Better Late Than Never

by Ghiselle St. James

  I don’t know why, but I start laughing, clutching my stomach as gut-busting laughter pours out. I have the sense to cut the shits and giggles when I see her fold her arms under her breasts, jut her hip out and tap her foot in irritation. Clearing my throat, my hand comes up automatically to scratch the back of my head. I refrain from sniffing my pits this time…

  Barely.

  “I’m, uh, sorry,” I apologize. “It’s just that…you’re in the hallway of a male residence hall – one that you shouldn’t even be in, I might add – in tiny ass shorts and a thin camisole no less. Do I have to tell you that you’re like bait being dangled in front of hungry sharks?”

  She squeaks, eyes round in trepidation and, as if she has only just realized that she’s half naked, tries to cover up. But she only succeeds in looking sexier, if that is even possible.

  “Come on,” I invite her, opening my door. “No bullshit.”

  She’s about to whizz past when it occurs to me that I don’t know her name.

  “I didn’t get your name,” I say, holding my palm out.

  “I didn’t get yours either,” she sasses, standing so close to me that if I stepped five inches closer, her nipples would brush up against my chest.

  Chuckling, I look down at her, almost smoldering. Her proximity is getting me all sorts of hot, and I chalk it up to the fact that I haven’t gotten any in months…

  Or maybe because she’s hotter than sin.

  “I’m Kyle,” I give her, with a little more gravel in my tone than is necessary.

  That gets me a tiny gasp before a wispy, “I’m Claire.”

  Our palms touch in a shake and jolts of electricity fire between us. Her hand is soft in mine and it feels almost like a perfect fit. I don’t dwell on whose is, but I cross the threshold with Claire.

  In more ways than one…

  For an entire week, Claire and I seem inseparable. After her cousin came home and let her in, we haven’t been able to stop seeing each other. We spend nights together eating Ramen noodles and getting to know each other, talking for hours, and then crashing together.

  It is through Ramen nights – as we’ve come to call them – where I find out that she is the baby sister of five brothers, raised in a small town about an hour away from the Duchannes campus. She loves country music, among other genres – surprise, surprise – and is a legit cowgirl. She is a horse trainer who also rides in amateur show jumping competitions, which explains her lithe body.

  Claire is two years older than I am, but the way she stares at me – like she wants me to make a woman of her – tells me that she doesn’t care about the age difference. And neither do I.

  “Tonight was amazin’!” she gushes, when we are back from the campus party we went to. “Theo never takes me to any o’ these. Somethin’ about vultures surroundin’ dead carcass. I could never understand him when he gets to mumblin’.”

  I shake my head on a chuckle because, God help her, she is so clueless and adorable. I can’t believe she doesn’t know the effect she has on the masculine gender, and from the way some of the women at the party were looking at her, I would guess she has an effect on them too.

  I shrug my jacket off while she hops onto my bed. She fiddles with her phone while I slip her flats off. Sitting next to her, I fire up my laptop, but Claire has other plans. She reaches across, swipes my computer and sits it on the floor. Before I can ask her what she’s up to, she straddles me, and in zero seconds flat, my dick responds.

  Starving doesn’t begin to explain what has been happening to the dude in my pants…

  “Claire,” I choke out when she starts running her lips up the column of my neck. Aside from some heated stares, and extended hugs goodnight, we have never so much as touched each other like this.

  “It’s been a week,” she mumbles against my skin, causing gooseflesh to break out all over me.

  I am trying hard to be a gentleman and not tear at her clothes, but I’m also actively trying not to shoot off in my pants like a twelve-year-old me. Twelve-year-old me had no game at all, aside from baseball.

  “Why haven’t you touched me?” she asks softly, her big, green eyes beseeching.

  “Because I want to respect you,” I respond, voice strained.

  Sweet as my words sound to me, they get her heated.

