“Hmm.”
The sound she makes isn’t simple. I bet if I looked the noise up in her personal lexicon the definition would read: equal parts salt and scorn.
“Come on, Phoebes. Don’t leave me hanging,” I tease. “If you’re not comfortable with magnificent, and let’s face it not many are, how about incomparable?”
She rolls her lips inward. A sign she’s trying not to laugh, while she pretends to mull it over. “Definitely not magnificent. You’re no Adam Vinatieri.”
My mouth drops open. “You’re throwing Vinatieri’s name at me? Are you even kidding me right now? I’m from the Bay Area. I’m a Niners fan. And you throw a famous Patriots kicker at me?” I mock-raise my voice on the last couple of words.
Vinatieri’s fucking savage on the football field. And I’m impressed. Not many people can throw out names of placekickers. I feel like one of those cartoons with heart-shaped googly eyes, heart thumping outside his chest with tooting horns to show the audience how much the character wants the object of his desire.
Damn. Did Simba ever do that?
“But you’re talented. I’ll give you that, Tiago.”
Now it’s my turn to say, “Hmm.”
Her smile breaks. And it changes her already pretty face into something stunning. I nearly trip over my own feet.
We reach my car and I unlock the passenger door, holding it open for her to climb inside. I shut the door and walk around the rear of the car telling myself to get a grip and calm the hell down.
I crank the engine over and clip my seat belt. “We need to stop at the grocery store for snacks before we go to CW’s place.”
She nods. “Sounds good. I can’t buy liquor, but do you think anyone besides me will drink lemonade or soda?”
“Yeah. I won’t drink and drive, and neither will anyone who doesn’t use Rides to get to CW’s place. Lemonade works as an option.”
I pull into the Safeway parking lot. It strikes me that shopping together feels distinctly couple-like. I ignore the voice inside my head that gets louder all the time. The one that says, Tell her how ironic it is that her mother managed to scam your grandmother before getting locked up.
Shit.
“Is something wrong?” she asks.
“Not a thing.” I swallow my guilt. I’ll regurgitate it later to examine more fully at a time when Phoebe isn’t around. “Let’s find the snack aisle.”
We move to the left side of the store and find shelves stocked with chips and cookies. I pick up a bag of mini pretzels and one filled with popcorn. Nacho chips are on buy-one-get-one sale so I grab two bags.
“Let’s hit up the juice case,” she says.
We swing by the refrigerated section and she grabs two gallons of store-brand lemonade. I notice she’s careful with money, too. Not sure if Mommy shut down the income stream when she was arrested.
Such an ugly thought. And since it involves Phoebes, who is my friend, and undeserving of that kind of mean-spirited attitude, shame hits me hard.
“Are you okay? You look like maybe you ate something that didn’t sit well.”
“I just remembered I left my curling iron on.” It’s a line Baloo often says when he wants to make people laugh, but also to deflect attention. It works.
Her grin spreads. “What did you say?”
“My old roommate, Baloo, uses that line when whatever is on his mind might take too long to explain. The team adopted it.”
“Gladiator code for none of my business. Gotcha.”
Now it’s my turn to crack up. “Nah. Just something I’ll have to deal with later.”
“‘Kay.”
We pay for our groceries and carry our stuff out to the car. I hear someone call out, “Well, well, well. Heading to a party?”
Fuck. I swing around to see Caity and the pack of girls she hangs out with walking toward us.
“Do you think she has a tracker on your vehicle?” Phoebe stage-whispers to me. “Stalker alert.” She coughs.
Caity stops. Probably because no one has ever challenged her behavior before. Maura who was about two steps behind walks straight into her. Caity’s face is simply frozen in shock. The scene strikes me as just too stupid to be real. Her actions have devolved into what Professor Shelby would call farce. Caity is so used to being the lead actress in every little drama she stages, she looks stymied by her swing and a miss.
We walk away from the foursome without another word. When I open the passenger-side door for Phoebe her shoulders shake. I know if I make eye contact we’ll both lose it. I set the snacks on the floorboard behind my seat and climb in. Once the door closes, we both erupt.
