by Kata Čuić
He takes his time, as promised, kissing his way up my spent body before settling his hips between my thighs I’m not certain will ever close again to him. “Can you give me more, Sophie? Can you give me everything? I’m playing to win this time. I don’t want you for a night. I don’t want you for a world-class blow job. I want you forever. I love you.”
This is the part where I’m expected to say it back. To promise him in return everything he’s promised me. Only I can’t. I’m playing to win, too. And the line between hate and love isn’t as thin as everyone would like to believe.
Changing the way we see someone isn’t as simple as hitting the mental reset button in our brains. No, to change perception is a much more nuanced, conscious effort. One involving looking at their worst traits in an entirely new light. And I’m still not convinced either Jim or I have seen the worst in each other. We’ve only ever given our best. Even in competition. Especially in competition.
A sob I’ve been holding back for three years finally wrests its way free. “I can’t. I can’t promise you those things, Jim.”
“Shh, honey. Sophie.” He kisses my leaking eyes, my tearstained cheeks, my constricting neck, my heaving chest. “You don’t have to feel weak. You don’t have to say the words. You’re showing me, even now.”
Maybe I am. Maybe the final act of simply crying in front of him is exactly what he claimed he felt when he fell asleep on me. Showing trust in another with the weakest, most susceptible part of oneself.
“Can I make love to you?” he whispers against my ear, his erection pulsing at the apex of my thighs. “Will you let me inside—for you and no one else?”
His words strike a primal chord in me. He’s asking for me. Not the vicarious version of me.
“Please, James. Please be inside me.” Please be inside me for no one else. Not for your brothers, not for my sister. Because you want me.
He shows me his respect with words. “You’re on birth control? I’ll put on a condom.”
“Yes.”
He leaves me long enough to roll protection for us both onto his length. “I love you,” he swears. “I’ll never be stupid again. Never hurt you again.”
He pushes in with his full length as if he knows I’ve been woman enough to take it before. If I thought I was completely spent, I was wrong. The sensations of him pushing into my body light every nerve I thought I would never feel again on fire.
“Sophie, Sophie,” he murmurs against my ear with every thrust.
I clutch at his back. I wrap my legs around his waist. It’s not a competition anymore. The very deepest part of me wants to be as close as possible to the very deepest part of him. If that’s only physically, then so be it.
He whimpers with every thrust like he feels not good enough. “I can’t hold back anymore.”
“Let go, James,” I whisper the advice against his ear that I mean for myself. “Just let go.”
But he doesn’t listen. Ever the worthy competitor, he thrusts into me as deep as he can go several more times before he really can’t hold back. He breaks. Beautifully, brokenly, with a cry of anguish I’m sure will haunt me to my grave.
“You’re beautiful, James Fossoway.”
“You’re beautiful too, Sophia Reston.”
No truer admission of love could ever be conveyed with three little meaningless words.
He pulls out and rolls to his back, panting, sweaty. There’s a void left behind I’m not sure anyone but him could ever fill. I’m not ready to acknowledge that yet.
I tilt my head toward him, grinning. “You’re on my turf now. You should know, I also like to starfish in the middle of the mattress, and we’ll be fighting to see who ends up with the blankets wrapped around them like a burrito by morning.”
“For as much as we have in opposition, we also have in common.” He kisses my nose then hauls himself upright to dispose of the very full condom. “Don’t fall asleep without me. I want a fair start on this next competition.”
By the time he climbs back onto the mattress, I’m losing the fight to stay awake. It doesn’t matter he didn’t achieve his three-to-one ratio. I’m all about quality over quantity.
“Can I get you anything?” he asks as he situates me against his side. Probably so I won’t shove him off the mattress.
“I should be the one offering you hydration.”
His laugh rumbles through me. “Worth the dehydration. I’ve been saving that up for a while now.”
His admission brings up a slew of questions that pelt my exhausted body. “I thought I wanted to know what was running through your mind before, but it pales in comparison to how much I wish I knew exactly what you were thinking now.”