  “Disrespect me, Kyle,” she breathes, grinding down on my ever-growing hardness. “Disrespect me hard…” Shit! “And deep…” Fuck! “And rough…”

  Her gravelly demand has the cord on my restraint snapping. Swifter than the Flash on a rocket, I flip her over and settle between her legs, digging my clothed cock into her jean clad center. When I kiss her, deep and bruising, she gives it right back. She’s wet when I finally get her clothes off and run my fingers down her pussy. And she is more than welcoming when I finally sink my latex-covered cock into her warmth.

  Later, I’ll think about the fact that I made up my own Southern euphemism.

  Later, I’ll think about the fact that when I climaxed, purple hair flashed in my periphery…

  Chapter Fifteen – One Big, Ole Awkward Reunion

  Kyle – Past

  February 2009

  IT IS THE season opener. Duchannes versus Bryers U. It should be a cakewalk for us Panthers, but we never take a game for granted. We have been practicing nonstop, becoming mentally and physically prepared for today; but like every game I have played, there is a ball of nerves in the pit of my stomach.

  I look up into the stands to spot Claire cheering, and instantly, the ball of nerves eases at her wide smile. We’ve been dating for a month now and while we don’t see each other every day, we make up for it every weekend. And boy, do I look forward to our makeup sessions.

  She is radiant in the stands, wearing a black and gray Panthers jersey that I know has my name on it – since she swiped it from my closet – and jeans. Her hair is fanned out in loose curls around her face and even from here I can see her eyes twinkling with excitement. The game hasn’t even begun yet and I am already thinking about later when I’ll make her eyes smolder and roll over in the back of her head.

  Calm down, hitter, I compel my dick to relax.

  The game is underway, and we are up by a homerun. Rob Danvers, our second hitter went deep, and now I am up, hoping to follow his goner.

  No pressure at all.

  The catcher is in position when I walk out onto the field. Cheers erupt and instantly those nerves return. The stands are crowded with college kids, families of players and fans. Our high school games were always well supported, but this is ridiculous. This is almost the size of a minor league baseball stadium and it is packed. I heard that Duchannes takes their sports seriously and, from what I could see from the few football games I have been to, and from tonight, they really fucking do.

  I try to force myself to relax, but fuck if it works. My hands are damp in my gloves and that ball of nerves has my stomach lurching. This is my first college game. It would suck if I barfed before I even attempted to swing.

  I approach home base and dig my cleats into the dirt a few times, gripping the base of my bat and swinging to get the kinks out. Instantly, a calm serenity becomes me. An awareness grips me so tightly and I breathe out, feeling a sense familiarity around me. It could be the fact that I’m out here doing what I love; it could be the smell of the earth beneath my feet; it could be the intensity of the crowd.

  Whatever it is, I am reminded of home.

  Hearing a chuckle behind me, I turn my helmeted head toward the sound. “Pretty boy here thinks he’s gonna hit,” the catcher mocks, snickering to himself.

  I take a deep breath and face forward. The cheers are deafening. The crowd of spectators, intimidating. The catcher’s taunts are annoying, and the pressure of my first college game, intense. But then I close my eyes and block out everything and everyone. I hear her voice in my head and suddenly, the world slips away.

  “Nothing else matters but that ball. Pretend that it’s someone you hate comi
ng right at you and hit that sucker out of your life.”

  A goofy smile surfaces on my lips. My best friend had a way with words. With her voice in my head, I twist the bat and settle in position. Taking a deep breath, I zero in on the pitcher. The catcher’s talking, but nothing matters but that pitcher and what he has in his hand.

  I know the exact moment the catcher gives him the pace signal. The pitcher nods, looks to his left, then winds his arm back while raising his leg. I notice the distance in which he pulls back, far enough that I know what’s coming. His grip. His form. That look in his eye…

  A curve ball.

  My specialty.

  “Nothing else matters but that ball.” Deep breath in.

  “Hit that sucker out of your life.” Deep breath out.

  “Pretend it’s someone you hate.” Well, hello, Cam…

  The pitcher releases the ball, and I smirk as Cam’s smug face comes at me. When it’s within reach, I swing.

  The celebration in our dugout is drowned out by the overwhelming cheers from our fans in the stands.

