Better than Perfect

by Simone Elkeles

  I shove back. “Man, I’ve wanted a piece of you since I first met you,” I say. This is the point of no return. McKnight isn’t about to back down, and there’s no way in hell I’m letting him get away with hurting Ashtyn.

  “Get your hands off me!” Ashtyn screams from behind me. Her frantic voice jerks my attention to her.

  Panic jolts through me as I see her being held by one of Bonk’s friends. She’s trying to claw and kick her way out of his grip, but the dude is twice her size.

  When my head is turned, McKnight lands a solid right hook to my jaw. Shit, that hurt. I lost focus and made myself vulnerable. If there’s one thing I learned fighting in Regents’ boxing club, it’s never take your eyes off your opponent.

  Time to get back in the game.

  I punch Landon and make sure he’s on the floor before I glance back at Ashtyn. Bonk is barreling toward me with fury written all over his face and five guys backing him. I lunge for the guy holding Ashtyn, but Bonk and his posse cut me off.

  “That’s the guy who took the picture,” Bonk announces to his friends. He aims a punch at me, but I’m too fast and dodge his fist.

  I land a solid one to his side, but his friends pull me away. They restrain me while I struggle and Bonk pummels me. I fight to get loose, but there’s like six guys holding me. I can’t get free. Bonk is having a field day. I taste my own blood from my busted lip, and even though I get a good kick in and Bonk flies backward, it doesn’t matter because another one of his friends is right there to pick up where he left off.

  I know how to dodge punches, but not with four guys holding me back. I’m breathing hard and starting to get dizzy. Then Trey and a bunch of guys on the Fremont football team join the fight. They rip the guys off me and start pummeling their rivals. The entire balcony is in chaos, with fists flying and security trying to break it up.

  I scan the crowd desperately for Ashtyn. She’s managed to break free of the guy who’d been holding her, so I get between her and the fighting and lead her to an alcove. “Stay here,” I tell her, then turn to help Trey and the guys.

  I should know better than to trust that Ashtyn will listen to me, because I see her clutch at Bonk’s arm as he’s about to fight Victor. I grab Bonk and pull him back, hoping that Ashtyn will be scared enough to go back to the alcove.

  “Are you ever gonna listen to me?” I ask her.

  She shakes her head and says simply, “No.”

  Chapter 22

  Ashtyn

  I’m devastated. And shocked. And mad and hurt. But I’m not some diva who needs to be rescued by Derek. I’m about to jump onto the back of a Fairfield player when someone comes up behind me and throws me to the ground.

  Before I can get up, Derek is there to pull me to my feet. His mouth is a bloody mess and his face is bruised. “Shit, Ashtyn. Why didn’t you hide off to the side where you’d be safe?”

  By now huge bouncers are flocking up the stairs.

  “Leave me alone.” I shove him away.

  “Like hell I will. I’m gettin’ you out of here.” He slings me over his shoulder and muscles through the crowd.

  “Let me go, you jerk,” I say, attempting to squirm out of his grasp. “I don’t need your help.”

  He doesn’t answer. Instead, he takes me outside and puts me down in front of his car. “Get in the car. Now.” I open my mouth to protest, but he puts a hand up. “Don’t argue with me.”

  I sit in the car stewing about everything that happened, while Derek goes to talk to the guys just now coming out of the club. Vic looks all too happy that he arrived just in time for the brawl. Bree’s fingers gently trail down Derek’s bruised face as her perfectly shaped eyebrows furrow with compassion.

  “Bree, you’re laying it on thick,” I mumble to myself.

  Trey and Monika leave in Trey’s car while Derek opens the backseat for his date.

  “Thanks.” Bree slides in the car. “Oh, my God, Ashtyn! Can you believe what just happened? Those guys from Fairfield are just awful. I feel so sorry for Derek. I mean, did you see how many of those Fairfield guys it took to hold him down?”

  “I wasn’t counting.”

  “It was four, or maybe five!”

  Derek is in the car now. He’s holding his side and moving slowly.

  “You okay to drive?” I ask.

  “I’m fine.”

