Don't Forget About Me: A Second Chance Amnesia Romance

by Eva Luxe

  Although it’s a little weird that his current fling is my best friend’s mom, it makes sense that in such a small city they might eventually get around to going out on some dates together. And it also has its perks. Taylor and I know when they’re distracted spending time with each other, and therefore when my dad is less likely to be breathing down my neck.

  But I didn’t know they were getting together this weekend. I’m kind of bummed that Taylor knew and I didn’t. I don’t know why my dad wouldn’t just tell me.

  “It’s so gross to think of our parents getting it on,” I tell her, to lighten the moment.

  “I know! Ewww!” she says. “But it’s clear they also really like each other, and I’m glad my mom is so happy.”

  I want to stop in my tracks, but I don’t.

  I just say, “Taylor, you know how my dad is. This week it’s this woman, next week it’s another…”

  “Thanks for trying to warn me,” she laughs. “But my mom’s a big girl. And she’s not much different from your dad.”

  I nod, knowing it’s true. Taylor’s mom is still hot. I’m kind of surprised my dad hadn’t hooked up with her earlier, even with the limiting factor of their daughters being best friends.

  “Yeah,” I say. “They’ll get tired of each other’s ways after a while but at least it’ll be fun while it lasts.”

  “I think they’ve been seeing each other for longer than their normal track records,” Taylor says, shaking her head as if what I’m saying isn’t making sense. “And it seems to me they’re actually kind of into each other.”

  Poor Taylor. Always wanting a father figure. She’s already had my dad to fill that role to some extent, but now she’s clearly trying to project it even further.

  I don’t want to crush her hopes and usually it’s her giving me life advice so I wouldn’t know what to say in terms of lowering her expectations even if I wanted to. I decide to just change the subject.

  “Well, I’m glad my dad is in a good mood because I’m so glad he said yes to us having the party,” I say, as Taylor and I walk into the cafeteria.

  My attention turns away from the conversation. I’m thinking about inviting the new football player to the party, and wondering whether he’ll come, when I see that he’s here eating with Christian.

  “Oh my god,” I say, catching my breath.

  Taylor follows my line of vision and says, “Uh oh. This can only mean trouble.”

  “I’m going over to him,” I tell her, surprised at my newfound boldness.

  “Chelsea! Do you really think that’s a good idea…?”

  But I’m already walking over to him, and she’s following me. And he’s looking at me, in a way that lets me know he’s happy to see me.

  In fact, his look lets me know he wants to do more than see me.

  And I’m beginning to think I might just let him.

  Chapter 6 – Chelsea

  “Hi Christian,” I say, as if I came over to talk to him, even though he and I don’t have the best history.

  I’ve always thought he was kind of spineless and weasel-like for some reason, even before he hit on me and I had to turn him down. Although we still talk to each other when we see each other in classes or at games, I obviously wouldn’t be coming to talk to him if I didn’t have to invest some pretext to talk to the new guy who is sitting with him.

  “I was just coming over to…”

  “Hey there,” says the new guy, reaching out a hand for me to shake.

  I like the way he makes the first move, even if he was too chicken shit to come over to me on the field.

  “Wesley Reynolds,” he says, as I shake his strong hand. “Transfer student.”

  I just stare into his dark brown eyes, forgetting why I even came over, other than to look at them.

  “We came to meet the new guy,” Taylor says, to Christian, lightly poking my side with her elbow. “The cheerleader welcoming committee.”

  Oh yeah.

  Good ole Taylor.

  “Chelsea Thompson,” I say, unable to hold back some light laughter. “Sophomore.”

  “And I’m Taylor Hudson,” Taylor adds.

  Wesley shakes her hand next, but I notice it’s with a less enthusiastic grip.

  “We’ve actually come to invite you to a party,” I say.

  Taylor elbows me again, but not as nicely, this time.

  “A party already?” Christian jokes. “Aren’t you even going to pick the new cheerleaders first?”

  “Oh, they’ll be chosen by then,” I say. “The party is this weekend, and it’s in part to welcome the latest cheerleaders. It’s at my dad’s lake house.”

  “Nice,” Christian says. He raises his eyebrows at Wesley. “I’ve heard about the cheerleaders’ parties, and that they’re a lot of fun.”

  I ignore the bitter tone in his voice, which reeks of offense at never having been invited to one himself.

  “But they’re usually not at the coach’s lake house. And football players are usually banned,” Christian continues. “Due to, as I’ve already warned you, Coach Thompson’s strict rules against anyone on the team fraternizing too much with his daughter…”

  So that’s why Wesley hadn’t come over to me on the field. Christian had already let him in on my dad’s rule. Although my dad may have already told Wesley himself. He tends to make quite the production out of announcing it.

  “You’re not banned this year,” I quickly blurt out, wanting him to shut up already. He didn’t have to keep rubbing salt in the wound. “You’re both invited.”

  I stare straight at Wesley, as if issuing him a dare. And he stares right back, as if accepting it.

  “Just don’t let the whole team know about it,” Taylor says, looking at me as if she can’t believe I’d invited even two players. “It’s by invitation only. And obviously, don’t let Coach Thompson know about it…”

  “Obviously,” agrees Christian, while rolling his eyes.

