by Mj Fields
Fucking gorgeous.
“You lied to me.”
“What?” She cocks her head, and I give the spot behind her ear a little scratch. She smiles.
“You lied. You look just as damn beautiful in the morning as you do every other time I see you.”
Still smiling, she closes her eyes. “I didn’t lie. It gets ugly after a full eight hours. Trust me.”
I walk down the street with a smile on my face, heading toward the twenty-four-hour parking lot I left my truck in. I didn’t want to park out in front of her place because that little asshole was still twittering.
When she and I were lying next to each other, me waiting for my dick to stop pulsing and my balls to stop tightening, we checked it out.
She told me she was sorry, and then licked those lips and looked down. I told her she would be if she kept it up. I have a damn good idea that she’s game for go whenever I say the word. I’m not sure why the fuck I’m holding off but being pent up worked out really well at last week’s game.
Before I left, I added minutes to her phone. Fucking thing was so old-school I expected to open it and see a rotary dial. I want to text her now and tell her that, when we win against Pitt on Saturday and I come back from PA, she can give me a treat. But I kind of like her calling the shots.
I also kind of like the buildup and let down, which is so fucked up, but it’s different. Definitely different.
Apparently, PG-13 to Ray is dry humping and hand over clothes groping. That shit was PG-10 in my book.
Head in the game, Trucker, I tell myself as I pick up my pace to get to my ride, Boom.
Before I left, I messaged Logan to see if he had room for the guys, and he said they could run or pile in the back. It’s seven in the morning, and I’m dog-ass tired but heading to the gym. If Logan gives me shit, I’ll let him know I got it handled. Then I’ll show his ass.
Fuck, I smell like her. I slow down my pace as I think, maybe I will go back and show her my version of PG-13.
I look back, contemplating just that. Then I remind myself, head in the game.
When I walk into the gym, Logan looks over at me as I get on the treadmill beside him.
“When it’s so good you sneak out the back door to get it.”
“Haven’t gotten it yet.” I wink.
He stops dead in his tracks and has to grab the handles to stop his dumb ass from falling off. Then he starts laughing, and so do I. Him at me, and me at him, both for two totally different reasons.
“So, you want a girlfriend in your senior year of college? You wanna fall in love and have a white picket fence with a dog and—”
“Fuck no.” I laugh at how ridiculous that sounds. “We both know that shit doesn’t last. First loves just fuck you up. I ain’t looking for none of that shit.”
He reaches out a fist, and I tap mine to his.
“I will tell you, as fucking backed up as Boom and the boys are feeling, Pitt doesn’t stand a chance.” I laugh again as I up the speed. “So, when you get pissed and miss me, be jealous of Shakira.” I wink at him.
“I’m not fucking jealous,” he huffs as he increases his speed, trying to match mine.
“Remember, baby”—I wink again—“you’re always my first choice.” I increase my speed. “Try to keep up, would ya?”
“Fuck you, man.” He laughs as he does the same.
Mondays are hell, and I kick myself for stacking classes the first three days of the week so I can have Fridays off. The reason was always because of the game, my game, but Little Miss Ray of Sunshine has all fucking day off and has yet to message me. I know she’s got shit to do—yoga, shopping with Reda, and … well whatever else she does—but, damn, she can’t just send a text?
Instead of stewing about it anymore, I slide my phone out of my pocket and hide it as I send her one.
Trucker
Ray, what’s up?
Waiting for a reply, I watch the screen. No dancing bubbles, no text, no nothing.
I send another.
Trucker
Okay, I see how it is.
I wait for her to send a text, and as I start to put it away, the fucking thing blasts off, loud as fuck with the damn ringtone I picked for her.
The entire lecture hall turns and looks at me as I hit deny.
“Mr. Cohen, is there a problem?” Professor Ikes asks.
“Forgot to shut off the phone. Won’t happen again.”
But it does. Fucking Journey blasts out of the thing, and everyone starts giggling.
“Sorry.” I stand up and grab my bag. “Must be important.”
“This class, Mr. Cohen, is important. Your grade in this class is very important,” she calls behind me as I jog out of the lecture hall.
Just as I open the door, Journey sounds off again, and the entire class erupts in laughter.
When the door shuts behind me, I answer the phone. “What’s up, Ray?”
“Hi.”
I don’t even have to see her to know she’s smiling. I hear it in her voice.
“You’re giving me sunshine, aren’t you?” I can’t help smiling, too.
“What’s that mean?”
I picture her head cocked to the side and wish I could scratch behind her ear.
“You’re smiling.”
She laughs. “So I am.”
“Good.”
I think about the warmth in my chest that causes. The fact that me, Trucker Cohen, can make her feel the same way Logan becoming my friend way back when we were young made me feel.
“Trucker?”
“Yeah, Ray?” I say quietly.
“You’re quiet.”
I’m thinking about how fucking much I know I can mean to you, and how much you are starting to mean to me. I’m thinking about how big a burden, a responsibility, it is, and it dawns on me that that’s why relationships, first loves, don’t last.
“I’m thinking, Ray.”