  “You sure? Because your face looks like a piece of raw meat.”

  “Uh-huh.” He pulls out of the parking lot as if the fight never happened and he doesn’t have bloodstains on his clothes or a busted-up lip. I watch as Bree reaches through the headrest and caresses Derek’s shoulders, occasionally slipping her fingers under his collar in a not-so-subtle flirty way. When he glances at me, I pretend to look at something super interesting out the window.

  It isn’t long before he pulls into Bree’s driveway and he’s walking her to her front door.

  “Don’t kiss her,” I mumble. “Your mouth is bleeding, and it’s unsanitary and gross.” And I don’t want you to like her. Please don’t kiss her. And don’t have any physical contact with her, either. Just walk away. Walk. Away. Like now would be a great time.

  I want to avert my eyes from the two silhouettes, but I can’t. Bree is an experienced flirter and isn’t subtle. She’s a girl who’s used to getting whatever guy she wants. She has the perfect body, perfect face, perfect hair. She’s feminine, is a cheerleader, and laughs a lot. Bree wraps her arms around Derek’s neck and he pulls her in for a short hug. Then he must’ve said something funny, because she laughs and puts her hand on his chest. Does she have to touch him every two seconds?

  I’m tempted to honk the horn, but it’s late and I’m not sure Bree’s neighbors will be happy if I wake them up. Finally Bree walks in her house and Derek comes back to the car.

  “Took you long enough,” I say in a huff as he slowly slides in the driver’s seat, wincing in pain.

  “You’re kiddin’ me, right?”

  I don’t answer, because my feelings are as raw as his face. I’m aware I’m acting immature and irrational. Truth is, I don’t want him to be with Bree. I’m jealous and vulnerable and dealing with Landon’s betrayal and the knowledge that I’ve got feelings for Derek and he’s probably got the hots for Bree.

  “Bree’s really pretty,” I mumble.

  “Yep.”

  “Do you like her?”

  “She’s cool.”

  He doesn’t get it.

  When he pulls into our driveway, I want to tell him what I’m feeling. The problem is I have no clue what to say—my mind is a jumble of emotions that don’t make sense. He’d probably laugh at me and run in the opposite direction if I told him I didn’t want him going out with Bree.

  I open my mouth to express something more than animosity toward him, but all that comes out is, “I could’ve handled Landon myself.”

  He swipes his bloody mouth with the back of his hand. “You keep tellin’ yourself that and you might actually start believin’ it.”

  Ashtyn, tell him you’re developing feelings for him. Tell Derek that seeing him beat up scares you. Tell him you want to hold him. Tell him that you need him.

  I slowly step out of the car and ignore all the inner voices telling me what to do. Because expressing any or all of those things will make me vulnerable, will set me up to be emotionally wounded once again.

  I’m almost at the door when Derek says, “Ashtyn, wait.”

  I keep my back to him, but hear gravel crunch beneath his shoes as he steps closer. It’s dark, except for the small yellow light on our front porch giving off a soft glow.

  “You’re a girl, you know,” he says. “And you can’t fight all your battles alone. You might be a football player, but you can’t fend off a two-hundred-pound linebacker.” He urges me to turn around, then glances at the nasty red marks on my arm from Landon’s tight grip. “Or your boyfriend.”

  “He’s not my boyfriend anymore.” Landon lied to me. And manipulated me. An
d he’s transferring to Fairfield in the fall. It’s over. We’re completely screwed. I don’t know . . . maybe I can convince him to come back if I give him the captain spot. Our division is tough. We need a good quarterback to get any attention from scouts. I rub my eyes and wish someone would tell me everything will be okay. But it won’t.

  Derek lets out a slow breath as my words sink in. “You broke up?”

  I nod.

  We’re standing a few feet away from each other. It would be so easy to close the distance between us, but neither of us is moving. I have the urge to reach up and lightly touch the side of his cut, bruised face. For a moment, I feel his pain as if it were my own. But no matter what’s going on beneath the surface, I have to remember that Derek and I are never going to happen. He’s the guy who’ll love you, then leave you without a backward glance. I can’t do that . . . it could destroy the thin thread of hope that I can have feelings for someone who won’t turn their back on me and leave. I’m dealing with more than enough betrayal tonight. I don’t need to add to it.