  “Well, see you around,” I say, reluctantly tearing my eyes off of Wesley to join the food line.

  “Looking forward to it,” he says.

  And there’s that tingle running down my spine again.

  As soon as we’re out of their earshot, Taylor protests.

  “Chelsea! What were you thinking?”

  “What?”

  I bat my eyelashes and do my best to play innocent.

  “I know you’re dead set on inviting your latest heartthrob but was that really the best way to do it? Inviting Christian too? What if they go and blab their mouths…”

  “It’ll be fine,” I tell her, as I peer at the less than appealing lunch choices.

  Apparently Taylor is more afraid of my dad’s wrath than I am. Or maybe, since this is the first time I’ve openly challenged his rule, I’m more curious about Wesley than afraid of my dad.

  “Okay,” she says, with an exasperated sigh. “I hope you’re right.”

  “I want to get to know him.”

  I can’t help but notice the whininess in my voice.

  “I know it’s a stupid thing to do, but I want to do it anyway.”

  “It’s just that I think you should be careful,” she says, her eyes pleading with me. “I know you’re really into this new guy, but if your dad finds out…”

  “You’re right,” I tell her. “I am into him.”

  Don’t ask me to explain it, I silently will her, because I can’t.

  And she doesn’t. She probably just knows.

  I’ve never risked falling for a guy on the football team. I know my dad would be so mad, and it just hasn’t been worth it.

  I’ve never even been attracted to many of the guys on the team, so it’s never really been hard to not disobey my dad. Most of the players have always seemed like empty headed jocks.

  But there’s something about Wesley Reynolds I can’t ignore.

  Sure, he has a cocky swagger and an overconfident manner that lets me know he’s probably used to playing the field in more wa
ys than one. He isn’t even my normal type.

  But I just want him. I don’t know why.

  “I only want to look at him a bit more up close,” I tell Taylor, trying to be convincing. “I know he’s on my dad’s team, so he’s off limits, but I need a better look at him.”

  She shakes her head.

  “I’m just going to look,” I insist again. “I don’t have to touch…”

  “Sure, Chelsea,” she says, as she reaches over me to grab a salad, because I’ve been too busy thinking about Wesley to decide what I want to eat. “Whatever you say.”

  She knows me better than that. And I know myself better than that, too.

  For better or worse, I just want to get up close and personal with Wesley Reynolds.

  I don’t want to actually go all the way with him of course. I’m not ready for that level of closeness. I’m still embarrassingly inexperienced.

  I just want to hang out with him for a little bit. Maybe make out just a little bit.

  Just one party. Just one crazy, rebellious night of hooking up with him, and I’m sure I’ll get this obsession out of my system, and my dad will never have to know.

  Chapter 7 – Wesley

  This is fucking bullshit.

  It’s the first game of the season, and I’m sitting on the bench.

  I’ve been working my ass off for Coach Thompson during training all week, and I know I’ve outperformed most of the other guys on the team. I don’t mean to sound rude, but it’s just become more and more obvious that this team’s a joke compared to the one I just came from.

  I have so much to offer the Calton Wildcats, yet Coach Thompson doesn’t want to use me.

  Just before half time, the other team scores a touchdown. Although both of our teams are in the bottom league and we’ve been pretty evenly matched throughout the game, it’s clear that this other team is slightly better, especially without me on the field.

  “Hey Coach,” I call out. “Put me in. I’ll catch us up and then some!”

  “Sit down and know your place,” Coach Thompson hisses at me, stepping off the field to do so. “And your place isn’t with my daughter.”

  “What?”

  What the hell does his daughter have to do with anything? We’re going to get killed out here, and he’s using this opportunity to teach me a lesson about his daughter?

  “Don’t act like you haven’t been staring at her all night, and ever since you started out on this team,” he spits out before jogging back to the sideline.

  I roll my eyes, and Christian looks over at me as if to say “I told you so.”

  This guy is really serious about his daughter, I think.

  And I don’t even know what he’s so mad about. All I’ve done is look at her, and talk to her in the cafeteria, but he doesn’t even know about that. And Chelsea started that conversation, anyway.

  I’m annoyed, but I decide not to let it get to me. Coach Thompson obviously wanted me on the team for a reason and when he needs me enough, I’m sure he’ll let me play. And then he’ll be begging me to keep playing once he sees how much I can help the team.

  Sure enough, just before the end of the first half, the first string quarterback gets an injury, and it’s my turn to shine.

  “Alright, Reynolds, you’re up,” the coach says, begrudgingly. “Don’t make me sorry I’m doing this.”

  As if he has any choice, I think, but I can barely contain my enthusiasm as I run onto the field.

  Within just a few minutes, it’s half time and I’m hoping that the first string quarterback's injuries aren’t so serious that he’s really hurt, but that they’re serious enough to keep him out for the rest of the game so that I can really have a chance to play.

  During halftime, the cheerleaders do their thing on the field and of course I can’t resist looking, even though Coach Thompson is staring me down. All of them are at least decent looking— better-looking than most of the ones at my old school, I have to admit— and in the past I would be finding ways to hook up with most of them.