“Hmm,” he hums as he pulls me closer. “Not a thing. I’m as satisfied as a man can be and flirting with nothing but sleep.”
The ringtone that filters from somewhere on the floor makes me laugh. It’s the State Band cadence for pregame. He fishes around near where I stripped his pants until he comes up with his phone. He doesn’t hit the Decline button after he checks the caller ID. He doesn’t add it to his reminders since he’s busy right now.
“Hello, Sarah Sunshine.”
I chuckle and snuggle in closer to his heartbeat.
I might not be ready to say the words, but my heart and mind already know what I won’t admit aloud.
I am irrevocably in love with James Fossoway.
Even though I know he’s exhausted, I fall asleep to the sound of him keeping a promise to my sister.
Chapter Thirty-Five
After you’ve slept with someone, everything you once noticed about them appears different. Those big guns? Yes, they’re droolworthy, but they’ve also proven to be comforting when they’ve cradled your body in both passion and sleep. Those muscular thighs? Someone takes leg day very seriously, and it has benefits beyond looking good. Those thighs are just as powerful when thrusting into another body as they are on the weight machines. And that mouth? The one that has lips so full, so firm, so delicious yet so masculine? That mouth is the stuff dreams are made of. Even when it’s currently yelling at the trombone section to get their shit together and make their spots on time.
“What’s up with Jimbo’s new look?” Kim wrinkles her nose while he claps and counts as he runs them through the drill for the umpteenth time. “I thought facial hair wasn’t allowed during the season. Just because he’s a drum major doesn’t mean he doesn’t have to follow the same rules as everyone else.”
“He’ll shave for game day.” I’m not about to admit he hasn’t had time to shave in the morning for the past week because we roll out of bed at the last minute to get to classes on time after pulling all-nighters that have nothing to do with studying. And frankly, I don’t like her tone. “We’re not traveling to the away game this weekend, so he has plenty of time to experiment with a new style before cleaning up next week.”
“Experiment,” she scoffs.
I always used to enjoy Kim being on my side when it came to my showdowns with Jimbo, but her dislike gives me pause. Is she another woman scorned by his devotion to me? Does her hatred spring from a similar place as mine used to? He’s one hundred percent committed to the band and a hell of a leader. Even I’ve never denied that.
“Yes, experiment.” I’d like to think I would defend him even if we weren’t sleeping together. Disrespecting student leaders isn’t good for the band in general. Never in all our years of competing did we ever do anything to publicly humiliate each other in a way that would have undermined our roles. “Men can experiment with different styles the same way women do. It’s no different than us trying out a new hair color or different makeup.”
And Jim really does love experimenting. Doggy style, scissoring, sixty-nine, slow and easy spooning first thing in the morning, on the couch, in the kitchen, under the shower. He’s ravenous, and the more he wants, the more I want to give him. We have an unspoken contest to see who can discover the wildest position. I checked a copy of the Ka
ma Sutra out of the library this morning, and I have plans to blow more than his mind tonight.
She shakes her head. “Well, I think he needs to call this experiment a failure. Facial hair is not a good look on him.”
I stare at her in disbelief. It’s a proven fact that a beard increases a man’s sexual appeal by two hundred percent, and Jim is definitely no exception. I’m actually sorry he’ll have to shave it off for game day. That scruff scraping against my skin is the perfect counterpoint to the torturous pleasure he gives me.
Maybe I was wrong about her being spurned by Jim. Maybe she’s a lesbian. It’s the only explanation for the beard effect not working on her.
“He is a good drum major though,” she concedes as he praises the trombones for finally getting it right.
I breathe a sigh of relief. I wasn’t quite sure how I was going to come across as a leader not tolerating disrespect instead of a girlfriend who doesn’t suffer anyone bad-mouthing her man.
“I still voted for him even though he basically bribed my whole section to vote for you.”