“Stalker alert? Holy shit, did you really say that out loud?”
“At some point, I’ll feel bad. We’re horrible people for stooping to her level.” She snickers.
We turn to each other. Our faces are about an inch apart. I can’t help myself, I’m compelled to press my lips against her smiling mouth. I have to taste her again. This is the mother of bad ideas. I have to think about my family. Avó’s house. But my body says to hell with it. I blank my mind and allow it to fill with Phoebes.
The primal part of me wants to take without asking, but I’m not an animal, and she sure wouldn’t appreciate me acting like one. “Can I kiss you?”
We’re parked under a bright halogen light that illuminates the interior of my car. Maintaining eye contact keeps me stuck in her orbit. The shade of her eyes changes with the light. Blue. Purple. Back to blue. I can lose myself in their depths. She blinks, and I expect the spell woven between us to break. She found deception in my gaze. Something warning her to back off because the full truth hasn’t been spoken between us.
I won’t blame her.
“Yes.”
When she presses her lips against my mouth that zap happens, creating an instant charge. Much like plugging a lightning cable into your phone. Energy ramps and swells. My body surges like something hardwired into my DNA came to life.
Our tongues collide and the subtle stroke ignites my desire. I thread my fingers through her hair. The strands feel softer than down. She leans back and brushes her lips against my cheek.
“You do that really well. You make me forget we’re in a car.”
“Nah.” I inhale then exhale slowly to try to settle. “That’s on you. Christ, Phoebes. You’re so freaking hot.” I take a quick nip of her lower lip and release it.
She groans. “We can’t keep this up or we’ll incinerate.”
“Not the worst way to go.”
“What? Death by sex melting? Smelting? Wait, isn’t that a thing with metal or tin or something?”
“I can’t think. My brain is smelting.”
She laughs.
The sound wraps around my chest to tug at my sternum. “We should stop.”
“What, now?” she asks.
“No, in an hour.” I kiss the corner of her mouth. “Of course, now,” I state while I still have most of my wits about me. “We can both agree that my car isn’t the place to go where we’re headed.”
She exhales. “You’re right.”
I trail my tongue along the shell of her ear. “Can we go to your place?”
She jolts. For a moment her expression goes blank. Then color fills her cheeks. “Roommate is home.” She shakes her head. “This is a bad idea.”
I squeeze her fingers. “Hey, it’s okay. We’ll figure something out that doesn’t involve gear shifts and cup holders.” I place my free hand on the side of her face. “Phoebes. We don’t have to make decisions right now. Okay?”
She lets out a breath. “Yes, okay. But I don’t want to approach this like a to-do list either. I don’t want to have sex just because. It could ruin our friendship.”
My facial muscles freeze. Guilt compresses my lungs, and drawing a breath becomes much more difficult. The irony being the fact that when she’s in my arms I’m capable of forgetting her family, and mine. Something inside me roars louder than duty and familial obliga
tion. Deeper and more primal than just calling dibs in the locker room.
The voice inside cries bullshit on just being friends. I clear my throat, “You’re right.”
“Okay.” She reaches for my hand. “Let’s take this slow, Simba.”
“Of course. But to your point, sex does change things.” I swallow because all moisture has evaporated from my mouth. “Sharing your body with someone should be important. Even if it’s just significant for that one time. Sex should have an impact.”
“Impact, huh?” She grins. “As the person being impacted, I’d have to agree.”
Oh. The way she interpreted my words becomes clear. “I didn’t mean it in a physical sense. I meant significant in an emotional sense.”
“I’m teasing.” She squeezes my hand. “I’m nervous. Humor is my go-to in this kind of situation.”
My skin tingles under her palm. I open my hand to thread our fingers. “Well, I guess we both need to consider what happens next.”
“True, and Faith and Caleb expect us at his place, right?”
