“I sculpt”, I say, pre-empting the question. “I draw too. Actually, I do a little bit of everything, but sculpting is my favorite.”
Marvin, Mom and Landon are all looking at me like I’ve confessed to a crime. Short of Mom putting her hand on my arm and telling me it will all be alright, this feels like some sort of therapy session.
“What’s the best thing you’ve ever made?”
It’s a question I don’t expect to come from Landon. In fact, it’s a question I don’t expect to come at all. I can’t work out if he’s teasing me or not.
“The best thing?”
“Yeah, you know, like the thing you’re most proud of or whatever, your ninety-nine yard pass.”
“I made a lifesize sculpture of an eagle at high school that got put forward for a prize. I didn’t end up winning it, but I was really proud of that piece when I’d finished it. It took me about three months just to get the proportions of the wings right. Come to think of it, I don’t know where that piece is now.”
My eyes find their way to Mom’s, whose fall on mine in turn. She knows exactly what happened to it and she’s about to confess it to me.
“It was an ugly sculpture really”, I add, not taking my eyes off my mother. “Technically pretty complex, especially for a fourteen year old, but ugly. It fell apart after a while as well.”
Mom’s still not saying anything.
“Mom. You threw it away, didn’t you?”
“It’s in the basement, darling. All six or seven pieces of it. I wouldn’t throw it away.”
Judging by the look she’s giving me, she’s thought about it though.
“I was never bothered by art.”
How come that doesn’t surprise me about you, Landon?
“I was competent, I might have even been able to make an eagle if I put my mind to it, but I was far too busy chasing girls and throwing footballs around. I knew from a young age what I wanted to be, and I wasn’t going to let anything get in the way of it. What was the last thing you made?”
“It’s not as simple as that.”
“Sure it is. You can’t expect opportunities to just come along out of nowhere. You’ve got to make your own luck.”
That’s more like it, the real Landon is back again.
“I don’t need a lecture on how to market myself, thank you.”
“Sure you don’t, that’s why you’re so good at it.”
“It’s a different world entirely, Landon. There aren’t the same job opportunities.”
I think Marvin meant to defend me there.
“It’s exactly the same world with exactly the same opportunities. I had to work hard to get where I’ve got to, and it wasn’t anything to do with luck. I have to work hard to keep my place too.”
“It doesn’t look like you’ve been working hard enough recently then does it?”
Landon laughs off my comment. “I bet there are just as many football jocks and athletes that don’t make it as there are artists like you waiting for somebody to come along and give them the golden ticket.”
“I work hard.”
“Then maybe the art world isn’t meant for you. Maybe you don’t want it enough.”
“Oh, she wants it”, Mom intervenes. “There’s no question about that. She just doesn’t seem to be able to get it.”
“Then maybe you aren’t talented enough.”
“Can we talk about something else, please?”
I’ve had enough of this already. Business and life coaching from The Donkey? Please. “It doesn’t take a genius to throw a football a hundred yards.”
“Or to color inside the lines.”
Asshole.
“Any artistic field is going to be difficult to get into. That’s why your mother and my generation took jobs in more academic fields. There were only a few artists back then and they were bohemians really. Nobody doing that ever really made any money, and if they did, they were talented, hard working and had a bit of luck. You needed one of those things if not all three.”
“I never had any luck.”
Arrogant asshole.
“You were lucky I let you play at all. Every weekend down the park? Who do you think your practise partner was until you were old enough to get accepted to a team?”
“Yeah, whatever. My point is, if you want it badly enough, and you’re good enough at it, you’ll be able to get it.”
“That’s your expert advice? Want it, and it will happen?”
Landon holds my gaze. “You want something bad enough, princess, there isn’t anything that can stop it happening.”
Yeah, right. I don’t believe that kind of philosophy for a second. The ‘I’m not working hard enough to achieve my goals’ philosophy. Gee, thanks, Landon. Mr. Never had to worry about things because I play a stupid ball game and make millions of dollars a year running around a park in a silly costume pretending to be important Maddox. Artists are a different breed entirely. Artists are educated, talented, flawed. They are geniuses, and produce work that reflects the human condition. Nurtures it. Football players, and by extension underwear models, are valueless saps, contributing nothing worthwhile in a cultural or creative sense. I’m nineteen years old, I’ve just finished my first year of University, and I haven’t even begun looking for work properly yet. No doubt I’ll get a grant, or a fellowship, or a position on an important project. I haven’t even decided on my discipline, so it’s a little rich he’s talking to me about not showing enough eagerness. Landon may have known for his whole life he wanted to be a footballer, well I’m the same about my art. I wonder if he also knew whether he wanted to be an arrogant alpha-male asshole too.
“Dessert, anyone?”
Tilly
Well that was incredibly awkward. I wonder if the day will ever arrive when I don’t have to justify my career choice to anyone.