Wait. What? “Bribed … how?”
She shrugs. “He told them he’d guarantee any of them who pledged ITK automatic membership. They wouldn’t even have to jump through the usual hoops. No pledge period, no hazing, nothing. They’d just be in.”
My mounting anxiety disappears in a magical puff. There’s no way that’s true. ITK has more rules and tradition than I ever imagined. And even though Jim is president, he’s a servant to ITK as much as a leader. That wouldn’t be his decision alone to make. Besides, he’s already blacklisted a rookie who showed interest that he didn’t think would be a good addition to the frat. There’s no way he’d give an entire section carte blanche to join.
Kim is just trying to stir the pot.
“He is a great drum major. I’ve never known anyone who loves band so much.”
I leave her with those words to chew on. The other drum majors are working with specific sections, but as head drum major, I can’t stay in any one place too long. My job is to oversee the entire practice.
Dr. Kimball nods on the sideline as the band runs the whole drill again. “I think the rookies are adjusting well. I was a little worried they wouldn’t be able to wrap their heads around a new show so soon.”
“I’m actually more worried about how that might change with this week’s challenges,” I confess. “I still think it’s bad for morale—to be nervous about losing your spot every week.”
“As much as I appreciate your input and welcome it, I’m not willing to reconsider Challenge Thursdays. A little nervousness is a good thing. Competition keeps everyone performing at their best.”
Not always. Competition kept Jim and me apart for a very long time.
“Let me handle the rest of practice. I want you to get together with the other drum majors to work out your parts for the show next week.”
It’s not my place to argue. I’m head drum major, not the director of the band. Dr. Kimball has been here for decades and will still be leading the band long after I’ve graduated. Besides, I’ve been looking forward to this next part.
Pregame might be steeped in tradition and ritual, but halftime is where the band lets loose and spotlights our role as the entertainment for game days. Our shows have run the gamut from Disney themes with princesses running around the field, twirling flags, to the entire band dancing through the routine to today’s hit songs.
Next week’s show? Star Wars.
I gesture for the other drum majors to follow me into the field house. Even the band won’t know our part of the performance until the final run-through the night before the game. It’s another special tradition—getting to surprise them with whatever we come up with.
Nate’s practically vibrating with excitement. “Is it time?”
“It’s time,” I confirm, happy I’m not the only one eager to get started.
“Lightsaber battle,” he blurts.
Jim chuckles. “I see you’ve given this some thought already.”
“I have it all worked out,” Nate confesses. “I’ll be Poe Dameron, you’ll be Rey, Jake will be Luke Skywalker, Tim will be Finn, and Jim will be Kylo Ren.”
Tim scoffs. “You’re only making me be Finn because I’m black.”
“Yeah,” Nate says like Tim’s stupid for being offended. “Just like Sophia has to play Rey because she’s a woman.”
I mean, he has a valid point.
Jake shakes his head. “I don’t wanna be Skywalker. I hate that character. He’s so lame.”
“Sweet,” Jim says. “I’ll be Skywalker. I want to use an actual Jedi lightsaber instead of Kylo’s double-bladed saber.”
“I thought we were all using lightsabers?” Jake squints.
“Only those of us who have the power of the Force may wield the mighty lightsaber,” Jim states, completely serious.
“No, no, no.” Nate waves his arms like he’s literally trying to wipe everyone’s minds of other ideas. “Jim has to be the Kylo to Sophia’s Rey. No changing the script!”
“Why?” I snort. “Because the band’s so used to us being sworn mortal enemies that they wouldn’t accept Jim as my mentor?”
“I could destroy you with my lightsaber as Kylo,” Jim acknowledges. “Don’t pretend I couldn’t.”
“What?” Nate looks at us like we’re crazy. “No! Because you lovebirds are going to kiss at the end of the show!”
Everyone shouts over each other, but we’re all on the same page. None of us likes this idea.
“You ship Reylo? That’s just fucked up.” Jake shakes his head.
