by Amy Daws
“That’s kind of strange. Maybe he’s just quirky or something. Did you see him this morning?” she asks, perching on the top of the back of the toilet.
“Yep! Our morning routine is still intact.”
“Well, did you make plans to see each other again?” she asks. Her dark brown eyes are wide and demanding, like she’s growing tired of having to ask questions.
“We’re shooting hoops at the gym after work,” I answer, grabbing my comb out of the basket. I begin untangling my hair.
“Oooo, exercise. Are you scared?”
“No,” I say, with a glare. “I played basketball in high school, A. Don’t be a dick.” She laughs in response. “Besides, it’s not like he’s going to make me do sprints or anything. I’m sure it’ll be casual. God, if he wants to run, I’m out. No guy is worth that shit–hot or not!”
She rolls her eyes. “You’ll be fine. Keep me posted!” she sings cheerily, exiting the bathroom.
I wish Jake would keep me posted on what the hell he wants from me.
***
Parni doesn’t show up to the computer lab, so it makes for an incredibly relaxing day at work. I packed a K-State slouch bag with long basketball shorts, a tank top, and a sports bra. I’m anxious to see how my basketball skills, or lack thereof, held up since high school.
Just as I’m berating myself for not shaving my legs this morning, even though I just shaved them the night before, a familiar voice fills the nearly empty computer lab.
“Hungry?” I look up and see the famous Jake LaShae—well, famous in my dreams at least.
“Hey!” I smile brightly as he approaches.
“I come bearing food,” he says, and sets a brown bag on my desk, and leans one butt cheek on the side. Lucky desk!
“That was nice,” I say, smiling. I look inside the bag and smile at the familiar wrapping of Wildcat Market. Our favorite place to eat on campus was a part of our late-night conversation, and by the looks of it, he brought me my favorite BLT wrap. I look at him proudly.
“You’re very trainable, aren’t you?” I say, smirking.
“I was picking up lunch for myself and happened to remember you like those. No big deal,” he says, and smiles sheepishly.
“Are you eating with me?” I ask, opening the wrap.
“Naw, I gotta go lift weights with the team in an hour. I prefer to eat after. But I’ll watch you eat.”
A tall blonde, who I recognize as one of K-State’s volleyball players, walks into the computer lab. She comes in all the time, but I don’t know her name. She never talks to me—she barely even looks at me.
She and Jake lock eyes and exchange an uncomfortable look. She pauses midway, looks around briefly, and then leaves. Jake’s expression and demeanor turn steely.
I raise my eyebrows and can’t help but ask, “Who was that?”
“An ex,” he says, easily. “It didn’t end well.”
“Care to elaborate?” I ask, taking a bite of my wrap.
“We split up. She wanted different things, I guess. We were together almost two years. She’s an icy bitch,” he says, and grabs the paper bag and begins slowly tearing pieces off of it. His physical demeanor is casual, but I can tell he’s everything but.
“So, it was serious, huh? What’s her name?” I ask, stopping myself from eating anymore because this conversation just got tense.
He laughs bitterly and answers, “Janelle. And yeah, I’d say so. I wanted to marry her. My family loved her. I thought she was it.” He shakes his head.
Jake LaShae, scorned by a woman. Who knew?
“How long ago did you guys break up?”
“Just before summer,” he replies, glaring at the doorway like she’s still standing there.
I feel a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. It’s only been a couple of months since he was with a woman he wanted to marry! And he’s being so open and honest about all this like it’s a casual conversation with a buddy. My mind is screaming the word rebound!
“Hey, do you want to share a book for Martin’s class?” Jake asks, changing the subject. Last night in our two-hour phone call, we discovered we have a class together first semester. It’s the Civic Duty class required of all seniors.
“Sure, sounds good,” I say, and begin munching again, trying to get a read on his sudden mood change. He seems perfectly at ease again. It seems odd, but I’m just going to roll with it. Talking about exes isn’t high up on my priority list either.
Jake hangs out for another hour and we chat about the rest of our fall schedule. When the time comes for Jake to head to the weight room, he gives me a quick ruffle of the hair and leaves.
