by J B Heller
“Two more months, just two more months,” I repeat it over and over under my breath as I run.
I don’t know how many laps I’ve done when Mase joins me and matches my stride, “What are you doing?” I ask.
“You left me with those fuckwits, I had to mouth off at Coach so I could come run laps with you,” he says, like it’s obvious.
I seriously love this guy. He’s always got my back. Even in this, football isn’t a big deal for Mase either, he does it for me. I’ve never asked him why, but I think about it a lot. How did I score this guy as my best friend? Especially after I was such a dick to him when we first met back in Kindergarten. I was all of five years old and told him to fuck off and play with someone who wanted to look at his stupid face.
But he stuck around, and he’s still here, by my side, eighteen years later. Every step of the fucking way. I don’t deserve him. But I’ll never try to send him away again. I need him now.
As soon as practice is over, I pull my phone out of my duffle and call Trick. He answers straight away, “You better have a good reason for not being here,” he says, instead of a normal greeting.
“Yeah man, Coach had the shits and pulled a double. Had me running laps all afternoon. I’m skipping the showers and I’ll be there in ten,” I tell him, hoping he will wait for me.
Silence, then a deep exhale, “Fine, hurry the fuck up,” then he hangs up.
We forgo the shower like I told Trick, and I throw my duffle over my shoulder as I jog to the parking lot, Mase not five feet behind me.
I skid to a stop when I reach my car and Chance is leaning back against the hood in all her nerdy little psycho gorgeousness. My mouth goes dry when she lifts her eyes to mine.
“Hey,” she says softly, with a little wave of her hand.
“Hey,” I reply, my breathing is still harsh from running laps then jogging out here.
Chance frowns a little, “You in a hurry?”
“No,” I reply at the exact same moment Mase says, “Yes.”
She raises her brows in surprise, “Uh, okay, it’s okay, I’ll talk to you another time,” she looks down at her Alice in Wonderland shoes as she begins walking away from me, toward her car.
My hand shoots out to grab onto hers as she passes me, “Wait, what’s up?”
She’s chewing on the corner of her bottom lip, and I can’t help myself, I reach with my free hand and tug it from between her teeth with my thumb. “What’s up?” I repeat.
She shakes her head, then clears her throat, “It’s nothing, saw your car here still, I was just going to say hi before I head off.”
My fingers are still wrapped around her wrist, and I can feel her pulse beating rapidly beneath my fingertips. I smile down at her, liking that she wanted to see me, but pissed that I don’t have time for her. Quickly, I drop my head at the same time I tip her chin up so I can kiss her soft lips.
Her pulse speeds up when my lips graze hers, then again when my tongue pushes into her mouth. I grip her chin tighter, afraid she will pull away as I deepen the kiss. My tongue slides against hers and she leans into me a fraction, but it’s enough. I pull away, just slightly, “I have to go, I’ll call you tonight,” then I drop one more kiss to her lips because I can’t stop myself.
I don’t wait for her answer, I don’t have time to argue with her if she tells me not to. So, I turn on my heel and get in my car, where Mase is already waiting for me. I adjust the semi in my shorts and Mase snorts. Ignoring him, I turn the ignition and head for the gym.
Trick is pacing outside the ring when I bust through the door, his eyes narrowing on me when the doors bang against the wall behind them from the force of my push. He glances at his watch, “You said ten minutes, it’s been almost twenty.”
“Sorry, won’t happen again,” I say, throwing my duffle on the floor outside the ring and rolling under the ropes.
“It better not, Carter,” is all he says in reply. Then he climbs into the ring with me, and it’s go time.
I was supposed to tell Carter that this really isn’t going to work for me after all. That Cole had just been screwing with me for his own amusement, and that we should can go back to normal and move on in our separate directions. Obviously, that didn’t happen.
It’s his eyes, those mesmerising whiskey eyes that hold so many secrets. I’m drawn into them every time he looks at me. They give me the impression there’s so much more to him than he lets anyone see. And I want to see it.
