The Goal

by Elle Kennedy

  10

  Sabrina

  I’m not sure if u’ve blocked me again. On the off chance u haven’t, ur fucking spectacular in bed. Ur hot body almost eclipses that sexy brain of urs. Almost. I want to see u again. In bed, out of it. Whatever.

  I like to pretend that I’m impervious to ordinary things like feelings. That my focus is so precise and laser-like, nothing can push me off the path I set for myself back in sixth grade. But as I stare across the quad at some girl rubbing up against Tucker, thoughts of Harvard and perfect grades and sticking it to all the haters are pushed aside by a rush of green jealousy.

  I want to march over there, whip out my phone, and shove a screenshot of his sext in front of her face. See, he’s mine, I’d snarl and then I’d drag him away. Or maybe I’d throw him down and ride him in front of the entire Briar campus.

  “B, you’re looking like you don’t know if you want to kill Amber Pivalis or fuck Tucker. Either one is illegal on school grounds.” Hope laughs in my ear.

  Amber? Her name is going in my burn book.

  “I don’t have time for this,” I mutter, shifting my books higher in my arms. I’m not sure if I’m talking to myself or Hope at this point. Both of us, maybe.

  “How are we defining ‘this’? Your sudden obsession with Tucker or your maddening refusal to actually allow yourself to enjoy life?”

  “If your eyebrow goes up any higher on your forehead, it will officially be part of your hairline,” is my non-answer.

  “Being around you causes these weird tics.” Hope waggles both eyebrows.

  “Do you make these faces in bed with D’Andre? Is it some strange fetish of his?”

  “You know what D’Andre’s fetish is and it’s not my eyebrows.”

  “Oh God. Right. I’m sorry I brought it up.” D’Andre’s ass preference has not gone unnoticed by any of Hope’s friends, but it’s not something I like to dwell on, not even as a distraction from Amber.

  Miss Thang is currently walking her fingers up Tucker’s arm while he listens intently to every stupid thing that comes out of her stupid mouth. I mean, she could be telling him about Nietzsche’s theories of nihilism, but it’d still be stupid because Tucker’s enraptured.

  “Are we going to stand here all day and watch the Amber/Tucker show, or are we going to eat?”

  Their names don’t even sound right together. Their celebrity nickname would be Tamber or Aucker, and both options are dumb.

  Mine and Tucker’s celebrity name would be Sucker, which could either refer to sex or to the way I feel right now—like a sucker. Because why the hell is he flirting with some other chick after sending me that sext?

  “Eat,” I grumble, but my legs are propelling me west, which is not the direction of the dining hall.

  “You know Carver’s to our left, right?” Hope sounds like she’s trying not to bust a gut.

  I barrel to a halt, but it’s too late. Tucker’s head lifts and he spots me. I can feel the warmth of his smile from here.

  Oh shit, this was a mistake. Three nights ago was a mistake. A week ago was a mistake. Stomping across the quad like a jealous girlfriend is definitely a mistake.

  I grab Hope’s arm and walk very quickly in the opposite direction. “I’m starved. Let’s go eat.”

  “You realize that running is something I only do on the treadmill while wearing my sneaks and running gear, correct?” She trots next to me, trying to keep up on feet that are clad in expensive suede boots with a heel as tall as my hand.

  I walk even faster. “Can’t hear you. Embarrassment is short-circuiting my nervous system.”

  “If embarrassment is causing your malfunction now, I’d love to know what it was that caused you to run across the quad.”

  As if she doesn’t know. Before I can respond, though, Tucker shows up on my right.

  “Where’s the fire?” he drawls.

  Hope grinds to a halt. “Thank God you caught up with us.” She runs a hand across her forehead in an exaggerated motion. “I’m not cut out for outdoor exertions.”

  “Stow it, Hopeless,” I hiss out of the side of my mouth.

  She grins unrepentantly. “I’m going inside to save us a seat. When you’re done, come find me.” She reaches past me to give Tucker’s biceps a squeeze. “You’re welcome to join us, handsome.”

