Tempted: A Bad Boy Next Door Romance

by Willow Winters

  "But they're stacked at QB. Last I checked, they're three deep with a returning senior, a junior, and two sophomores, and that's not including whoever else they recruit. So what do I do?"

  "You be who you are," he says, giving me a tight smile. "You're a smart player, Troy. And depending on how you finish growing, you'd make one hell of a pro-level linebacker. Clement needs good linebackers, and they run a 3-4, just like we do. And face it, you like smashing people out there."

  I nod, admitting it before I think of a problem. "Contracts for linebackers aren't as big as they are for quarterbacks though."

  Coach nods. "But salaries for star linebackers are a lot bigger than salaries for guys who get cut from the scout team. Think about it."

  I do, and I shake my head. "It's a lot to think about. Can I just chill on it for a few days?"

  "Of course. In the meantime, you're having dinner with my family tonight, and if you want a bed, it's yours as well."

  "What about Dad?" I ask.

  "Randy's going to be spending at least a few days in jail for assault, maybe more. Why?"

  "It's my house," I say, looking out the window. "All my stuff is there. And it wouldn't be right to mooch off you or someone else."

  Coach studies me for a moment, then comes over and lays a strong hand on my shoulder. It's hard to believe that this hand belongs to a history teacher. "That, more than anything, is the reason I believe that you can make it to the pros. We'll help you out as we can, though."

  "Are you okay?"

  It's the first thing Whitney asks me Monday morning, and I know there's no hiding what happened at this point. My face feels like it’s puffy, and my entire back and legs feel wooden, and despite my best efforts, I'm limping when I walk into school. I'd timed my entrance to try and minimize the gawking, but it didn't matter. Come one, come all and see the walking wounded!

  "I'll make it," I say. "I . . . I’ll make it."

  Whitney nods, and she looks a bit emotional, like she's about to cry. "Why didn't you call me? I had to find out from Dani via the grapevine!"

  I swallow and take Whitney's hand, trying to take a deep breath. “I don't exactly know how to talk about this, you know? It's not the sort of thing I ever expected to call someone about. I'm sorry."

  Whitney blinks and cups my face, looking me in the eye. "Okay. I'm sorry too. You don't need my drama on top of everything else." The bell rings, and we've got five minutes till our first class. "See you at lunch?"

  I nod, and we share a quick kiss before Whitney takes off down the hall before turning right toward the math wing. She's gotta run. I know how far it is to her classroom. Silver Lake High is pretty stretched out that way. I watch her for a second before walking painfully toward my locker, trying not to meet eyes with anyone else. I'm spinning the dial on my lock when I feel a presence behind me, and I turn to see that all motion in the hallway has stopped and that I'm surrounded by my teammates. Cory and Gabe are in the lead, their home jerseys on, and I see that Cory's got his wrists taped up like he does before he plays.

  "Game's not until Friday, fellas. You're a bit early."

  "We're a team," Cory says, stepping forward and handing me my jersey. "That's on and off the field. Our brother's in trouble. We protect him."

  "Fucking right," Pete Barkovich says. Pete's a big guy, maybe too short to play college ball, but built like a tank, and he's solemn. "Nobody touches my QB. We talked—all of us. You don't have to worry about a single comment or a damn thing from anyone. Or else they answer to us."

  I gulp as I pull my jersey on, and then the clapping starts. My team—my brothers—surround me, and I'm nearly kept in a bubble as I make my way to first period English class, where Mrs. Penman looks at us just as the bell rings. She nods one time, then goes to her desk. "Next time, boys, tell me so that I can have your hall passes ready before you get here."

  The morning goes well, and for once, I'm actually awake through most of class. Coach insisted on me going to bed at what he called a reasonable hour, and I got a full eight hours of sleep along with a full stomach the night before. When I get to lunch, I'm still wearing my jersey, and it's helpful to see the speckles of blue in the sea of students in the cafeteria.

  "I heard about the stunt," Whitney says, and I'm touched again when I see that she's changed shirts as well, putting on her cheerleading practice top instead of the blouse she'd worn earlier. "Tomorrow I'll be more coordinated."