And the way he looks at me like I’m a cool breeze after scorching day, it freaking melts me.
This afternoon, I saw him helping Professor Collins, she didn’t even ask him to. He was happy about it too, smiling and chatting with her as he slowed his pace to match her much slower one. Another melt moment.
I don’t know what to think. I don’t know how I should feel. But I feel something. Every time I look into his eyes, I feel something. And I want to know what it is.
Dropping my head to the steering wheel, I shake it back and forth, this is stupid. Getting involved with him this close to graduation is stupid. But the idea of not spending time with him doesn’t sit right anymore. He’s already taken up residence in a tiny piece of my heart. How is that even possible?
In just a couple of days he swooped in, and boom, now he’s all I can think about. I just know he’s going to steal my heart. I can feel it in the way my heartrate picks up when he kisses me. In the way butterflies swarm in my belly when I feel his eyes on me.
As I drive home, I try to figure out why, exactly, I don’t want to date him. He’s super intense. But that’s not necessarily a bad thing, I remind myself. I can be pretty intense too, sometimes.
My thumb taps on the steering wheel to the beat of a remixed version of My Head Is A Jungle by Emma Louise, as it plays loudly on my stereo. How fitting that this song would be playing right now, my head is all kinds of mixed up about Carter.
Okay, it’s pros and cons time. Pros- He is so hot it’s hard to concentrate when he’s naked. That could also be considered a con though? I mean, I’d probably agree to commit a double homicide for him if he asked me while he was naked.
He’s an amazing kisser. But again, that one could go either way. I mean that could mean he’s either had a lot of practice to get that good, or he could just be a natural. My money’s on it being a combination of both.
He’s honest. Well, at least I think he is. He hasn’t given me reason to doubt anything he’s said to me so far.
I let out a deep sigh and drop my head back against my headrest when I pull up out the front of my house. This isn’t helping me figure out what I should do. My heart and hormones are telling to go for it, roll with it, enjoy it, enjoy him. But my head is sure he’s more than I can handle.
My phone starts singing Iris by the Googoo Dolls and I reach for my bag on the passenger seat, rummaging around in it until I feel it, answering it before looking at the screen so I don’t miss the call, “Hello,” I say.
“How’s my cute little psycho tonight?” a voice that can only be Carter’s drawls.
I frown, “Psycho? Wow, you really know how to flatter a girl.” He chuckles on the end of the line and I smile a little knowing I made him laugh, he always looks so serious.
“Yeah, your outfit today, you looked like a cute little psycho. I like it, are you still wearing it?” he asks and, if I’m not mistaken, his voice deepens.
I swallow hard, I don’t dress to impress, I dress however the hell I want. But the fact that he likes it makes me feel pretty awesome, if I’m being honest. I clear my throat, “Yeah, why?”
“No reason, just wondering. Would you take a picture and send it to me?”
A loud, super unattractive snort rips from my nose, “What? You want a titty shot? Not going to happen.”
He starts laughing, “No, you pervert. Of you in your outfit.”
Oh, what? I was not expecting him to say that, “Seriously?”
His laughter softens, “Yes, seriously. Tha
t shirt was awesome.”
“It is pretty awesome,” I agree.
“So, you going to send me a photo then?” he pushes.
I shake my head, then realise he can’t see me, “I don’t take pictures of myself.”
“Why not?” he asks, and he sounds genuinely interested.
“I don’t know, it’s just not my thing. I’m not a selfie queen. In fact, I can probably count the number of selfies I’ve taken on two hands. They’ve all been dicky ones I’ve sent to Kass,” I explain.
I hear his hmm on the other end of the phone before he replies, “I suppose that shouldn’t surprise me, but it kinda does. I’ve never seen you without a camera. Who’s Kass? Is he the guy you’re always hanging out with?” he asks casually.
Smiling I answer him, “Yeah, that’s him, Kassidy.”