  Derek walks inside the house and heads to his bedroom. I prepare a washcloth, raid our medicine cabinet, and find an ice pack in the freezer. I find Derek sitting on his bed looking at his cell phone.

  He glances up at me. “If you came here to mess around, I’m not really in great shape, but if you want to do all the work while I sit back I’m game—”

  “Put that ego to rest. I only came to help disinfect those wounds. Shut up or I’m out of here.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he says, then moves to the center of the bed to give me room. I’m surprised he tosses his ever-present phone aside.

  I kneel on the bed and gently swipe the washcloth over his cut eyebrow. I’m too aware of the fact that we’re on the same bed and if things were different . . .

  No. I can’t let my mind wander to the “what if” because reality is what it is. Derek has made it clear that fooling around is a game to him. I don’t play those kind of games.

  How can I hide the fact that I have a crush on him when I have a major case of nerves right now? I’m trying to stop my hand from shaking, but there’s still a slight tremor in my fingertips. The only time I get this jittery is during a game where whether we win or lose depends on me making a field goal. Normally I shrug the feeling off and focus on the task at hand.

  “Why are you doin’ this?” Derek asks, his deep voice sending electricity through my veins.

  If I look into his mesmerizing clear blue eyes, will he immediately know what I’m feeling? He’d laugh at me if he could read my mind and my body. I avoid eye contact and instead concentrate on wiping dried blood off his lip now.

  “Because I don’t want to see you get an infection,” I say. “Don’t flatter yourself, Cowboy. This is for my benefit more than yours.”

  I wash away the blood, careful not to make him wince in pain. I’d never tend to a wound with the guys on my team. When one of us gets hurt or cut up, we either take care of it ourselves or let one of the trainers do it. Right here, right now, my female instincts to protect and heal have kicked in. When all the dried blood is off, I dab some antibacterial ointment on his wounds. It feels too personal and intimate.

  “Your hands are shakin’.”

  “No, they’re not,” I lie as I dab the ointment on his warm, smooth skin. “I’m annoyed and tired and pissed off.” And frustrated with myself for wanting Derek to pull me close and hold me all night. Fantasies are never as good as reality.

  I sit back on my heels and regard my work. I’m suddenly tired and feeling emotionally and physically weak. If Derek reached out for me, I’d snuggle into his chest. Right now if he asked me how I felt, I’d be tempted to tell him.

  He leans back on the bed and holds his breath, an indication that his face isn’t the only thing bruised. “Thanks, Ashtyn.”

  “I’m not done. Take your shirt off and I’ll check your ribs.”

  “If I get undressed, you’re gonna want to do more than check my ribs.”

  Acting like I don’t care has become the new normal for me. I point to my stoic expression. “This is my ‘not impressed’ look.”

  The side of his mouth quirks up as he lifts his shirt over his head and tosses it aside. He flexes his pecs.

  I yawn in response, refusing to show any sign of admiration. I zone in on the red marks that are starting to form on his side and ribs. It’s going to take more than a few days for him to heal.

  “Want me to take my pants off, too?” he jokes as he wags his brows suggestively. “I might have some swelling down there.”

  Everything is a game to him. I look him right in the eye as I slip a finger under the waistband of his pants and shove the ice pack underneath. “There,” I say as I get up to leave. “That should help.”

  Chapter 23

  Derek

  “What the hell happened to you?” Gus barks when I pass him on my way to the bathroom in the morning.

  “I got in a fight.”

  “I don’t need a delinquent or troublemaker in my house. Brandi!” he yells, his gravelly voice bouncing off the walls of the house.

  Brandi has a big muffin in her hand as she walks out of the kitchen. “Yeah, Dad?”

  Gus throws his hands up. “Your stepson got himself in a fight. Look at him, all beat up and looking like a thug.”

  The Parkers sure like to use that word.

  One look at my face and Brandi sucks in a breath. “Oh, my God! Derek, what happened?”