A hair ruffle? Really?
CHAPTER SEVEN
“Hey!” Jake says, seeing me outside of the weight room as he exits with four of his teammates following close behind.
“Hey,” I reply, rolling the waistband of my basketball shorts down. I have several pairs of these long baggy shorts left over from my high school days. They aren’t the sexiest things in the world, but they are appropriate for the sport.
A dark-skinned guy, even taller than Jake, comes running out of the weight room, shoves Jake from behind and pulls him down into a headlock. “Is this her, you little pussy?” he asks, rubbing his knuckles into Jake’s short dark hair.
“Shut up, Emmet. You’re a douche.”
He releases Jake from his grasp, laughing happily.
He approaches me next. “You Finley?”
My heartbeat picks up speed as his eyes, and the eyes of four other supposed teammates, all stare at me.
I tilt my head sideways provocatively, “Who’s asking?”
“Oh, snap! You don’t know me? I’m only the starting center for K-State, girl. C’mon now, stop messin’, ‘cause I know you know me,” he says, then turns around and slaps the hand of one of his teammates behind him. They all chuckle in response.
I keep my face composed. “Oh, snap is right! I do know you!”
“Yeah, I figured,” he replies, with a knowing smile.
“You’re that guy that puked at the Sigma Ki frat party last year!”
His face falls as a loud, raucous laughter erupts from Jake and the rest of the guys.
“That was you, right?” I ask, looking sweet and innocent. His jaw drops even further in shock.
“She burned you, E-Dog! That’s a burn!” a short, bald, black guy says, slapping E’s back and crumpling over in laugher.
Jake breaks away from the pack and throws his arm around me protectively. He smells sweaty but sweet—and damn it all to hell, I like it!
“E-Dog, is it?” I say, with my face deadly serious. “Sorry, I don’t actually know your name. I just know you as the guy that who puked in the kitchen at the SK Homecoming party. It was right by the food, wasn’t it?”
E-Dog shakes his head slowly as the other guys continue cackling loudly around him. “Damn, girl. You really know how to hurt a brother’s ego,” he says, and begins walking slowly away from the pack.
“She makes my ego feel great!” Jake beams, and watches E and the rest of the guys make their way down the hallway toward the exit. They all continue slapping his back and laughing.
Deciding he’s been teased enough, I shout over to him right before he exits. “Bye Emmet Bridgewater—leading conference and all time career scorer center from Omaha, Nebraska,” I yell, and smile up at Jake. I look back just in time to see Emmet’s surprised and happy expression shining down the hallway toward me. I don’t like sports, but I’m not an idiot. I’m hanging out with Jake LaShae. I Googled the team. Emmet was all over the sports headlines last year.
“Girl, you’re fresh,” he nods cockily at me and walks out backwards. “I knew she knew me, y’all. I knew she knew me!” he says, playfully shoving his teammates.
“You’re going to get my ass kicked,” Jake says with a laugh, and pulls me by my hand into the gym.
***
Before I know it, we’ve been shooting hoops
for almost two hours. A light sheen of sweat has formed all over me. This is definitely the most exercise I’ve had since high school, but honestly, if Jake is the bait, I’ll follow. He, on the other hand, looks no worse for wear. He’s obviously in much better shape than I am. Not to mention, he’s already worked out once today.
My skills aren’t stellar, but they aren’t horrible either. I can tell I’m not impressing Jake because he spends a lot of his time attempting to correct my apparently horrible shooting form. I feel slightly annoyed because he’s taking this all so seriously. I assume it has something to do with his father being a coach. Coaching probably just comes naturally to him.
Eventually, I’m able to joke around and he relaxes and has fun with me. By the end, I’m a little better, but still nowhere near impressive. I’m just glad he didn’t suggest we run. Shudder. This is enough damn exercise for the week.
He offers to walk me back to Wildwood, even though he has a team meeting soon. As we approach my door, I decide to grow some balls and invite him to Olivia’s.
“Do you know who Olivia Montgomery is?” I ask, lightly touching his arm, directing his attention to me and away from the group of people congregating outside one of the apartment buildings a ways down from mine.