“Finnrey for life!” Tim thrusts his fist in the air.
Jim points at him. “I will definitely destroy you with my lightsaber.”
“Save the lightsaber destruction for in the bedroom, you kinky bastard.” Tim winks.
Normally, that assumption might embarrass me, but he’s not far off. I’m actually getting kind of sore from our exploits.
I make a time-out motion to halt their increasingly heated discussion. “Why does it have to be romantic at all? Just because there’s a female main character doesn’t mean love has to be part of the story.”
“I actually think Kylo is going to be revealed as Rey’s long-lost brother,” Tim agrees. “I mean, they still haven’t addressed Han and Leia’s twins in the movies, but we’ve all read the books. We know it’s canon.”
We nod because … yeah, some stereotypes about band nerds are just true.
“Sure, but the final movie hasn’t been released yet, so everything is still fair game,” Nate insists. “And we want to put on a good show for the band, not just the crowd, right? So, this is it. Let’s play up what we’ve already got to work with. What the band is already interested in.”
I point at Jim. “They wouldn’t be so interested if you didn’t ask half the sections for dating advice.”
He splays his hands wide, not defensively, but with an air full of admission and self-labeling. “Desperate.”
“Ridiculous is more like it.” Nate rolls his eyes. “All right, we’ve got a little less than two weeks to choreograph this. Let’s get to work.”
“Wait a second.” Jake halts Nate’s plans. “How are we going to choreograph a lightsaber battle between all five of us if only three of us are supposed to use lightsabers?”
“Oh.” Nate grins. “Not all of us are getting lightsabers. The Jedis will. Finn gets to gun down the color guard because they’re all dressing as stormtroopers.”
“Yes!” Tim cries. “I’ve been waiting to get back at them for all the bloody noses they’ve given me with their stupid sticks!”
Nate points at Jake. “You’re going to disappear in a puff of smoke after fighting Kylo with your lightsaber.”
“What am I going to do?”
“You’re going to basically fight everyone until the final battle between you and Kylo.” Nate grins. “And I get to command the fleet.”
We exchange confu
sed glances until Jim asks, “And what kind of fleet will you be commanding on the field exactly?”
“The drumline and tubas are going to get a little makeover before game day.” Nate grins.
“It could work.” I give Nate credit for thinking of everything. “We’ve already seen their drill. We know each section is going to battle against each other. We’ll just fit in around the edges in between conducting.”
“This is going to be awesome,” Nate promises, rubbing his hands together. “And the crowd is going to go wild when you two kiss at the end of the show. I don’t care what you say, Soph. Everyone loves a little romance.”
“Aww, crap!” Jim yelps. “We’ve been so busy banging that I forgot all about romance!”
Some things will never change. As the other guys snicker, I fantasize about destroying Jim. A lightsaber will not be nearly as satisfying as using my bare hands.
Chapter Thirty-Six
“This is … nice.”
Jim smiles with the rim of his glass at his lips. “Nice? You mean to tell me dinner at the most expensive restaurant within an hour radius from campus is … nice?”
“It’s so expensive!” I lean forward to hiss at him, suddenly grateful for the violin quartet on the stage to provide some background noise. “My salad was forty dollars!”
He sips his overpriced wine and tries to hide his grimace. Jim drinks beer. Not wine. He places the glass on the table with a shake of his head. “I never thought you’d be the kind of woman who orders a salad on a date.”
“I’m not,” I whisper, glancing around at all the well-dressed, middle-aged couples enjoying five-course meals. “It was just the cheapest thing on the menu.”
He snorts. The woman next to us gives him a dirty look. He shrugs. “This is so weird. You’re worried about spending my money. Last year, when I took the entire trumpet section out for Trumpet Taco Tuesday, you ordered twenty dollars’ worth of tacos just to screw with me.”
The lady gives him a dirty look again. He shrugs again. “What? At least I didn’t say fuck with me.”
