know he does it because he actually wants a cigarette. But, like most things, smoking is against the honor code. “Nice comeback.” He walks away and I can finally breathe again.
“Don’t let him get to you,” Rick mutters as he walks past me.
“Never do,” I reply loudly. I start getting my pads on. I’m dressed before half the team is even in the locker room. I guess I’m supposed to say “I like being a leader” but honestly I just like intimidating them.
There’s one final thing I have to do before I take my place for the pre-game pep talk. I walk over to the mirror with my face paint and slide on two streaks of royal blue paint. We’re the Fullerton Sharks. Royal blue and lime green are our colors. I take out the bottle of lime green paint and a small brush and call over to Rick. “Rick!”
“You need your makeup done, princess?” he calls back to me. But he walks over and takes the brush. “What verse a
re we doing this week?”
“Judges sixteen four,” I reply.
Rick furrows his brows. “I’m not familiar with that one.” He shrugs and gets to work. Rick has a minor in art. He plays the tough guy but I’m certain that if his father didn’t want him to be a lawyer he’d be painting all day long.
Rick snaps the bottle of face paint closed. “Alright. You wanna take a look?”
I take the bottle and shake my head. “Nah. You always nail it. Thanks, brother.”
He slaps me on my shoulder pads. “Don’t even mention it.”
After I put away my face paint, I make sure to stand in the dead center of the room so everyone has to go around me to get ready. I say nothing, but go over my incantations in my head. This is the rush I live for. The slow build of adrenaline. The waiting. Knowing there are several thousand people in the stands above my head waiting to cheer me on. Plus the few million people watching this game live on television.
I’m in my element.
I live for this.
Coach walks into the locker room and everyone stops what they’re doing. He hooks his thumbs into his belt loops and puffs out his chest, taking his time to gather his words. I know it’s all a show, but it’s part of our ritual. You don’t fuck with rituals.
“You boys ready to serve God and country on that field today?”
“Yes sir!” we cry out in unison.
“Good. Now this team might look like they’re going to just lay down for us on that field. Their record isn’t good. But we don’t let that stop us from playing the best! Darn! Football! That we possibly can!”
The locker room cheers.
“Now, move in for the prayer circle.” Pads bump into one another as the team pushes toward me. Rick is on my left. Scott is on my right. I resist the urge to spit in his face. We all put our arms around one another as best we can with our safety gear on. “Saint, you wanna take this one?”
“Yes, Coach,” I reply. I take a deep breath and bow my head in reverence. “Heavenly Father, please watch over us today on that field. May we walk away victorious and all in one piece. We give all the glory to you. May you look down on us with pride as we spread your message across the country. Amen.”
Dirty Saint: A Secret Baby Sports Romance Page 2