  "You look beautiful to me still," I say, taking her hand. We can't kiss in the cafeteria. The teachers on duty can't overlook that level of PDA, but we are able to keep holding hands as we sit down and start eating. "I can't believe all this."

  "Wait until tomorrow," Whitney says, spearing her hamburger steak with a fork and cutting through. "Dani told me during third period that half the school's going to be wearing blue."

  "They don't need to do that," I say, shaking my head but still smiling. "Hey, the weekend wasn't all bad. Work on Saturday was good, and Sunday, I got some good news to go with the rest."

  "Oh? What's that?"

  "Clement's going to offer me a football scholarship," I say, smiling. "Full ride."

  Whitney's fork pauses, and her face goes kind of pinched. "Clement. That's in California, right?"

  "Just north of Los Angeles," I say. "It's a great school, and Coach thinks I have a good chance to start my freshman year for them as a linebacker."

  "But . . .” Whitney says, then swallows. "What about State? You were all gung ho for them, and they're only an hour away."

  "They are, but State's not going to be a good school for me. Besides, while I appreciate what everyone's doing for me right now, after this past weekend, there isn't much that I want to remember about Silver Lake Falls. Too many bad memories, and maybe some distance would be helpful. I've got to build a life without all this damn baggage."

  Whitney goes quiet and finishes her lunch without saying another word. I eat my food, but when she goes to stand up, she waves me back when I try to follow. "Maybe some distance would be helpful," she says and backs away. "I've got a meeting with Dani for game prep. See you later."

  As I sit there, I realize what I said, and I shake my head. I'm not saying that I don't want a relationship with Whitney. I love her. Regardless of where I choose to go to school, I plan on continuing that relationship, even if it means calling every night. After all, this isn't the old days anymore, like in the eighties, when people had to pay by the minute for long distance. Email, Skype, all of it means that I can talk with Whitney as much in Los Angeles as if I'd gone to State, or if I just say fuck it and go to Tokyo for college.

  I'm still puzzled as the bell signifying lunch ends, and I try to get my mind back on track. I'll talk with Whitney later. I'm sure she just misunderstood me. She knows I love her, and I just need to explain to her that when I said baggage and distance, I meant so many things other than her. The idea of being without her is more painful than my left leg, which is purple-black all the way from my hip to my calf right now. It hurts on the inside, being without her.

  Chapter 9

  Whitney

  The bathroom door is barely closed before I'm over the toilet yet again. I heave one more time, and here comes the rest of lunch.

  Oh, God. It can't be, can it?

  For two weeks now, my stomach's been churning, and I can barely look at food without wanting to go running to the toilet. I'm losing weight again, enough that even Dani's noticed, and yesterday, she pulled me aside after cheerleading practice. "Hey, is everything okay?"

  "I'm fine," I told her, faking it. "Just . . . lunch didn't settle well with me."

  "Yeah, well, that's been going on for a week now, honey. You're retreating from badonkadonk to just donk again."

  I laughed then at her joke, but fighting my way to my feet now, I'm worried.

  We took precautions, right? I mean, I put the condom on him myself, didn't I? Sure, it was a bit old, but the latex wasn't crumbly or anything, and later on, when w
e fooled around again, we were careful not to let him put his cock inside me. Instead, he taught me how amazing a tongue can feel, and I'd shown him that all those hours practicing on a banana weren't wasted.

  Don't think of bananas. Don't think of any food at all.

  Shit. I can't handle this on my own, so I rinse my mouth out and leave the bathroom. I'm pissed at Troy for even considering Clement, not so much because of the football reasons. I kind of understand those. His goal is to get to the pros. I get that. But can't he play at State still? And why does he want to leave Silver Lake Falls so much? Doesn't he realize that this a town that I love?

  I'm nearly crying now, and I turn the corner to go to the cheerleading room. I wasn't lying to Troy. Dani did ask me to come by to help out with making part of the big poster for the game, but that’s next period when we both have study hall. I just want to be alone for a bit.

  I get to the room and open the door, surprised to find Dani and Pete Barkovich making out on the sofa. "Ahem."

  Pete turns beet red while Dani adjusts her top, fixing a button and giving me a shrug. "Shoulda locked it, I guess. Sorry about that. We cool?"

  I want to scream, but instead, I sigh and nod. "Yeah, it's cool. But Pete, do you mind? I need to chill out a bit."