“The name sounds familiar. She graduated, right?”
“Yeah, she lives with some seniors though. They are having a huge party the weekend before school starts…if you’re interested in going. We could…” I let the sentence trail off because I’m too embarrassed to flat out ask him to the party with me. We’re in college—we don’t really do party dates.
He nods and looks at me thoughtfully. His eyes appear to hold a deeper meaning than he’s willing to say out loud but he shakes his head briefly and replies, “How about I meet you there with my teammates? I think Emmet would get a kick out of you, funny girl.”
A sick feeling rolls over me, but I grit my teeth and smile through it. “Sounds cool,” I lie.
We get to my door and he gives me a brief hug goodbye. I rush inside and can’t seem to close the door fast enough. Did I just get shoved into the friend zone? Was he insinuating I date Emmet—or just being friendly? The words friends and Jake LaShae together, taste like acid on my tongue.
CHAPTER Eight
The next couple weeks, Jake and I get closer and closer. He starts picking me up in the morning to walk over and get our drinks at Chaz’s. We get together a lot in the evenings, always at his place because his roommate is gone until school starts. Mostly we just hang out and watch movies or TV. He is constantly trying to get me hooked on ESPN—it’s not working. He even brings me lunch a couple times a week, and usually sits in the computer lab and eats with me, despite Parni’s obvious and blatant frustration.
I find myself working harder on my appearance just to get him to notice me more—anything to ignite our apparent friendship into something more. There’s still definite flirting going on, but nothing more so far.
What’s killing me is that he’s doing all the sweet things a boyfriend would do, except freaking kissing me! We’re still doing our nightly chats. In fact, we’ve both developed a habit of falling asleep talking to each other. Thankfully, we have unlimited minutes—I’ve often woken in the middle of the night to Jake’s soft snores through my phone line. It’s nice. Amazing even. I just want him to physically be in my bed!
And his body language—ugh! He’s so close, and intimate, and comfortable with me. Touching me seems natural to him and I swoon every time. The scent he emits is like a drug I can’t get enough of. I start to wonder if the only obstacle is the volleyball-player ex. Would I be considered a rebound if it’s been less than three months since he broke off their two-year relationship? Especially since it was someone he wanted to marry. Although, a rebound would have to involve some type of physical contact beyond bear hugs, head ruffles, and back rubs.
I find myself obsessing over it every single night, yet I still can’t find the courage to make the first move. I don’t want to be that girl. Call me old-fashioned, but I still want the guy to make the first move. I want a guy to grab me and kiss me and take what he wants! I want the moon!
Our intimacy doesn’t go unnoticed by our friends. Angela’s become extremely immature, and makes obnoxious sexual gestures every time I’m on the phone with him. When I finally do hang up to yell at her, she rattles on and on about how we’re going to end up married with a bunch of tall basketball-playing babies. Even Jake’s teammates pick on us every time we’re around them. They’ve taken to calling me wifey—or ball and chain. It doesn’t seem to bother him, so that gives me a glimmer of hope. I do my best to laugh it off with him, but on the inside I’m screaming for something to happen already!
With Olivia’s party approaching, I’ve now dubbed it as my chance for a pivotal point in my relationship with Jake. It will be where things change between us. Liquid courage will definitely help me find the balls to tell him my feelings. I thought my feelings were completely obvious, but if that were the case, he would wise up and freaking kiss me or quit hanging out with me. The fear of rejection keeps me from speaking up. But I’m changing that at Olivia’s party.
CHAPTER NINE
“What are you wearing to Oldie Oli’s?” Angela says, bursting into my room, wrapped in a towel. She flings herself onto my bed and watches me put my makeup on, sitting on the floor in front of my mirrored closet door.
Oldie Oli is the nickname, Leslie, gave Olivia when she first met her. Leslie was my childhood best friend back in Marshall. She grew up on a dairy farm near my family’s small acreage, and we got into all sorts of trouble together. Leslie was always my one friend who never held my boyfriend status against me. If I was deep into a relationship¸ she never complained about my absence. We always picked right back up where we left off. I always tried to make at least some time for her, no matter who I was dating.
