36
When I get home from work on Thursday, for the first time this week, Brandon isn’t here. In fact he hasn’t even called or texted me which is not normal. I know he had practice and the night before a game he usually has a one-on-one with Coach but all of that would have ended hours ago.
“Hey, sweetie, how was work?” Mom calls out from the couch.
“Same old same old,” I tell her, leaning against the entryway wall.
“No Brandon?”
“No Brandon.” I can hear the annoyance in my tone. “I’m gonna get in the shower.”
“Is everything okay?”
“As far as I know.”
“Uh oh,” she says and I have the urge to slap the concern off her face.
“Don’t uh oh me. I know what you’re thinking and you’re wrong. Brandon is not one of your unreliable, useless men. Everything is fine.”
“Has he called?”
“Mom. Mind your own business,” I tell her, pushing off the wall and heading to the bathroom.
As I shower I try to keep the negative thoughts from infecting my brain. I keep telling myself that I can trust Brandon. That I’m overreacting to the fact that he wasn’t here waiting for me when I got home. I shouldn’t expect that from him. He’s got his own life. He’s told me a million times he’s not walking away from me again and I can’t start doubting him just because he’s not here when he never even told me he would be here.
I’m depending on him too much. I need him too much. I know that. I need to take a step back and stop being an overbearing, jealous girlfriend. I mean, I’m not even his girlfriend. We still haven’t had that conversation. All I am at this point is his friend and roommate. Who he sometimes – but not nearly enough – kisses with skill and intensity that leaves me breathless and deeply yearning for him. A friend who he sometimes – but rarely – graces with his incredible and sure body that he presses into me with so much flat out lust that I feel like I’m melting. One whose gruff voice and deep sexy moans make me want to scream because it’s so damn sexy. I need to chill out and give him space. I need to get my damn emotions, and my hormones, under control.
I sit under the hot water until I feel some sort of lose grasp on control. Which means I had enough time to shave my legs, exfoliate my skin and deep condition my hair. When the water runs cold I have no choice but to get out. Even then, I avoid reality by moisturizing every inch of my skin, thoroughly flossing and brushing my teeth and blowing out my hair.
When I’m too exhausted to come up with another diversion I check my phone one more time and see that I still have no missed calls or texts. I wrap myself in my towel and head to my room.
“Jesus, I didn’t think you were ever coming out of there.”
I try hard to reign in any signs of elation when I see Brandon kicked back on my bed. “It takes effort to look this good,” I say, unconvincingly.
“Please. Since when do you have to do anything besides roll out of bed to look as beautiful as you always do? You’ve never been that girl.”
“I’m not perfect- I do grow hair on my legs. You mind?” I ask as I hold up the pair of panties I need to get on.
He smirks than closes his eyes. “I’m not looking.”
I take my time sliding my underwear up my legs and stretching to get my t-shirt over my body in the hopes that he might be peeking. I know Brandon’s not one to force himself on a girl but sleeping next to him every night while not allowing ourselves to do more than kiss each other is becoming torturous. Being in school with him all day, admiring his sexy body from afar, is becoming painful.
And he’s becoming damn good at it – acting like there is nothing going on with us while we’re at school. I thought I was gonna have to be the strong one because on Monday morning he didn’t seem to give a crap if anyone, including Summer, knew we were together, but I find myself needing him to look at me, to talk to me, to brush his leg against mine from across the cafeteria table. But he’s given me nothing. Which was the plan. I shouldn’t be pissed about it. “You can open your eyes.”
“You gonna stand there all night or are you getting into this bed with me?” he asks.
I unstick my feet and try to clear my muddled brain as I climb up the bed and into his waiting arm. I run my bare leg up his jean-clad thigh but he doesn’t react. I look up at his face and it’s clear by the way he’s staring at the ceiling that he’s distracted. “You all right?”
His eyes flash to mine like I startled him. “Yeah. I’m good.”
“You liar.”
“Really, Tate. I’m fine.” He gives me a reassuring pat on my arm which is so not cool. I sit up and cross my legs and stare at him. “What?” My eyes bulge at him. “Seriously... what?”
“Fine,” I tell him, shifting to lean against the wall. “Don’t talk to me. Just sit over there and stew in your thoughts.”
“Are you mad at me?”
“I don’t like it when you appease me. I never have.”
He laughs under his breath. “I swear, you haven’t changed at all. You’re still the same bossy, stubborn girl you used to be.”
“And you’re still the same little boy who is too proud to admit something bad is going on in his life.”
“Some of us don’t feel the need to discuss every damn problem we’re having.”
“And some of you, whoever the hell you guys are, aren’t very good at masking your emotions. So instead of sitting there pouting, some of you should just be men and tell me what the hell’s wrong.”
“Can I process for a minute before I lay all this shit on you?”
“All this shit? Really? It’s that bad?”
“Maybe if you were a little less abrasive I would be more willing to open up to you.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize my personality was too strong for you to handle. Should I be meeker? Talk in a softer voice,” I ask him, widening my eyes, tipping my head, talking in a sweet voice and gently rubbing my fingers down his arm.