  Pete nods, and he nearly runs out of the room. I close the door and sit down on the sofa. Dani gives me a look.

  "What happened?"

  "Just . . . I stormed off on Troy, and for the stupidest reason."

  "If you're going to cut the guy any slack, I'd say this is the day," Dani says, sitting next to me. "Rumor going around is that he was beaten like a dog when he left his house on Sunday morning."

  "I know, you told me last night. Remember? I'm the one dating him?" I nearly yell, then take a deep breath. "Sorry, Dani. I'm just . . . emotional today. Must be my time of the month or something.”

  "No, that was last week," Dani says, chuckling. "You and I are on almost identical cycles. So what did you blow up about?"

  Last week? That doesn’t reassure my fears in the least. I could be a week late already. "Just . . . keep it quiet, please, Dani, but Troy's got a verbal offer of a scholarship."

  "That's great!" Dani says, then sobers. "Where?"

  "Clement University. In Los Angeles."

  "And you're not going to Clement," Dani says, frowning. "That's a private school. The price tag for it is like mega-huge. You gotta be a trust funder or a super talent like Troy to afford that place. But it's not that bad. You guys can do the long distance thing, you know."

  "I don't want to do the long distance thing!" I shout, and now I'm nearly crying. "I want Troy in my arms, or him holding me like we did at Homecoming! Not a thousand fucking miles away, surrounded by hot Hollywood starlets who'd fuck a guy like him at the drop of a hat!"

  Dani sits quietly for a moment, then clears her throat. "You and I never talked about it, after Homecoming and all, but I assumed that you and Troy . . . you know?"

  "We did," I say, and I feel like we're gossiping, although this time, the shoe is on the other foot. Dani's told me plenty about her adventures. "It was . . . magical."

  "Yeah, I saw that the next night," Dani says. "Kinda a rule. If the first time is great with a guy, the girl's walking on cloud nine. If it sucks, she's not into him for a while afterward. And if it's really bad, she breaks up with him. You weren’t just on cloud nine. You were looking like you were still in the middle of it."

  "I felt that way," I agreed. "So why do I feel like such shit now, and I snap at him?"

  Dani doesn't say anything, but instead reaches over to her backpack and unzips it. "Here. The clinic can give you tests and even counseling if you want. They're anonymous, too. They don't take any information down at all unless you go in for birth control pills or a Plan B pill."

  I take the card she's holding out, looking down at the address and phone number with no other information. "Dani . . .”

  "Better to know than to keep yourself in doubt. Because I can read it in your eyes, Whit. You're scared and you need to know."

  I can't hold it back anymore and start crying. I've been doing that a lot recently too, I noticed, and Dani holds me, patting my hair. "Shh, it's okay. I'm here, and I love ya."

  We stay that way for a while until my crying jag passes and I let go of her. "Thanks, Dani."

  "It's what friends are for. Besides, you got leverage on me now."

  "What, you and Pete Barkovich?" I say, laughing. "Dani, he may not be your type, but he's a nice guy. And to let you in on a secret, he's had a crush on you since freshman year. I knew that when he and I shared a few classes."

  "Oh, I knew that. Actually, I was talking about hooking up with him back here. Major no-no, and I could lose my spot on the team for it."

  I shake my head and give Dani a hug. "Are you nuts? Lose the captain of the cheerleading squad? I'd have to be all sorts of stupid to do that to my best friend."

  I stare at the box, which is plain white and about the size of a glasses case, afraid to do what I know I need to do. Since Dani and I finished our conversation, I'd been unable to think about anything else, and even during cheerleading practice, I couldn't focus. Dani cut me a lot of slack, though, and the other girls too. Dani did it because she knew what I was really thinking, and the other girls did it because they thought I was focused on Troy.

  Well, I guess I am focused on Troy, just in a different way. I couldn't deal with trying to see him as the rest of the team went out to practice, Troy not dressed except in a t-shirt and team shorts. Coach Jackson had Troy just watch, do some laps and stretch, trying to relieve the bruising and beating he'd taken. Even in my state of disarray, I gasp seeing him from a distance, the way his legs and his back are bruised up.