He clears his throat, “Shit, I realise I probably should have asked this before I came on to you, but are you and that guy . . .” he lets his question hang in the air between us.
I could string him along, draw this out and tease him a little, but he already told me he doesn’t like games and, hell, neither do I. So, I tell him the truth, “No, Kassidy is my nephew.”
“Your nephew?” The confusion in his voice is evident.
I’m used to this line of questions, the ones that come every time someone finds out that Kass and I are only two years apart but he’s my nephew. So, I beat him to it, “Yep, my brother is a lot older than me, as in more than twenty years older than me. There’s only two years separating Kass and I. And no, there are no other siblings in between me and Hux.”
“Huh,” is all he says.
I change the subject before he can ask anything else about my strange family structure, “What about you? Siblings?”
He goes silent. And not the comfortable silence that can sometimes be shared between close friends. It’s awkward as hell, I should know, because I am the queen of awkward. “Carter? Did I say something wrong? If you don’t want to talk about your family, that’s okay.”
“You don’t mind?” he asks quietly.
“Mind what?”
“That I don’t want to talk to you about my family? I will, one day, I think. But not yet. I want to get to know you, I don’t want to talk about my life right now,” he explains.
And it’s more of an explanation than I expected, “Yeah, no, it’s fine. But how am I supposed to get to know you? I mean, if you don’t want to talk about your family, that’s fine, but you’re going to have to talk about yourself sometimes you know.”
He sighs, “I know, and I will. But you’re going to have to cut me some slack, this is new territory for me. I don’t do this shit, remember? Talking about myself doesn’t come easy to me.”
“Me either,” I tell him.
“Hey, what are you doing right now?” he suddenly asks.
“Umm, sitting in my car outside my house,” I say, feeling like a total loser.
“Come meet me,” he says.
My eyes dart to my watch, it’s not too late, but I’m normally home by now. His voice brings my focus back to him when he says, “Please, just for half an hour.”
I let out a deep breath, “Okay, where?”
He tells me to meet him at the small rest area just outside of town, and I slip my keys back into the ignition and pull out of my drive, without even having gone inside.
When I pull up at the rest area, I see Carter’s white SUV parked under a tree and I pull in one space over from him, we are the only two cars here. I reach into my bag and grab my phone to shoot my mum a text letting her know I’ll be home later than usual. That’s right, I’m that girl. The one who texts her mum to let her know where she is and when she’ll be home. It doesn’t mean I’m a saint or anything, I just don’t want to cause them any unnecessary worry. My parents are on the older side.
My door swings open just as I hit send, and Carter reaches a hand in to help me out of my car. I look at his hand then up to his face, then back down to his hand again before I take it. “So gentlemanly,” I murmur as I let him pull me out of my seat and right into his waiting arms.
Wrapping my arms around his middle too, I look up into his face, and he’s looking down at me with a smile. His hair is wet and he smells of peppermint body wash, I inhale the scent deep into my lungs, closing my eyes. I love that smell.
“Did you just smell me?” Carter asks, grinning.
I feel my cheeks heat, “I like peppermint,” I say with a shrug, only half embarrassed. I wasn’t exactly stealthy about it.
“Good to know,” he says as he moves to my side, sliding one of his arms over my shoulder, and begins to walk us down a darkened path.
“If I didn’t know there were illuminated picnic areas down this path, this would be super creepy,” I tell him.
He chuckles, “Do you think I would try to take you somewhere dark and dingy so I could do nefarious things to you?”
I shrug, “Well, I’m hoping to avoid the dingy part at least. I have standards, you know.”
Carter’s chuckle turns into a full belly laugh, “Well, alright then,” he says when he manages to gain his breath.
We pass the first picnic area, and when we reach the second Carter’s arm slips from my shoulder, his fingertips trailing down my arm until he entwines his with mine. He walks backward toward the bench seat, tugging me along with him. And I follow without hesitation.