  We won.

  Bryers U put up a fight, but the hunger in our team was evident. Chills break out all over me as high fives and bro-hugs are doled out and shared amongst us Panthers. Winning is addictive.

  “Kyle!” I hear the sweet lilting voice of my girl and I turn to find her waving frantically at me.

  Her cousin is beside her, nose stuck in his phone, looking bored, and it’s obvious that she dragged him along behind her. As I climb up the steps and get closer, however, I see how flushed his face is and how much he is trying not to look at me. This is what Panther pride does – it makes even the most unenthusiastic person light up with excitement.

  Claire throws herself in my arms and I clutch her tightly, spinning her around like some kinda cliché romance movie. Not saying I watch those…

  Often…

  “You were amazin’, baby!” she gushes when I set her down.

  “Sweet homerun, dude,” Theo comments without looking up from his cell.

  “Thanks, man,” I say, to which he responds with a shoulder lift. Weird kid.

  Claire’s smile is still bright when I’m barreled into from behind. I almost spin around swinging when I see a flash of purple hair behind the person jostling me excitedly.

  “Cuz, that was fucking awesome!” Grayson praises, playfully socking me in the stomach.

  I’m speechless, mouth dry, as if I haven’t had a drink of water in days. She is a sight for sore eyes. Like beating the boss level on one of my videogames and advancing to the next level after months of trying.

  She is wearing pants again, jeans ripped at the knees and showing her delicate skin. Her top is bright orange and green, clashing with her purple hair that’s in a messy bun, but oddly working for her. What’s weird is that she’s holding onto two black and grey pom-poms – my team’s colors.

  Savi isn’t a peppy, school spirit type of girl, so seeing this now…it does something to my insides, but I chalk it up to the exhilaration of winning. Her smile is bright, but I see something tentative in her eyes that flit to Claire for a split second before they are back on me. And that’s when I realize I’m staring. And that my best friend is right in front of me.

  Finding my voice, I am amazed, I don’t choke. “Grayson, what are you guys doing here?” I ask the group of them which includes Becky.

  “You may not be my favorite person in the whole wide world, but you’re family,” he explains. “And I had to show you some support for your season opener.”

  My eyes find Savi and when I breathe her name, I know she feels the weight of it in the atmosphere. “Savi…”

  She takes a gasping breath at the sound of my voice and she looks about ready to bolt. If she does, I am not entirely sure I won’t run after her…

  “Hey, Slugger,” Becky greets, pushing my cousin aside and hugging me.

  Savi has yet to say a word. She has a curious look on her face now. I want to drag her away from everyone and…and what?

  “Well, aren’t ya gonna introduce me, sug’?” Claire speaks, and I don’t know why it pisses me off that my best friend has yet to say a word to me.

  Clearing my throat, I stumble over my words as I speak, “Y-yes, sorry. Uh, this is Grayson, my cousin.” I point to him. “Becky, my…” I skip over that part of her introduction and point to Savi, not knowing entirely how to introduce her.

  Best friend, or love of my life? Either option will not win me any points with either of these women today.

  “Oh, you asshole!” Becky laughs before sticking out her hand and shaking Claire’s. “I’m Becky, this guy’s ex-girlfriend.” She sticks a finger in my direction as she shakes my girlfriend’s hand. “And this is Savannah, his best friend. Well, all of our best friend.”

  I don’t miss the way my fists curl in possession of Savi. She should be my best friend and mine alone, but I can’t help but internally admit that I have been a crappy best friend.

  I’ve yet to even tell Savi about Claire and vice versa.

  “Well, my name is Claire, the asshole’s girlfriend,” she introduces.

  I see hurt flash across Savi’s eyes before she smiles and takes Claire’s hand. Becky looks confused as she stares from me to Claire, and Grayson just looks…disappointed.

  Silence descends around us again. Even Theo is out of his phone and paying attention to this weird reunion. And Savi has still not said a word to me!

  “Well if this ain’t one big, ole awkward reunion,” Claire mutters, breaking the silence between us all.