  Someone growls. I hope everyone thinks it’s my stomach, but by Hope’s broad grin and Tucker’s smirk, I know I’m busted. At least Tucker has the decency to wait until Hope’s out of earshot before he opens his mouth.

  “Ignoring my texts again?”

  “It was one text, and it’s only been three days.” I stare stubbornly ahead and not into his gorgeous face or his deep brown eyes.

  “But who’s counting, right?”

  I don’t even need to look at him to know he’s smiling. It’s in his every word.

  We stand there for a moment, neither of us speaking. I suppose he’s looking at me while I’m looking at everything but him. Finally, I find my ovaries and turn to face him.

  The smile has worn off. Now he sports a slightly quizzical frown, as if he’s decided I’m a puzzle that he’s trying to solve. A dozen questions whirl around in my head, and I take a moment to sort through them until I arrive at the one that bothers me the most—the horrible scene with Ray before Tucker left my house on Friday night.

  “I went to Harvard the other day,” I begin awkwardly. “I sat in the lobby and some student mistook me for a poor person in need of legal aid.”

  “Shit.”

  I wave off the sympathy. “After I told him I was actually going to be attending Harvard with him next fall, I went to see the professor who’s good friends with my advisor and she told me to buy new clothes. Up until this weekend, that was probably one of the more humiliating events in my life. Well, if you don’t count the day in middle school when I unexpectedly got my period during gym class. While climbing a rope.”

  He chuckles. “Ouch.”

  “But…you hearing all that shit that my stepdad said?” I pause to shudder. “That’s a scene I’d like to erase.”

  “Sabrina—”

  I cut him off. “My life is like one horrible episode after another of the Real Housewives of South Boston: Slum Edition. And if I don’t keep getting perfect grades, if I can’t compete—” My voice cracks slightly and I have to stop.

  Tucker doesn’t say anything. He’s watching me with an indecipherable expression.

  I clear my throat. “If I can’t compete, then I can’t get out of there, which, frankly, is unacceptable to me. So while sex with you is so goddamn amazing, it’s distracting. You’re distracting,” I confess.

  He lets out a slow, steady breath. “Baby. You think you’re the only one with an embarrassing family member? My Uncle Jim is literally one of those creepy guys that give the uncle stereotype life. He’s always touching his family members in weird ways. None of my female cousins want to be around him. If I brought you to a family reunion, he’d be making some gross statement and trying to grab your ass. I don’t think you’d hold that against me, would you?”

  “No, but…” I start to say that it’s not the same, but we both know that’s not true. It is the same. Ray isn’t my dad. He’s some douchebag my mom married and left behind like an unwanted piece of luggage. Like me.

  “And despite what you think, I don’t have money. I’m here on a full-ride hockey scholarship. If Briar hadn’t offered that, I would be at a state school in Texas.” He shrugs. “I have some savings and I plan to use that to jumpstart my post-college life, but I’m not the asshole you think I am.”

  “I don’t think you’re an asshole,” I mumble, but I don’t deny that I’m leery of guys with money.

  He studies me for a moment. “Let me ask you this. Dean’s trust fund earns more in interest in one quarter than what my entire inheritance is worth. Did his dick feel different when you were with him?”

  I cringe for a moment, because my drunken hookup with Dean Di La
urentis isn’t something I like to dwell on. At the same time, the thought of Dean’s money making his dick feel different is so silly, I can’t stop a snort from coming out. “I don’t remember. I was wasted and so was he.”

  “Did you feel like a million bucks the next day?”

  “God, no.”

  “So money doesn’t matter once you get down to it. It doesn’t matter how thin or thick anyone’s wallet is. We all hurt. We all love. We’re the same. And your past, who you live with, where you came from, it doesn’t have to matter. You’re creating your own future, and I want to see where the road forward takes you.” Tucker slides a finger under the strap of my messenger bag. “We should get some food in you. How about I carry this while I walk you to the dining hall?”

  Apparently philosophy class is over, which I’m happy about because I’m not prepared to respond to anything he just said.

  Instead, I let him take the bag. We walk in silence for a few steps before I’m compelled to ask, “Does nothing shake you?”