Leslie went to college in Missouri before doing a semester as an exchange student in London. She shocked a lot of people in our small town when she dropped out of school and moved there permanently.
Leslie is like a wild, fun, and crazy storm that lights up a room. She has this amazingly thick, auburn hair. She’s always saying the most outlandish things—I laugh constantly when I’m with her. We were freshman when she dubbed Oldie Oli as Olivia’s nickname. She was visiting me at K-State, and the first time she met Olivia, she asked her if she was an alternative student. Apparently, Lez thought Olivia looked a lot older than the rest of us, but in reality, she’s only two years older. That’s Leslie though, she doesn’t hold back. Olivia was none too impressed, so we do our best to avoid her every time Leslie visits.
“Speaking of Leslie, she’s going to come visit next week!” I offer brightly turning back toward the mirror to continue my makeup application.
“Really? She’s back from London?” Angela asks, looking equally excited. She and Leslie get along swimmingly.
“Yeah, she just got home. She’s here for a few months trying to reconnect with her parents because there’s been some family drama or something. She says she needs a break from them. She’ll be here the first week school starts. It’s just for a night I guess, and then she’s going back to their farm.”
“Awesome! There should be some sweet parties going on, I’d think. Or at the very least, the bars will be packed. That first week everyone comes back is always wild.”
“I know. I’m pumped!” I can’t wait to unload on Lez about all my Jake drama. We’ve always told each other everything. Whenever one of us is in a mood or a funk, we force the other to empty everything in our brain—even the cracks.
“I’m so sad school starts next week. Summer here was so nice, wasn’t it?” Angela says, flipping onto her belly with her feet swinging behind her.
“Yeah, it was. I’m just hoping this Jake thing takes a turn in the right direction tonight. I can’t stand this uncertainty!” I’m approaching my senior year—I’m way too old for this high school bull crap.
/> “You have nothing to worry about. I’ve never seen a man as gorgeous as Jake, and a girl as beautiful as you, not be into each other.”
“I hope you’re right,” I say with a sigh.
Gosh, I’ve really never been this nervous about a boy before. In high school, boyfriends came relatively easy. College isn’t the same though. I’m too busy partying with my friends and sowing my wild oats, so I think I just feel a little out of practice.
“I’m always right. Now, back to more important things.” She hops off my bed and begins riffling through my open closet door. “What are you wearing? Luke is going to be here soon to pick us up.”
“Yippy skippy,” I say flatly, turning my unimpressed gaze on her.
“Don’t start, Finley. Please. I don’t want to get into this shit right now. Let’s talk clothes. That’s way more fun.”
I shake my head and bite my lip. Angela is a big girl—she can make her own decisions. After four years of living together, we’ve just become so engrained in each other’s lives, we can’t help but judge, comment, and referee life choices. I’ll respect her request for now, but eventually, she needs to see Luke for what he really is.
I end up wearing a pair of soft leather leggings and a fitted black tank top. It’s casual, but sexy. I add a little grey eye shadow beneath my eyes to get that smoky effect and then throw on some long electric-blue dangly earrings. My brown hair falls loosely down my back in soft waves. Angela ends up in a pair of skillfully ripped skinny jeans and a colorful print tank top with spaghetti straps. The color looks awesome with her striking black hair. The weather in Manhattan is warm in August, but the evenings cool down some the closer we get to September.
Luke shows up just as I’m throwing on a pair of high-heeled strappy sling backs. We walk together to Olivia’s house. I’m biting my lip, trying not to be completely aggravated by Luke and his judgmental tone. The first thing he did when Angela came out of her room to greet him was shield his eyes and say, “Whoa, who left crayons in the dryer?” I saw Angela’s face fall just slightly before she laughed it off like she thought he was the funniest thing ever. He is such a prick. She looks gorgeous—it kills me to see her with a dick like Luke. Even his name makes me shudder now. He is the epitome of douche-baggery in his dark-framed hipster glasses with non-prescription lenses. I know because I asked. He wears them because he thinks they make him look cool. They don’t.