“Absolutely.” I squeeze her fingers and let go with more than a little regret. “Fasten your seat belt.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Phoebe
On the drive to Caleb’s place, I relive our kiss. Instant replay. I’ve never been so turned on by a kiss before. Tiago is a game-changer for me. Instead of the cramped interior of a car, I find myself wanting to feel his body pressing mine into a mattress. I imagine running my hands and mouth over his abs.
Stop. I squirm in my seat. I’m making it worse, focusing on how much I want him right now.
I chance a side-eye glance at Tiago and find him squirming, too. At least I’m not suffering alone. I need a subject change. “I know Caleb lives off-campus, but does he room with one of your teammates?”
“Nope. He lives with Ty, his best friend growing up. Ty plays football for De Anza, a local junior college. He’s hoping to transfer to a four-year college next year. Play Div II or III football.”
“It must be nice to have a best friend from way back. Do you?”
“I played competitive soccer until my sophomore year in high school. I was tight with my teammates, but I burned out. We didn’t really keep in touch after. I have longtime friends in the Portuguese community and my teammates from high school. Though it’s not like we see each other or talk every day. But to answer your question, I don’t have one best friend. I have a band of brothers.”
“I envy you.”
“Do you have a best friend back in Las Vegas?”
The quick stab of pain dulls almost instantly. “Nope. This is my fresh start. Why did you stop playing soccer?” I ask because I’m curious.
“I was good enough to compete at club level, but not good enough to play professional soccer. At least I didn’t think so, and neither did my coach. He was a hard-ass. But he told me straight.”
“Wow. I’m sorry.”
Tiago admits to something that must have been painful to accept like it didn’t matter.
“I’m not. In the long run, it was better for me to stop playing soccer and focus on a sport I might be able to play professionally.”
“You’d never played football before?”
“No.” He glances at me, then returns his attention to the road. “When you play competitive soccer, it runs year-round, and it consumes you. The summer before junior year I showed up to play football. At first, Coach was going to make me running back, because of my speed. But the kicker on the team was a mouthy senior who didn’t like me showing up to play varsity.”
“Uh-oh. Something tells me you showed him up.”
“Well, yeah.”
“How far did you kick the ball?”
“Forty-five yards from the tee. He couldn’t get the ball between the goalposts from the thirty-yard line.”
“Well done. And you secured your spot as placekicker from then on?”
His teeth shine white in the shadowy interior of the car. “I did.”
“Excellent. Any more lip from the guy you replaced?”
“Yes, but that only lasted until he graduated.”
“Oh wow. The entire school year?”
“Yeah, but I got a scholarship to play football whereas he didn’t. They say success is the best revenge, and it’s true.”
His nonchalance makes me laugh. When my phone rings, I answer without checking who is calling. An automated recording says: You have a prepaid call from Helen Sharpe, an inmate at the Henderson Detention Center. To accept this call press five. To decline this call push seven. To block this caller press nine.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Pressing seven so hard I’m surprised my screen doesn’t crack, I risk glancing at Tiago.
His jaw flexes.
Did he hear the recording? I can’t tell. “How much farther to Caleb’s place?”
“Not much,” he says as he pulls into a left-turn lane. But it looks like we’re headed into a shopping center of some sort.
“Huh. Are we shopping at Crate and Barrel now?”
“Nah. This is Santana Row. It’s got everything from stores, restaurants, bars, a hotel, and even condos. Which is where we’re headed.”
We make the turn, passing a Yard House and H&M, but this feels less like an outdoor mall and more like a meeting place. Tiago makes another left onto a darker street. He makes a right turn.
“Now we hunt for parking.”
He turns into a small lot after striking out with street parking. We get a spot by sheer luck when someone pulls out of their spot in front of us.
Tiago lightly slaps the back of his hand against mine. “Score!”
We don’t have to go too far to reach Caleb’s building. Tiago presses the buzzer, and someone who is not Caleb opens the door. “Come on in.”