“I see.”
“No, you don’t,” I joke. “Texts, you can see. Conversations, you hear.”
“Oh, wow, his highness is correct.”
“Most of the time.”
“And cocky.”
“Some of the time.”
She laughs.
“So, Ray, I was just in class when I sent you the texts and my phone rang.”
“Oh, my gosh, I’m sorry.”
“Why no texts?”
“I tried. It wouldn’t send. Then you seemed upset, and I didn’t want you to be, so I called.”
“Do you know how to text?” Sounds like a silly question, but her phone is fucking ancient.
“Um, yeeees.” She giggles, but it’s almost like she’s nervous.
“All right then. How about I call you after practice?”
“I’d like that.”
“Yeah?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Good.”
I’m fucking exhausted after the sword fight of sorts at the gym with Logan, five classes, tutoring, Coach Browns lecture on my “autograph,” and then the pounding taken during practice because Coach Brown thought I needed a lesson to go as a side dish to the lecture.
The boys and I watched Pitt videos until we all started falling asleep. Then they went to bed and I snuck out the back door, again.
Getting out of my truck, I grab the AT&T bag and yawn as I walk down the road and around the block, closer than last night this time.
When I knock on the door, I hear a voice say, “Bar’s closed on Mondays.”
I look up to see she’s sitting on the ledge … again.
“I’m gonna kick that ass of yours.”
She laughs then disappears.
When the door is opened, she’s smiling.
“You’re cute as hell, Ray, but seriously, that’s dangerous.”
She leans forward and hugs me.
“You think you can sidetrack me with a hug, you’re wrong.”
When she jumps up and wraps her legs around me, I can’t help chucklin
g.
“Did you have a good day?” she asks, leaning back so she can look at me while running her fingers up the back of my neck and into my hair.
“I don’t remember,” I say right before I kiss her, fucking hard, too.
I take the stairs two at a time while I lick down her neck and squeeze her ass in my hand. Then I walk through the door she left open before kicking it shut behind us.
Walking over and sitting on the bed, I reach behind us and unclasp her heels so she can straighten out her legs. Then I flop back on her bed.
“You look beautiful.”
She closes her eyes, her cheeks pinkening, and she smiles softly.
“Why does that embarrass you? And why the hell do you close your eyes?”
She shrugs.
“The truth, Ray.”
“Because I can’t believe someone like you would say that to someone like me.”
I sit up and kiss the top of her head. “Believe it, Ray, because it’s the fucking truth.”
She wraps her arms around me and hugs me.
I hold her as she holds me, and it feels so good, so damn good.
After a few minutes pass, I hear her phone and look at the table that has a hammer and nails next to it. I look back at her. “You fixed the table?”
She smiles big and nods.
“You wanna get your phone?”
Her brows knit together, and then she looks down while shaking her head no.
“Why?” I ask then try to joke, “You have another guy blowing it up?”
She sighs and wraps her arms around me, then rests her head against my shoulder. “No.”
“Then, why won’t you answer it?” I pick her up and set her on the bed, knowing damn well that, if she’s on me, I won’t be able to press her for a straight answer.
She lies down on her side and props her head up on her hand.
When she just looks at me, not answering, I get up, walk over to her phone, and pick it up.
“Here. Take the call.”
“I’ll talk to her later.”
I open the phone and see SM.
“Who’s SM?”
“My mom’s friend, her Logan,” she answers on a sigh.
The way she says it makes me not believe her, so I hit the button and the messages pop up, all in symbols.
“Just … please don’t,” she whisper-pleas.
“Hearts, arrows, more hearts.” I drop the phone on her bed. “Nicely played,” I tell her as I start walking toward the door.
I hear her sniff.
“It’s not what you think, okay?”
“Bullshit,” I say, opening the door. “Have a good life, Keeka.”
As I step out, I hear her whisper, “I can’t read.”
I look back at her.
“I can’t read,” she says louder before covering her face. “I really do hope you have a wonderful life, Trucker Cohen.”
I shut the door behind me, hearing her take a deep, quivering breath, and then she sobs slightly.
“Fuck.” I turn around and open the door. .
She looks up, uncovering her eyes as she nods. “It’s okay. I had fun and … well, it’s okay.”
“I’m not stupid, Keeka. You were reading the fucking tweets.”
“I recognize some words.” She stops, her chin quivering. Then she sniffs back tears and continues, “Victoria’s Secret, Pink, McDonalds, the cell shop with the T—things I see often and hear on the TV. ‘Cuse.” She smiles. “I see that all the time. Numbers, I get.”
“You dyslexic?”
“No.” She laughs.
“Why’s that funny?”
“Because nothing is wrong with my brain.” She rolls her eyes. “I really think it’s best that you leave and just hope you can be nice when … if you come in the bar. And please don’t tell Lou. Like I said, I recognize things, but—”
“How did you get through school?”
She looks down.
“Truth, Ray.”
She shakes her head. “I never did.”
“What?” I gasp.
“I just, well … I was homeschooled for most of my life, and then after Mom died, I went to public school, but it was so hard, and I … I … quit.”