My assessment of the day so far: Landon Maddox is an absolute douchebag. Not content with having to be the centre of attention at all times, he also happens to be infuriatingly, intoxicatingly handsome. I mean, why exactly does that always happen? Why can’t they let the meek, humble, chivalrous men be the ones with biceps I can’t even get my two hands around, perfect eyes and washboard abs? You know, the all around better human beings.
At least he’s not overly polite and incredibly sycophantic. I don’t think I could cope with it at all if he were actually a perfect human being as well as a perfect specimen of one. I didn’t actually expect him to clear the table, do the washing up, sweep the floor and put a load of laundry on, and I’m glad he hasn’t. The more I think about it, the fact that he’s obviously completely flawed - inflated sense of self worth, delusions of grandeur, seemingly impenetrable emotional shield - actually makes him seem much more human. It’s contrary I know, but it’s true.
Yes, he may be built like a Roman God, but it’s refreshing to see he isn’t constantly seeking approval or desperately wants to be liked despite clearly needing to be centre of attention. It seems like the complete opposite of that actually. He seems like he’s doing everything he can in his power to make people dislike him. Or he’s just being himself, which is probably more accurate, and the result of that is the same.
After dinner, Landon treats us all to a kind of showreel highlights package of his best moments from the previous season, complete with theatrical interpretations and unnecessary audience involvement, when we find out the TV doesn’t work and we are stuck for things to do.
He is clearly excited to be sharing his memories, but it’s all a bit one sided if you ask me. Landon threw this pass that won the game, Landon broke this record, Landon got this trophy. Yada yada yada. What he doesn’t tell us about are the controversies away from the field that had just as much impact over the year as the stats on it. Landon screws this girl, Landon crashes this car, Landon puts his huge dick where it isn’t wanted.
I’d challenge him if I could get a word in edgeways, but he just keeps talking and talking, his eyes lighting up and his bice
ps bulging.
God knows how he managed to get any sex in at all with any of those hundreds of women if all he did on those dates was the same. Maybe he just fucks them all from the room next door, just far enough out of earshot that he can go on and on about how brilliant he is without them even having to hear him.
“I was that far away from MVP. That far.”
Finally he sits down.
“They only gave it to Sands because he’s PG.”
“There is always next year”, I offer, my voice lilted to be intentionally sarcastic. “You know, if they let you back on the team.”
“I am the team.”
I rest my case. Landon Maddox is an absolute douchebag.
“What’s MVP?” Mom asks.
She must be being polite, because I can’t believe she’s this interested in the NFL. She certainly never showed this much interest when Dad used to watch it on TV, and she hasn’t ever shown this much interest in anything I’m passionate about.
“It’s kind of like the best player of the year award”, Landon explains. “I was a shoe-in and then they gave it to some running back from the Colts.”
Please don’t ask what a running back is.
“Well, I guess we ought to start thinking about getting to bed.”
This is the interesting life Marvin and my mother live. They eat dinner and then they go to bed. At 9pm.
“It’s 9pm”, I say.
“Early start tomorrow. I’m going to get out on one of those walks, see if I can spot some of the wildlife. You guys stay up, I’m sure you’ve got a whole lot of stuff to talk about.”
When I look at Landon, he’s smiling at me.
“I might see if the jacuzzi works.”
I shake my head. I cannot believe he’s looking at me and suggesting what I think he’s suggesting. I am struck briefly by an image of Landon and I in the jacuzzi, as naked as the day we were born.
“Not tonight you won’t”, Mom says. “Those things make a hell of a racket and I’m the world’s lightest sleeper. You can make it a project for tomorrow if you like. It might be nice for us all to sit in there one evening.”
Ewww. “I don’t think we’ll fit”, I’m quick to warn her.
“Course we will, Tilly. That’ll take six that thing. Right, I’m leaving you to it, Marvin and I are off to bed.”
“Six”, Landon whispers to me and I have to stem a giggle.
“Good night kids.”
“Wait”, I shout, immediately aware that they are leaving me on my own with The Donkey. This wasn’t in the plan. I wasn’t meant to be alone with the enemy, certainly not this early in the holiday. I don’t know what to do.
“I’m going to bed too.”
“Ok”, Mom says. “You do what you like dear, it’s your holiday too.”
This set up is so awkward that Mom and Marvin will be literally sleeping two metres away from where we are. The only thing between us is a door and what I expect to be a very thin wall. Going to bed doesn’t involve climbing up a flight of stairs, a long discourse or a drawn out series of stages, it involves stepping two strides into a different room, changing into an embarrassing set of matching pajamas, cleaning teeth and urinating loudly in the bathroom, while desperately trying to squeeze enough to not make any noise and then returning again to the same bedroom that’s no bigger than a walk in closet.
While they do this, I drag the mattress from what should be my room and is now Landon’s, into the lounge to try and find a space big enough to construct a makeshift sleeping area.