  He nods solemnly as he hitches the bag higher onto his shoulder. Anyone else would look slightly ridiculous with a backpack strapped to his back and a messenger bag hanging off his shoulder, but somehow, probably because of his massive chest and height, he pulls it off.

  “Yeah, all kinds of things, but I try not to let them get me down. It’s a waste of energy.”

  “Just name one,” I beg. “One embarrassing thing. One flaw. One thing that bothers you.”

  “You not calling me back bothers me.”

  “That’s self-effacing, not embarrassing.”

  “You’ve turned me down. Twice,” he reminds me. “How is admitting that it bothers me self-effacing?”

  “Because we had good sex, so you know I’d sleep with you again under different circumstances,” I argue.

  Somewhere in the back of my mind, I acknowledge that this conversation is reaching ludicrous levels. I’m arguing with a guy I slept with about how I can’t sleep with him again because he’s too good in bed. My life is officially a farce.

  “What’s a normal circumstance for you?” he asks curiously, matching his long stride with my shorter one.

  “I don’t know. I can’t see that far ahead.”

  He pulls to a stop right before the entrance of Carver Hall. “Bullshit.”

  “What?”

  “Bullshit. You know exactly where you want to be in probably fifty years, not just the next five.”

  My cheeks heat up, because he’s right.

  “Listen. Here’s how it is.” Tucker reaches out and grabs a stray lock of my hair, rubbing it between his fingers before tucking it behind my ear. “I enjoyed sleeping with you. I enjoyed hearing those sexy little moans you made when I sucked on your clit, and I enjoyed feeling you shake like a leaf when you came apart underneath me.” His dirty words are in stark contrast to his matter-of-fact tone and the steady way he stares into my eyes. “But I didn’t like the way your dad—”

  “Stepdad,” I correct.

  “—Stepdad treated you. I hated it, actually. I hate that you live with that and I’m glad you’re making your way out of it, because that’s what you’re doing, right? You’re killing yourself to get perfect grades, top scores, admission to the best schools, all so you can escape.”

  His thumb drags along the apple of my cheek. “I don’t want to be a distraction, but I do want you. I think there’s something here, but I’m a patient guy and I’ll take what you have right now. I’m not here to add pressure on you or make things harder. I want to ease your load.”

  My heart thumps loudly in the space between us, the space that he closes with one step.

  “My dad died when I was three,” he says gruffly. “It was a car accident. I have almost no memory of him. I do remember waking up hearing my mom cry at night, though. I remember seeing her face when she couldn’t get me a new pair of skates or a new video game. I remember how she got angry with me when I was roughhousing in the living room once and I put a lamp through the television. She reamed me out good for that.” His expression is rueful rather than angry. “She worked two jobs to make sure I could play hockey, and when I graduate this spring I’m going to take her away from all that hard work. But I also know I want someone to share my life with. My mom’s lonely. I don’t want that for me. And I don’t want that for you either.”

  When he kisses me, it’s not anything like our previous encounters. Those were rough, hot, and sexually charged. This kiss is petal-soft and sweet as the syrup he ladles onto his words. It feels like he’s pouring tenderness over my head by the gallon. With each press of his lips against mine, he’s repeating his promise to give me nothing more than what I ask for.

  And it’s this kiss. This sweet, tender, thoughtful kiss that scares me more than anything I’ve ever felt.

  11

  Tucker

  A couple days after my talk with Sabrina in the quad, I heave myself off Fitzy’s couch and get ready for a brutally early morning practice. I didn’t plan on crashing at his place last night, but our video game session lasted until two a.m. and there was no point in driving home when we had to wake up at five-thirty for a six o’clock practice.

  Fitzy lives alone in a shoebox-sized apartment in Hastings. His “bedroom” is separated from the living room by a curtain he hung from the ceiling. Getting to the tiny bathroom pretty much requires me to climb over his bed.

  The big tattooed hockey player is sprawled on his stomach, sleeping like the dead, so I not so nicely smack his ass as I head for the bathroom.

  “Wake up, dude. Practice,” I grunt.

  He mumbles something unintelligible and rolls over.