Tiago introduces me. “Ty, I’d like you to meet Phoebe. Ty is CW’s roommate. Ty, Phoebe is…”
“Faith’s friend,” I finish for him. Because watching him trying to come up with an acceptable way to introduce me is freaking painful. Ty is another gorgeous male. Do they manufacture them to order in Silicon Valley like smartphones? He’s dressed in jeans and a De Anza football shirt. He’s got green eyes and reminds me of a shorter Steph Curry since he’s about my height, and one hundred percent athlete.
Ty says, “Hello, Phoebe. Nice to meet you. TJ, stop looking like you’ve swallowed your tongue. We’re past it.” He shakes his head. “Epic fail.”
Faith steps into the short entryway. “Yay, you’re here.” She hugs me. She takes one look at TJ and asks, “Are you okay? Do you need a glass of water or something?”
“I’m fine,” he chokes.
“We brought snacks and lemonade. Where should we put them?” I ask.
“Follow me.”
Faith walks down another short hallway into a galley-style kitchen that opens up to a dining nook. Pizza boxes, a bucket of extra-crispy chicken, and a large bowl of M&M’s crowd the round, beechwood dining table.
She takes the two bags of nacho chips from me. While Tiago sets the two gallons of lemonade on a black granite counter filled with stacked red SOLO cups, bottles of beer, and Gatorade. He places the bags of popcorn and pretzels further down the counter away from the drinks, where Faith set the chips.
“What are you drinking?” Faith asks.
“Lemonade works for both of us. I can get it.”
She shakes her head. “First one, host—or in my case—hostess pours. The next you’re on your own. TJ, grab those cups and get some ice.” She winks at me. “This isn’t his first time. He doesn’t get guest status.”
Tiago hands Faith two red cups filled with ice from the bag sitting in the sink. She pulls the tab off the first gallon and pours out both drinks. “Here you go, TJ. Phoebe, let me take your backpack to Caleb’s bedroom for safekeeping. Good?”
I nod.
“Cool. Be right back.”
I sip on my lemonade, glancing everywhere except Tiago. Who looks like he’s about to say somet
hing when Faith joins us again.
“I’m going to take Phoebe around and introduce her to everyone,” Faith says to TJ.
He nods. He’s probably relieved he won’t be forced to come up with a term for me. The butthead.
I tip my cup against Tiago’s, and follow Faith into a living room. Two black leather couches hold a couple of Gladiators. I recognize Everest and Caleb. The gray-washed wood coffee tables hold empty Gatorade bottles and a few plastic cups with what I assume are mixed drinks. A couple of beer bottles are scattered across the surface as well. Three plastic bowls of chips are spread along the table.
Two guys sit on the floor with game controllers in their hands. They both wear Gladiator T-shirts and jeans, but one wears a gold shirt and the other black. I recognize the player wearing the black T-shirt. Gabe, whom I met at Goose’s place. They’re playing Mario Cart, on the large flat-screen TV mounted on the wall.
Gabe says, “You’re as weak as your stats tonight. Ten yards. Big whoop. Is your sciatica acting up again? Or is it your gout this time, old man?”
Catcalls erupt around me. Faith whispers in my ear. “Grudge match. No one’s come close to taking Gabe out. But Rosie has a chance if he focuses on the game and not Gabe’s insults.”
Rosie, the other player, doesn’t take his eyes off the game. “Eat shit, loser. I’ve got you this time.”
Faith leans in to say, “We’re stuck watching until someone claims victory.”
It’s actually kind of fun. And enlightening. These guys choose to hang out with each other off the field. Merciless teasing ensues. But it’s kind of cool to watch their dynamic when they’re not playing football.
Rosie could probably tear Gabe in two, but he doesn’t let up.
“Man, you got nothing. As a gamer, on the field, and in the classroom. You’re going to bow before me like all others before you,” Gabe sneers.
Whistles, laughter and someone behind me snorts. But Faith says, “Suck it up, Gabe. You’re about to get tackled off your pedestal.”
“Get real. I’ll annihilate him before we start the third lap.”
But I notice Gabe clenching his jaw and a tiny bead of sweat tracks down the side of his face.
Eyeful (Gladiators of the Gridiron Book 2) Page 11