He pushes my hand away and shakes his head like he’s disappointed. “Less aggressive would be nice.”
I laugh at that. I can’t help it. Less aggressive. Is he serious? “As far as I can tell all either of us has been doing all week is holding back. I don’t know how much less aggressive I can get. “Please tell me, Brandon, that this is not you being aggressive with me?”
He stares at me and I can see the change in his demeanor. The corner of his moth lifts, his eyelids become heavy, his nostrils flair slightly. Before I know it, he’s got his hands around my waist and has me turned around and on top of his lap. The giant bulge under me has ridded me of at least one of my doubts – he definitely wants me. “You know what this is?”
“Two five year olds having a fight?” I guess.
“No. There’s nothing PG about this. It’s all of our pent up sexual energy. You… and I… are sexually frustrated.”
“I’ve never been so frustrated in my life,” I tell him through my teeth as I fist his shirt.
“Ahh,” he moans, clamping down on my hips and pulling me down hard on top of him.
I let out a long breath of my own as I foolishly let myself believe that he is finally giving into me, but without warning he sits up and I fall off of his lap and onto my back. He straddles me, hovering over me but not touching me. “Damn it, Tatum. No.”
“Damn it, Tatum? I’m not the one who hauled myself on top of your boner, asshole.”
He grabs a hold of my chin and laughs. “What the hell am I gonna do with you?”
“Nothing, apparently,” I tell him.
He sits back then, pulling me upright as he goes. We sit there facing each other sitting on my bed. “Not yet. I can’t explain to you how bad it sucks to sleep next to your body, listening to you, smelling you and having to keep my hands to myself.”
“I’m sympathetic to you plight, Mr. Eastman.”
“Can you imagine… if we went there?” he asks, shaking his head. “Once I know how it f
eels to have you, to be inside of you…” his voice is strained, is jaw is tense and he closes his eyes. “I won’t be able to pretend after that.”
I let out a frustrated breath. “I know I was the one who was adamant that we act like we don’t know each other, but I need more from you.” The fact that just his words have me feeling like I’m on the brink of orgasm are proof of that statement.
His head retracts like he’s just been wounded “You need more from me? Really? Because I just got my ass reamed by Coach because he’s pretty damn sure I’ve given up everything for you. I’m getting in fights, ending relationships, not giving a shit about the team, rescinding my verbal with Penn. And he’s right- you are the only thing I think about. Nothing – football, my friends, my future, my family- none of those things seem to matter anymore and to tell you the truth it’s terrifying. I’m willing to give up everything for you and I don’t know if that’s the right thing to do.”
Oh my God. My brain slowly repeats those three words over and over as a horrible realization overtakes me.
I’m Nash.
I’m the girl who’s stuck in this town, no hope of a future, nothing to offer anyone, and Brandon is the stupid fool who is in love with me. Who is willing to give up his future, his life, in order to stoop to my level.
Inside I’m freaking out but outside I manage to hold it together. “Of course that’s not the right thing to do, Brandon,” I tell him calmly, even producing a look of concern on my face. The surprise is evident on his face; never do I back out of an argument. “You shouldn’t have to give anything up for me. I mean, we’re not even together. I get if you no longer want to go to Penn but you still have to go somewhere. You can’t give up a free college education for a girl you’re not even dating. That’s just stupid. You’re not thinking clearly right now which is what happens when you become infatuated with someone. And honestly, I think the juxtaposition that we’re living in: sharing a bed but not really touching each other, is making it worse. I shouldn’t be the most important thing in your life. I should come last on that list.”
He scrunches his face up at me and crosses his arms over his chest. “Infatuation?”
“Yeah. Infatuation.”
“I’m not infatuated with you, Tatum. I’m in love with you.”
“I love you too. That has nothing to do with this.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“Love is not the reason that I’m all you can think about right now. It’s not gonna be like this between us forever. You know that. I mean what the hell are you even thinking? Are you seriously thinking about changing your life, giving up the things you love, abandoning everything…. for what…. For me?” I pause to laugh, like that’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.
“Yeah, Tate. That’s kind of what I was thinking.”
“Think about it, Brandon. This is the end of the road for me. This is my life. But it’s not yours. Next year after we’ve graduated what are you gonna do? Stay here? Go to the community college? Or maybe you won’t even go to school. Maybe you’ll get a great job at the gas station or Frank’s insurance company. Or ooh, here’s a good idea – you could go work for your dad.”
I hate when I see the reality of a future with me resonating in his eyes. But I would hate it more if that actually became his reality and he had me to blame for it.
“I don’t know,” he says, running his fingers through his hair. “I guess it’s stupid to think that I could do anything besides play football. I just don’t want to think about leaving you.”
“This,” I pause to indicate our two bodies, “has been going on for a matter of days. And really, it hasn’t even started. Who knows what’s even gonna happen to us. It’s way too early to start thinking about any kind of future.”
He narrows his eyes and shakes his head at me. “Seriously?”
“What do you mean, seriously? Of course I’m serious. I’m not your future, Brandon.”
He sits up, his fingers suddenly tangled in my hair and gripping hard to the back of my head. The intensity on his face is scary. “What the fuck, Tatum. You are my future. We’re each other’s future.”