  I find a spare toothbrush in a drawer next to the sink and tear it open. As I brush my teeth, I scroll through my phone to see if Sabrina texted when my phone was on silent last night.

  She didn’t. Damn. I was hoping my speech—and that amazing fucking kiss—might’ve changed her mind about going out with me, but I guess it didn’t.

  I do, however, find the most mind-boggling conversation in the group chat I have with my roommates. All the messages are from last night, and they’re bizarre as fuck.

  Garrett: The hells, D?!

  Dean: It’s not what you think!!

  Logan: It’s hard to mistake ur romantic bath with that giant pink thing! In ur ass!

  Dean: It wasn’t in my ass!

  Garrett: I’m not even going to ask where it was

  Dean: I had a girl over!

  Garrett: Suuuuuuuuure

  Logan: Suuuuuuuuure

  Dean: I hate you guys

  Garrett: <3

  Logan: <3

  I rinse my mouth out, spit, and drop the toothbrush into the little cup on the sink. Then I quickly type out a text.

  Me: Wait… what did I miss?

  Since we have practice in twenty minutes, the guys are already awake and clearly on their phones. Two photos pop up simultaneously. Garrett and Logan have both sent me pics of pink dildos. I’m even more confused now.

  Dean messages immediately with, Why do you guys have dildo pics handy?

  Logan: ALINIMB

  Dean: ??

  Me: ??

  Garrett: At Least It’s Not In My Butt.

  I snort to myself, because I’m starting to piece it together.

  Logan: Nice, G! U got that on the first try!

  Garrett: We spend too much time 2gether.

  Me: PLEASE tell me u caught D playing w/ dildos.

  Logan: Sure did.

  Dean is quick to object again.

  I HAD A GIRL OVER!

  The guys and I rag on him for a couple more minutes, but I have to stop when Fitzy stumbles into the bathroom and shoves me aside. He’s got crazy bedhead and he’s buck-naked.

  “Gotta piss,” he mumbles.

  “Mornin’, sunshine,” I say cheerfully. “Want me to make you some coffee?”

  “God. Yes. Please.”

  Chuckling, I duck out of the bathroom and walk the
four or so steps into his kitchenette. When he finally emerges, I shove a cup of coffee in his hand, sip my own, and say, “Dean shoved a dildo up his ass last night.”

  Fitzy nods. “Makes sense.”

  I snicker mid-sip. Coffee spills over the rim of my cup. “It really does, huh?”

  He gives another nod and chugs the rest of his coffee. I’m already dressed and ready to go, so I leisurely finish my drink while Fitzy dashes around the apartment in search of some clothes.

  Five minutes later, we step outside into the early morning chill and head off to our respective cars. Luckily I’ve got my gear in the back, so I don’t have to stop at the house first. And although it’s stupid as fuck, Fitz and I race to campus like a bunch of speed demons. He wins, because my truck is old and slower than molasses.

  We make it to the arena with ten minutes to spare, which is good because my phone chooses that moment to ring. My pulse quickens at the thought that it might be Sabrina.

  It’s not. I’m slightly disappointed when I see Mom’s number and then feel bad about it because I love my mom.

  “I’ll see you in there,” I call out to Fitzy, who’s hopping out of his car. He nods and ambles off, while I answer the call. “Hey, Mom. Practice is about to start, so I don’t have a lotta time.”

  “Aw, I won’t keep you then. I was just calling to check in and say hi.”

  Her familiar voice causes something inside of me to soften. I swear, Mom always has that effect on me. I could be tense as shit, and one word from her loosens all my muscles. I guess I’m a mama’s boy, but it’s not like I could be anything else, seeing as how I don’t have a dad.

  “You’re up early,” I remark. It’s only five o’clock in Texas, which is early even for her.

  “Couldn’t sleep,” she admits. “I’m styling an entire bridal party this morning. I’m nervous.”

  “Ah, there’s nothing to be nervous about. You’re the hair whisperer, remember?”

  Mom laughs. “That I am. But makeup, not so much. Those courses I took last summer helped, but jeez, kiddo, I’m freaking out here! How could I ever live with myself if I was the woman who ruined a bride’s big day by painting her face like a clown!”