  But now I can’t help but focus only on Chelsea. Not just because she’s forbidden fruit, but also because she’s that smoking hot. And she’s staring back at me too, almost the whole time she’s performing her routine.

  She tilts her cute blonde head in my direction, as if issuing an invitation. And I smile back slyly, as if accepting.

  I imagine her looking at me like that in bed, while I’m behind her and she’s on her hands and knees.

  I like this game we have going. I want more of it. But I have to remind myself I have a real game to focus on.

  Half time is almost over, and I’m pleased to find out that I’m still in the game.

  The offense huddles, and Coach Thompson relays some tactics I don’t entirely agree with. I know my old coach would have run a different play, which I think would be better.

  I consider running it even though Coach Thompson had ordered a different play. But I hesitate, knowing that changing it could put me at further odds with my new and apparently very cantankerous coach.

  Finally I decide that the potential reward outweighs the risk. This team needs to fucking switch things up if we’re ever going to have a fighting chance. And I just can’t seem to stop myself from taking risks. There’s some part of me that hopes to impress Chelsea, and maybe even Coach Thompson.

  Once my teammates are back on the field, I call for another huddle despite the confused look on Coach Thompson’s face.

  “Look, guys, I know I’m new, and you have no reason to trust me. But I’m a winning quarterback from a winning team. And I have an improvised version of Coach Thompson’s tactics that I want to run. I really think it’ll work, if we can pull it off right.”

  Everyone looks skeptical and a few guys voice their discontent.

  “Wesley, dude, are you sure?” Christian asks me, shaking his head. “I know you like to show off, but this could make or break…”

  “I’m sure,” I tell him. “Just go with it. We have to do something to take the lead, you know? No offense, but what you guys have been doing the whole first half without me hasn’t been working.”

  Some of the guys snicker in agreement, even adding comments like “What we’ve been doing for the last three years hasn’t been working either,” while others grunt their disapproval or shrug their indecision.

  “I guess the worst that could happen is that we continue to lose,” Christian admits.

  “Or Coach Thompson will make us run laps as a penalty for going against his call,” someone else says.

  Most of us shrug, apparently agreeing that outcome wouldn’t be so bad, compared to losing the first game of the season.

  “Do what you need to do, man,” Christian says.

  I appreciate his encouragement, although I don’t really need it.

  Once I’ve made my mind up to do something, there’s no fucking stopping me— for better or worse.

  “Now let’s do this,” I say, as the second half officially starts.

  Luckily my teammates listen to me, and we begin the play. As expected, the opposing players react to counter our initial tactic they were expecting us to run, but my unanticipated pass grants our team the opportunity to score a touchdown.

  My teammates go wild with the thrill of victory, but Coach Thompson isn’t impressed. He stomps around on the sidelines, yelling at us— and me in particular— about not listening to his leadership.

  Once the offense and defense switch, I approach him, not wanting to stay on bad terms.

  “Sorry, Coach,” I begin. “I just had a feeling that this other play—”

  “I’ll deal with you later, Reynolds,” he says, tersely.

  Shivers run down my spine as I get a glimpse of what Chelsea had to grow up with.

  “And I’ll deal with the entire offensive team later. Everyone will be punished,” Coach Thompson announces loudly. “But for now, let’s focus on winning this game.”

  I detect a note of excitement in h
is voice that he can’t seem to hide even through his anger.

  “He’s glad we scored, even though he hates my method of going about it,” I whisper to Christian.

  “Shut up,” he hisses back at me. “Do you want to get everyone in even more trouble?”

  His face is red and he’s glaring at me in obvious anger.

  What’s up his ass? I wonder, but I just shrug.

  Many other teammates come over to high five me and congratulate me on the call. I guess Christian’s just jealous. Even though he had told me to go for it, and it had worked.

  Our team manages to hold the tie throughout the second half, and finally we end up scoring again and winning the game. My team members seem shocked, but ecstatic. Apparently they’re not used to this degree of success.

  I turn to Christian as soon as the game ends, unable to resist gloating.

  “Told you we’d win,” I brag. “And Coach Thompson is just upset at how I went about it.”

  “Yeah but can you blame him?” Christian replies. “You couldn’t even wait to get on better footing with the coach before you just stormed in here and changed things up.”

  He looks genuinely mad at me, and I feel a bit betrayed.

  “So you really wanted me to just let us lose?” I ask him, incredulous.

  He shrugs.

  “You just have no concept of respect,” he blurts out. “You think you can just come in and take whatever you want.”

  I just shake my head.

  I’m over trying to figure him out. I just chalk it up to sour grapes.

  I look over at Chelsea, who is finishing up leading a cheer along the sidelines.

  Damn right, I think, as her curvy ass bounces underneath her short skirt.

  I imagine it doing that as she gyrates in my lap, sliding on and off my dick.

  No one has ever accused me of not pursuing what I want. I wanted to win this fucking game for the Wildcats, and I did, no matter what it took.

  And what I want right now is that head cheerleader— coach’s daughter or not. And I’m going to get her no matter what it takes.