  “It’s nothin’,” I say. “I just got in a fight, that’s all.”

  “About what? With who? Were the police called? How did you drive home like that?” Brandi asks, bombarding me with questions when all I want to do is take a piss and a painkiller.

  “It’s not a big deal.”

  “Sure, it’s not a big deal to you,” Gus argues, “because I’ll be the one having to foot the bill if whoever you fought decides to press charges and sue you.”

  “Sue me?” That’s a joke, considering I’m the one who got my ass kicked. You’d think he’d ask if I’m the one who wants to press charges. “You won’t have to foot any bill, Gus.”

  “That’s what you think.”

  I think the guy just wants to be miserable. I don’t want to get caught up in the Parker family drama. If I did, I’d tell Gus he should be more concerned about his family than whether or not he’ll be sued for a fight.

  In the bathroom, I look in the mirror. Damn. Ashtyn was right. I look like a piece of meat that’s been through the grinder one too many times. Dried blood is on my lip, my cheek is black and blue, and the side of my rib is bruised.

  Ashtyn came in my room last night to nurse my wounds. She had no clue I was tempted to mess around with her in an attempt to make me forget the searing pain in my body. Just the thought of it made my body excited. The girl has power over me. When she looks at me, I feel like a fucking virgin again. Not that she looks at me often. She avoids eye contact most of the time. The sight of me obviously makes her sick. She practically told me as much last night.

  She said she wasn’t impressed. I made fun of her comment and pretended to mock her, but in reality I wanted her to admit that she had a reaction to being so close to me. Hell, I had a reaction. Little did she know I actually needed that ice pack in my shorts.

  “What are you doin’?” I ask myself.

  I’m not supposed to get caught up in someone else’s messy life. I’ve got my own to deal with. Up until now I’ve gotten along just fine, cruising through without getting too involved or too interested in anyone else.

  Ashtyn Parker is dangerous. She’s got this tough exterior, talks like a guy, and dresses like one half the time. Then there’s the other half, the half that’s vulnerable and insecure and wears sexy clothes to make sure people know she’s all woman underneath that harsh facade. I thought I was pushing her buttons in an attempt to push her away. But maybe it’s to break down that wall she’s got up.

  This morning I saw her leave the ho
use. Her head was down as she took Falkor for a walk. Ugh, if she keeps moping around, I’m gonna be annoyed. Is she pining after that dick of a boyfriend? She said they broke up. I’ll bet the guy comes back and tries to lure her into his life again.

  “Derek, are you in there?” Julian’s voice echoes from the other side of the door.

  I open the door and let the little guy in. His eyes go wide and his jaw drops when he takes one look at my face. He steps back in fear.

  “It looks worse than it is,” I tell him. “I promise.”

  “Did you get in a fight?”

  “Yep.”

  “I think you lost.”

  I laugh. “Looks that way, huh?”

  He nods. “You look tough with bruises on your face. Did Daddy teach you how to fight?”

  “Nah.”

  “Will you teach me?”

  “Buddy, you don’t want to learn to fight. Just use your words like your mama says.”

  “But what if someone hits me first?”

  “Tell a teacher or your mama.”

  “Then all the kids will call me a tattletale and I’ll have no friends.” He puts his hands on his hips. “You don’t want me to be a friendless tattletaler, do you?”

  The kid should be a lawyer, because he’s already got negotiating skills. Just to ease his curiosity, I kneel down and hold my palms up. “All right, show me what you got.”

  The little guy puts his fists up and strikes my palm. “How’s that?”

  “Not bad,” I say. “Again.”

  He does it a few more times. I can tell his confidence is building because his punches are getting harder and he’s starting to loosen up. “I was watching professional wrestling on TV when my mom wasn’t in the room,” he says. “Randy the Raider gave this guy the F.U. move.”

  “The F.U. move?”

  “What are you doing, Derek?” Brandi asks, suddenly appearing behind Julian. “Are you teaching my son how to fight and use profanity?”

  Umm . . .

  Julian turns around excitedly. “Mom, Derek was just showing me—”