He throws one of his big legs over the bench and sits, and I do the same, straddling the bench and facing him. Our hands are still wound together, and he just stares at me for a few moments before speaking. “Thanks for coming to meet me,” he says softly.
I bite down on the inside of my cheek, the way he’s looking at me unnerves me, “You’re welcome,” I whisper.
Tugging on my hand he says, “Come closer, I want to look at you.”
There’s that intensity I was thinking about earlier, his eyes are boring a hole into my soul right now and I couldn’t refuse him if I wanted to. I stand up, one leg on either side of the bench and move toward him until our knees are touching, then I sit again, “Better?” I ask.
One side of his mouth lifts in a semblance of a mischievous smile, then he lets go of my hand, wraps his big fingers around my thighs, and tugs until my hands fly to his shoulders to keep myself from toppling off the bench. Once my thighs are draped over his much bigger ones and my butt sits between his knees he says, “Better.”
My eyes are wide from shock, “Again with the manhandling,” I mutter.
He smiles wider, “Much better,” he says.
I roll my eyes at him and drop my hands from his shoulders to cross over my chest, but he doesn’t like that, because he reaches out, taking my hands and placing them back on his shoulders. I frown, and he shrugs, “I like it when you’re touching me.”
“Okayyy,” I say, drawing the word out. I didn’t really see Carter as the touchy-feely sort. I had him pegged as more of a wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am, kind of guy. I shuffle around a little to get comfortable in my new position, then ask, “So, why did you want me to come meet you?”
Now it’s his turn to frown, and I don’t like it, before I know what I’m doing my right hand is reaching for the frown lines creasing his forehead, smoothing them out with my thumb. He relaxes into my touch and I find myself relaxing too.
“I just wanted to see you, I get worked up after a session and I used to go fuck some random ballergirl, but I told you I wouldn’t do that while we’re together, so I called you instead.”
I raise an incredulous brow as my spine straightens, “You called me, to come fuck you?”
He shrugs, “If you want, but if you don’t, that’s okay too.” His hands are wrapped around my waist, and his fingertips are lightly tickling my back.
I’m confused, trying to reconcile this sweet guy in front of me who is tickling my back and smiling at me sweetly, with the one who fucks random air quote ballergirls when he gets worked up. It’s making my head hurt, “Yeah no, t
hat’s not going to happen tonight. Or any night, if that’s the only reason you call me. And what do you mean by a session? A session of what?”
His eyes focus on mine when he speaks, “MMA,” he says. I can see his passion for the sport the moment the word leaves his lips. This is his other interest, I realise, but he continues speaking before I can ask him about it, “And I know you’re not a booty call kind of girl, Chance, I’ll never treat you like one either. I don’t lie about shit, so I told you the truth about why I called. You don’t need to get all bent out of shape every time I talk about fucking, okay?”
I glare at him, “You’re damn right I’m not a booty call kind of girl, and I will get bent out of shape every damn time you talk about fucking around with random girls while your hands are on me,” I drop my hands from around his neck where they had migrated all on their own, and cross them over my chest again.
He heaves a sigh, then uncrosses my arms and moves them back to his shoulders, giving me a pointed stare as he does it, “I didn’t pick you for the jealous type. That’s not going to work for me, so you’re going to need to cut that shit out. If I’m with you, it’s because I want to be. I don’t do things in half measures. And that includes this thing with us.”
I was about to go postal at him for telling me what I can and can’t do, but then he finished with that. What the hell am I supposed to say to that? I lick my lips as I mull over his words, that bossy thing is kinda hot.
Before I can think of an adequate response, Carter drops his head and nips at my lips, “Are we good?” he asks, as his lips trail along my jaw to suck gently on my earlobe.
“I don’t know,” I tell him honestly, “You’re right, I do like you, or this, I’m not sure, but yeah, I like it. Being told what I can and can’t do, that I definitely don’t like.”
Carter pulls back just enough to look at me, “Who’s telling you what you can and can’t do?” he asks.