She peeks up at me. “I really just wanna be happy, Trucker, okay? I hope you …” She stops. Her eyes fill up, and her lips quiver. “Just please don’t be unhappy with me. Be happy, Trucker Cohen.”
“You’re saying goodbye. You’re saying it four months too early. If I were smart, I would leave.”
She forces a big smile and nods. “I totally understand. I’ll still root for ‘Cuse.”
“I’m not smart, Ray.”
She scrunches her eyes shut when I say Ray.
“There’s something seriously wrong with my brain.”
“Trucker, it’s okay.” She opens her eyes and wipes her nose on her shirt.
“You may not be dyslexic, but I am, so I get that it’s hard to read, and I get that it’s frustrating as hell. I get that. If I didn’t have Logan in school and now in most of my classes, it would have been frustrating enough to quit. But I didn’t. I see a tutor once a week, because that’s all I need now. And Ray”—I close the door behind me, and her hands cover her heart—“don’t think I’m fucking better than you, or that any other asshole out there is.”
“Okay.” She sniffs again as she nods.
“And you don’t get to quit. You learn to read. You get your GED. And you …” I point to her. “You be fucking happy.”
She covers her face and silently cries into her hands.
I’m looking at a female version of me as a kid. A lucky fucking kid because I had Logan, and I had his family. But Ray, she has no one. Well, she didn’t until now.
I grab the bag I dropped and walk over to her, sliding behind her and hugging her.
“I’m sorry I’m crying. It’s stupid. So stupid.”
“Shh …” I kiss the back of her head. “It’s gonna be okay, because you have me for four months.”
“Four months,” she whispers.
“But who knows what will happen.”
She looks over her shoulder at me, and I wipe the tears off her perfect fucking face.
“You’re going pro.”
“That’s fucking right I am.” I wink, and she smiles. “But not until you learn to read and find your version of football.”
Chapter Twelve
Reading
Keeka
As hard as it is to open up to him about my past, it always somehow ends up making me feel better. It also allows me to feel closer to him, because he isn’t who he appears to be, and he appears to be perfection.
Even with those things that should have broken him down, he has come out on top. It gives me even more hope that I will, too. That this move I made will be exactly what I wanted it to be—a chance to start over with nothing holding me back. A time for me to become.
After several wonderful moments of him holding me, he asks, “So, the texts are really from your mom’s Logan?”
I look back at him. “Truth.”
“I don’t think we need that game anymore. I can see it in your eyes, hear it in your tone. I trust you, Ray. Knew I could from the moment I saw you.”
I close my eyes tightly and smile as he kisses my nose.
“She doesn’t get as upset as I do when you don’t text back? When you’re out of minutes?” He laughs nervously.
“Honestly, it’s super hard to communicate with her all the time. I love her, she’s been an angel to me, but memories, you know?”
He tucks a piece of hair behind my ear. “I get it. And I have good news.”
I open my eyes and meet his beautiful smile.
I hear a bag ruffle a bit, and then he holds out his phone. “I upgraded today. This one’s now prepaid and …” He pauses, grabbing something else out of the bag and handing it to me. “I batted my eyelashes and got this number.”
“Zero, one, zero, one.”
“Was going to give it to my number one fan, because her phone didn’t seem to be able to send texts.”
“It’s true. Just symbols.”
“Well, check this out.” He holds up the phone, hits some numbers, and then says, “Trucker, this is Ray. I’m your number one fan. I plan to be for the whole season, because I think you’re sexy as sin and your ass looks amazing in those football pants. XOXO. Your number one.” He holds out the phone and shows me that the words he said are now on the screen. “Now push the blue arrow.”
I do, and then I hear the beginning of “Don’t Stop Believin’.”
“Shit.” He chuckles, and his face turns red.
“What was that?”
“It’s fucking embarrassing is what it is.” When I smile, he continues, “A ringtone telling me it’s you.”
“That’s kind of sweet.”
“You ain’t seen nothing yet. Cuddle season hasn’t even begun.”
He leans back and pulls a phone out of his pocket and shows me the word RAY. “Says Ray sent a message. I better see what it is she said.” He opens it and laughs.
“What?”
“It says: Fucker, this is pay. I’m your number one fun. I plan to be your hole for the season, because I think you’re sexy as sin and your ass looks amazing in those foosball paints. XOXO Your number one.”
I laugh. “It does not.”
“Spell check on these things can be a bitch, so don’t send a message to someone like Gary, you got it?”
“If I accept this, I’ll only send my favorite player messages.”
“So, you know Gary’s number?”
“No.” I laugh. “And I told you, ew, he’s old.”
“Good damn thing. I’d hate for you to get too attached to someone I’d end up beating the shit out of.”
“I’m not like that.” I sigh. “I never intended on dating until I had nothing to hide, like the fact I can’t read.”
“And when you learn?”
“I’ve promised you four months, right?”
He nods.
“I don’t break promises.”
“Not true. You were on the ledge tonight.”
“I didn’t promise you I wouldn’t be.”
“I told you not to do that shit when no one was around, Ray.”