  Now I'm standing here in the bathroom, looking at the little box, and I'm more scared than I've been at any time in my life. I close my eyes and take the plunge, tearing open the box. There's a little thing that looks like a whiteboard marker with a window in the side, and a single instruction sheet.

  "Uncap device, hold in urine stream or in cup of fresh urine until testing device is fully wet. Cap and wait one minute. Plus sign confirms pregnancy, minus means no pregnancy. If there is no indication at all in the window, the device may be faulty, or you are too hydrated. Wait and try again with a new device and when your urine stream is not as clear."

  Well, you had some water at practice, but you're not exactly swimming. I guess if it's yellow, you're good to go. Might as well get to work.

  I squat over the toilet and do what I need to do, capping the test and counting to one hundred, just to be sure. I'm just turning the device over when Mom opens the door of the bathroom. "Oh, sorry, Whitney. I thought that . . .”

  Mom goes silent, seeing what's in my hand. She looks at me, then at my hands again, and takes a deep breath. "Well?"

  I turn the test over, and my heart drops into my feet. A plus sign. "It's a plus."

  "I thought . . . Whitney, after all I've told you about what I had to go through . . . what were you thinking?" Mom says, her voice rising into a yell. "It's that Troy Wood, isn't it? That playboy bastard!"

  I'm nodding and crying at the same time, and I push past her to go into my bedroom, where I throw myself on the bed, sobbing. I don’t need this shit right now. It's my senior year, I've got a great social life going and an awesome boyfriend, and it's not even Thanksgiving yet!

  I'm still sobbing when there's a quiet knock on my door. "Go away, Mom! You made your point clear!"

  "Actually, honey, I came to apologize," Mom says, coming in and sitting next to me. "Oh, sweetheart, I'm so sorry I yelled at you. I know you must be an emotional mess right now.”

  "We were careful, Mom," I sob, half blubbering, I know, but not able to do more. "We were careful. He wore a condom, and we never . . . ah, gah!" I can't make any more sense, and I just bury my face in my pillow. Maybe I can suffocate myself that way. I think I've seen it in a movie once.

  Mom sits qu
ietly, stroking my hair, saying nothing while I sob. When it passes, I feel a little bit better. Life still is unfair and sucks, but I'm not going to die, am I? I mean, look at Mom. She got pregnant in high school too, and she made a great life for me. Well, until I went and fucked it up, but she did a lot for me. I turned over and sniffled, wiping at my nose. "Mom . . .”

  "No, honey, you don't need to apologize," Mom says, leaning down and kissing my forehead. "We do need to have a serious discussion though. Actually, you and Troy need to have a serious discussion."

  "I can't, Mom!" I say, suddenly afraid. "Mom, if I tell him, it ruins his life!"

  "Whitney Nicole Nelson, you’d better start talking sense. Or else I'm going to go over to the Wood house and get some answers from Troy and his parents."

  "Mom, that's the thing, though. Troy . . . he's been getting beaten by his dad for years, and yesterday, he nearly got put in the hospital. His mom left . . . years ago, I don't know when. But he's got a bright future, Mom. He wants to get out of Silver Lake Falls, and he's got a scholarship to college. He’s on his way to his dream of going to the NFL. If he knows I'm pregnant, it’ll ruin his whole life."

  Mom swallows and looks at me. "He got you pregnant, Whitney. He needs to take responsibility for his actions. And if he’s a half-decent human being, he’ll want to know.”

  "Mom, it's my body. Isn't that what you keep telling me?" I plead, begging. "If I tell Troy, he's going to quit football and not go to college. He’ll get a job trying to take care of the baby, and that’ll ruin him—it’ll kill him. Worst of all, Mom, it’ll ruin the love we have, because he’ll come to resent me. I know it, Mom. I . . . I love him too much to ruin him like that."

  Mom sits quietly, then sighs. "So what do you want to do? Whitney, you're only a few weeks pregnant, and I still want to talk to Dani Vaughn. I suspect I can even put a date of conception based off the now obvious lie you two cooked up . . . but that's for another time. It's only October. Graduation in June is a long way off, and no matter what, you're going to be showing by Spring Break at the latest. If you're like me, you're going to show a lot earlier than that. You can't hide a pregnancy from Troy until June."