I set my hands against his shoulders and push away from him, forcing myself to shrug my shoulders and look unaffected. “Maybe. But who knows. All I’m saying is that you’re getting way ahead of yourself, you’re taking whatever is happening between us too seriously. Even if we are together next fall it’s not like it will be serious enough for you to stay here with me.”
“That’s what you think?” he asks, the hurt clear in his voice and in his eyes.
“Yeah, that’s what I think,” I force myself to tell him as I crawl off his lap and under my covers.
He stares at me and shakes his head. “God, am I blind? Am I that big of a blind idiot?” I can’t tell if he’s talking to himself or to me but I don’t trust my voice right now and I can’t keep this bullshit act up for one more second, so I don’t say anything.
He doesn’t either. Just removes his pants and shirt, that look of complete distraction back on his face. He mindlessly climbs under the covers and settles his arm under me and pulls me into his chest.
I squeeze my eyes shut, forcing myself not to cry. I try to strike every thought of a future with Brandon out of my stupid imagination because nothing has changed. Despite his living conditions, he’s still north side nobility and I’m south side scum. All I am to him is a distraction. All I’ll ever be is a downgrade.
Jesus, how could I have been so stupid?
As far as I’ve always been concerned, no one really deserved me, but damn does it suck to realize that I don’t deserve him.
37
Unfortunately I have no choice but to go to the game. I have no choice but to stare at Brandon for two and a half hours. I’m forced to sit in the middle of a rabid crowd of fans screaming his name. I’m forced to watch Summer and Jolee down on the field in their cute little outfits cheering him on.
All day today, as Brandon effortlessly ignored me in favor of his fellow players and Summer and her friends, I couldn’t help but feel like eighth grade Tatum. The one who was no longer good enough for Football Star Brandon.
And then he had the nerve to halfheartedly suggest that I join him after the game for the bonfire when he knows damn well that, not only am I hated once again by all of his friends because they think I’m the reason Summer is heartbroken and Nash is best-friend-less, but that he will have no choice but to spend the entire night ignoring me. When I said as much he told me he understood. And that statement was not followed by the words, we’ll just skip it and find something else to do.
“They have this game in the bag,” Angel says enthusiastically. “Maybe now everyone will stop acting like assholes and all will be right again in Carver.”
“Is it crazy that the entire town has been in a depression over a lost game?” Presley asks, “I mean every customer I’ve had since last Friday’s has brought it up. They’re all like… sad… and my tips have sucked.”
“It is crazy but totally expected. If they lost again tonight I’m sure there would be some suicides.”
“Or murders,” Angel adds.
“Do you have what you need?” Presley asks. “Can we get out of here now?”
“I don’t know, you’d have to ask my editor. He’s the one who made me come in the first place.”
“Yeah, let’s get out of here,” Angel agrees.
As the three of us make our way out of our congested row I allow myself one last glance at Brandon who is on the sidelines, his helmet off, his dark hair gleaming with sweat. His tall, strong body looking better than any boy’s should in that uniform. I’m about to look away when he suddenly turns to me, finding my eyes in the middle of this crowd. I’m caught up in his stare for a split second, maybe two, before I turn and begin to ascend the stairs, my legs feeling weak.
“So where to?” Angel asks when we’re in his mom’s Odyssey.
“I’m read
y to call it a night. You can take me home.”
“To Tatum’s it is,” he says with a smile.
When we get to my house Angel parks and pulls his key out of the ignition, opening his door like he’s coming inside.
“I’ll see you Monday,” I tell him.
“Oh, hell no. We haven’t seen you in a week, you’re not getting rid of us that easy. Come on Presley.”
“I’m really not in the mood.”
“Too bad. We’re coming anyway.”
“Whatever,” I concede, accepting the distraction.
When we get inside it’s quiet. My mom and Tally are never home on Friday nights. I drop my purse on the chair then head to the kitchen for a glass of water. Presley and Angel follow me. “So… board games? Truth or dare? Romantic comedy? What do you guys want to do?”
“Truth or dare sounds like a good idea,” Angel says while rubbing his hands together.
“I was kidding.” I head out to the living room and flop down on the couch.
Presley sits by me but Angel heads straight to the crappy stereo and my mom’s stacks of cd’s. “Someone’s got good taste in music,” he says with surprise as he hit’s play and Nirvana’s Bleach starts playing. Satisfied, he comes and joins us, sitting on the ottoman in front of us. “So I’ll go first. Austin, truth or dare?”
“We are not seriously playing this game,” I mutter.
“Are you scared?” Presley goads. “Afraid of what dark secrets you’re going to have to reveal?”
“I have no secrets. Everyone in this town knows every sorted detail of my life.”
“And the idea of making Angel do something embarrassing doesn’t excite you a little bit?”
“I’m pretty sure he doesn’t get embarrassed.” He gives me a smug look. “But he does hide behind his sarcasm. I think we should find out what’s under that mordant mask.”
“I’ve got nothing to hide,” he tells me but his eye twitches.
“I’ll play if I can go first. Angel… truth or dare?”
A God in Carver (Carver High #1) Page 27