  Becky is the first to burst into laughter. “Well, hell, I like this girl!”

  The five of us end up at the Panther’s season opener kegger on campus. While Grayson and Savi wanted to hit the road, Becky griped and fussed until they conceded. When the captain passed by and announced the party, Becky perked right up and demanded we all went. Claire is always up for a good party, so she was agreeing before Becky even suggested it.

  Savi’s eyes had registered panic, probably wanting to get as far away from me as possible, and Grayson had picked it up, coming to her rescue instantly.

  “C’mon, Becky, we have a long drive ahead of us. We should get going.”

  It should not have bugged me that they seemed to have gotten even closer since I’d been gone. I had been a less than stellar friend, but fuck if it didn’t stick in my craw.

  Craw? Dear God, I am turning into my girlfriend.

  Becky had then gone on a rant about taking chances, rites of passage and dying wishes, and Grayson and Savi had rolled their eyes, surrendering to their fates. So, here we are, standing around in a house full of college students, music blasting and beer drinking. Yet Savi and I don’t seem to be having as much fun as Claire and Becky who are dancing the night away. Grayson is in a corner, watching my best friend, ready to swoop in and save her if needs be.

  And it pisses me off.

  “So, you and Grayson are seeing each other now?” I whisper-yell in her ear over the music. “What about Cam?”

  Savi recoils as if I’ve slapped her and, instead of responding, stomps away to the direction of the balcony. I go to follow her, but Grayson has his hand on my chest stopping me.

  “If you’re not gonna try and fix whatever you just fucked up, don’t bother,” he tells me above the loud blare of the speakers. “She’s had enough of the back and forth, and she’s just getting her head back on straight.”

  I know he means well, but I still shove him off and hiss at him, “She’s my best friend, dude. You can’t tell me shit about her.”

  “Well, best friend,” he says snidely, moving out of my way and making a show of extending his hand in a royal fashion to the balcony. “Go forth and do what you do best: break her heart.”

  A pang of regret hits me as the truth of his words decimates my spirit. I’ve been a douchebag, but it won’t stop me from fixing this. I push at his chest and he “graciously” steps aside.

  Outside, cold
air whips across my cheeks and I blow into my hands and rub them together as I search around for her. My heart lurches when I spot her head of purple through the smoke, gyrating bodies, and kissing faces. She looks sad as she leans against the concrete pillar, nursing her beer. When she sees me coming, she stiffens and her eyes blaze with anger.

  But she doesn’t move.

  I reach up to her and lean into her ear. It’s soft, but somehow, I hear her intake of breath over the constant boom of the speakers. My heart rate gallops as I take a whiff of her flowery scent, a scent that is so her, that has always been her. My dick hardens in my pants and it is taking every single thing in me not to throw her up against the wall and take her.

  Problem is, I know she would let me, and I don’t think I could explain to my girlfriend why I would be fucking my best friend. She would probably chop my dick off and serve it with a side of hot taters at a rodeo.

  “We should talk,” I tell her, and her head barely nods in agreement.

  I guide her down the steps at the side of the balcony, past a couple groping each other, and another few people sharing a bong. We walk along the tree-lined pathway in silence, until the music from the party gets quieter and quieter.

  I don’t know where to start, but I know I need to.

  “She’s pretty,” Savi speaks before I get to.

  “She is.” And Claire really is, no point in denying it, even though I wish I had.

  Savannah’s eyes close against the sting of my words, but she nods.

  “I don’t know why I didn’t tell you about her,” I confess, because I really don’t.

  “How long’s it been?”

  “A month.”

  We continue walking, neither of us saying anything and it feels awkward. We don’t do awkward.

  “I’m sorry,” I tell her after a while.

  “You know what I don’t get?” She whirls on me and pokes me in the chest. “We weren’t friends anymore and I learnt to deal with that. But no, God forbid, I’m learning to cope without you! You had to sweep back into my life, didn’t you? Couldn’t possibly allow my life to go on without you in it?”