While I do this, and Mom and Marvin, who, short of a pair of matching sleeping hats could be cartoon characters, get themselves ready for bed. Landon does absolutely nothing but watch me. Not his dad and my mom, but me. He doesn’t lift a finger to help me, despite the mattress being so heavy I have to drag it along the ground, and nor does he get up from the two seater sofa he has effectively turned into an armchair because of his bulk.
All he does is watch me with those sexy eyes.
“Good night guys, see you in the morning.”
Mom has an eye mask on and earplugs in. She looks ridiculous but it doesn’t seem to bother her. Both of them look like comedy parents from a made up show. They better not even think about fucking.
“Good night.”
When the door shuts, Landon and I are on our own. The Donkey and, well, me. Fuck this is awkward. What do you say to someone you know so intimately, and have never been alone with before. I know every muscle definition, every hair, every mole. I’ve spent hours tracing the lines his penis make into the fabric of the boxer shorts he wears. Embarrassingly, I probably know almost as much about his football career as he does, and even more about what they’ve said about him in the papers.
I haven’t seen his weapon, but I’ve read it being described so many times I feel like I know it intimately. I can shut my eyes and see it, which is why I try not to.
“I’m going to bed.”
“I know, you already said that.”
“That means you have to go to bed as well.”
“It’s 9pm, Tilly. Are you telling me that you are going to dump that mattress on the floor, get on top of it, close your eyes and go to sleep, at 9 pm, like Wee Willie Winkie and his little mistress?”
“Yes.”
“At 9pm? On holiday? In the middle of nowhere with a jacuzzi outside? On our first night together getting to know each other?”
“Yes.”
“Ok then, just don’t mind me.”
He’s not moving. Why is he not moving?
“You know.”
Now he’s talking at me. Whispering actually.
“I reckon your mom and my dad. It’s not normal. I reckon they’re in there doing some weird assed BDSM shit. Did you see the matching pajamas? Real freaky.”
“I heard that, Landon.”
It’s Marvin’s voice, and it sounds like it’s in the room with us. I hear him turn over and the bed creak.
“Didn’t deny it.” Landon holds his hands up and eases back into the sofa. “Just saying. We might have to watch them. You and I are in this together. You know, like a team.”
“A football team?”
“No, nothing like that. Just a two man team. A quarterback and a wide receiver. A brother and sister team.”
“Step brother, step sister”, I remind him.
“Exactly.”
I hear Marvin and Mom’s bed creak again, and Landon looks at me as if to say “I told you so.”
Again I have to stifle a giggle. If he saw me laughing at one of his jokes he’d never let me live it down.
“Landon?”
“What?”
“I’m going to bed, seriously.”
I can’t let him get me, not this early, not this at all. I can’t risk it, not now we are what we are to each other. I hate him, I must remember that. I hate Landon Maddox. I hate his everything that he does and his everything that he is. I hate him and I’m not going to change the way that I feel just because he’s right here in front of me right now.
“Come on, Tilly. This is boring. I’m bored. What am I going to do if you go to bed? I was bored at home, I don’t want to be bored here too.”
“Can’t you amuse yourself?”
I’m not entirely sure what I mean by that but I certainly don’t want my eyes to go where they do. It’s the last place I want them to go.
“That’s always more fun with two.”
Now I’m going red. Great.
“Alright”, Landon says eventually. “Go to bed. Amuse yourself, see if I care. I thought we could get to know each other, you know, have a beer, chill out. Throw the football around.”
“It’s dark outside, I don’t drink beer, and I’m already perfectly well chilled out, thank you.”
“You look so tense you could snap.”
“I’m fine, thank you for your concern.”
“You look cute when you’re angry too.”
I don’t know how to respond to
that so I just do a sort of nod and grunt combination which must come across as completely unappealing based on the look Landon gives me.
“Are you going to get undressed?”
“What kind of a question is that?”
“You know, just so I know. I don’t want to accidentally come out of my room for a glass of water and see you standing there in the nude playing with yourself. You might get embarrassed.”
“Just stay in your room and you won’t have to worry.”
I have to squeeze myself against the edge of the dining table to let Landon pass. If the mattress wasn’t between us providing a barrier, his cock would be rubbing right up against me. As it is, I can see the dent it’s making in the foam, curving the edges away from me.
“Maybe I’ll take a look through the keyhole first, just to make sure I’m not about to disturb you.”
“Landon.”
“You look like you’d probably like that though.”
There is a moment that passes between us in which I am completely unable to say anything at all.
When Landon gets to the door to his bedroom, and he stands there casually with his hands above him so he’s kind of half leaning, half swinging, I still haven’t moved a muscle.
“You know”, he says. “You don’t have to be embarrassed to admit it. It happens to everyone.”
“Admit what?”
“You’re starstruck.”
“I’m what?”
Landon smiles. “There you go, I knew it. Goodnight sis. See you in the morning.”
And with that, he turns, walks into the room and closes the door behind him. I flop down into the armchair behind me, the mattress tilted against my legs.
Prime: A Bad Boy Romance Page 37
