#Awestruck (A #Lovestruck Novel)

by Sariah Wilson

  I paused, remembering how excited I’d been. How I’d had to sneak out of my house because, given the constant harassment at school, my parents never would have let me go off to meet him. I had convinced myself he was going to apologize, beg my forgiveness, and we’d finally be together.

  And that he’d make everyone stop being so horrible to me.

  “I showed up a little early and waited. Just after midnight the sprinklers came on. Only somebody had added dyed soapsuds to the tops of the sprinklers, and they covered me and the grass in a bright-blue coating that took a long time to wash off. As I ran off the field, I was being videotaped by Evan’s friends, who yelled awful things as they threw eggs at me. Told me how pathetic and ugly I was, how desperate and sad. A total loser. Everyone I knew saw that video.”

  My voice had started to shake. Even though it had been ten years ago, talking about it made it feel like it was happening all over again.

  “Things only got worse. People wrote cruel things on my locker. They egged our house almost every weekend. I couldn’t walk down the hallways without being bullied. My sister even got kicked off the cheerleading squad for beating up the captain after she said something awful to me.” It had surprised me that Aubrey’s popularity couldn’t shield me. It wasn’t only Evan who stopped coming to our house to hang out. Everyone stopped coming.

  “And if it was bad at school, it was worse online—where there were no adults to step in if things got too out of control. Friends I’d had since elementary school ditched me. As far as they were concerned, I was toxic, and nobody wanted to be tainted by being seen with me. I started having panic attacks and went into a pretty dark depression. It was miserable. My parents had to pull me out of school, and I was homeschooled for the next couple of years.”

  I was trying to tell the story matter-of-factly, and I was definitely downplaying how serious it had been, how much my family had worried about me, and how it had taken me a long time to feel like myself again.

  “I did go back my senior year, mostly because I wanted to play basketball and get scouted. By then most of my tormentors had graduated, and I’d changed and grown up enough that it wasn’t an issue any longer.”

  My plan had worked—I’d received a full ride to the University of Oregon to play basketball for them.

  “Did he ever apologize?” Nia asked.

  “No. Not while we were in school together. He did try to reach out after he graduated. Sent an email, which I never read. He also tried to message me on Facebook, but I wasn’t interested in his excuses.” And I’d never understood why he’d been so mean. If he hadn’t liked me, fine. If he’d thought I was too young for him, okay. I had thought that, at the very least, we were friends. Who treated their friends like that? Why humiliate me in front of the entire school?

  And why stand by and say and do nothing while everyone tormented me?

  Nia stood up, took off her long dangly earrings, and laid them on the table. She was muttering under her breath. “Mess with my girl like that? I don’t think so.”

  “What are you doing?” I asked and got up to follow her as she left the kitchen. She picked up her purse. “Where are you going?”

  “I’m driving out to the stadium, and I’m going to find Evan Dawson, and then I’m going to beat the living sh—”

  “Whoa!” I held up both my hands. “While I very much appreciate the support, I don’t need you to fight my battles. I can handle Evan. And if you did something like that, it would get Malik in trouble.”

  That seemed to cool her off slightly. “He can afford the fine. So can Evan.”

  “True, but I can’t afford to scare off Evan entirely and lose my chance to get the inside scoop from the other women.” Like it or not, Evan was the team captain. He did hold a lot of sway with the other players and, by extension, their wives and girlfriends.

  She let her purse drop back on the table. “Okay. Fine. But now I hope you do find somebody he’s slept with.”

  “I’m pretty sure I will. But I have to stay calm and keep my wits about me. Because I don’t intend to just get mad. I intend to get Evan.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  After spending the afternoon hanging out/strategizing with Nia, I headed home to my condo to have dinner. I reheated some poached salmon and wild rice and ate while I watched ISEN for a little while. Then I changed into my uniform for the game. My intramural team, the Portland Storm, was playing against our number-one rivals in the league, the Portland Pioneers. It wasn’t a playoff game, but the outcome would be a pretty good indication of who would win the league championship in the end.

  The Pioneers proved to be worthy opponents, and the game was intense. The score was close, and we were up by only four points. I played center, being the tallest person on our team.

  Verity had just passed me the ball, and I was about to pass it off to Eliza on my left when a commotion by the gym doors caught my attention.

  Evan Dawson stood by the doorway, surrounded by a small crowd of people.

  And I immediately tripped over my own feet and landed facedown on the court.

  Pain seared through my skull as the ball rolled out of bounds, giving it to the Pioneers.

  “You all right, Ashton?” Verity asked, coming over to help me get back on my feet. I took her outstretched hand.

  “Yeah. I’m fine.” I was not fine. My head was spinning not only because of my injury but also because of Evan’s unexpected appearance. What was he doing here?

  “Come on, we’re still playing,” she said as she ran down the court to set up for defense. I did the same, trying to get my head back in the game. Of course the first thing that would happen when I saw Evan again was that I would fall face-first onto the hardwood floor. Sort of ruining my moment from last night where I’d been snarky and awesome and walked away like a boss. No, the universe couldn’t let me have that. Things had to be balanced by me totally humiliating myself.

  And it wasn’t done screwing with me yet. Our coach called a timeout, asking me if I was okay because “you hit your head pretty hard. Everybody heard it.” I told her I was okay, and I was, right up until the moment one of the women seated on the bench directly in front of me sprayed her water bottle the wrong way. All over my shorts so it looked like I had peed myself.

  “Sorry!” she said, offering me a towel.

  Fan-freaking-tastic. I dabbed at my shorts, but it didn’t do me much good. It was like there was some universal conspiracy to make sure I suffered nothing but complete and total embarrassment whenever he was around.

  Although I was supposed to be listening to my coach, instead I was watching Evan make his way from the door to the bleachers. It was a slow progression as he smiled and took selfies and signed autographs for everyone in the crowd who asked.

  “Bailey?” my coach said, and I realized she’d called my name more than once.

  “Yes?”

  “Do you want to sit out the next quarter?”

  Part of me was tempted to accept. To take the easy out, to turn my back on him and ignore him completely.

  But now I had something to prove. That he wouldn’t unsettle me, and that I was a good player. Better than good. Senior year of college, my team had gone to the NCAA championship game and placed second.

  I wanted to show him I didn’t suck.

  Despite all current evidence to the contrary.

  “Put me in. Let’s win this,” I told the coach. She nodded, and we all piled our hands into the middle of a circle and yelled, “Storm!” before heading back onto the court.

  For the next half hour, I pretended Evan Dawson didn’t exist. Since I’d spent the last ten years doing just that, I had plenty of experience.

  That score went back and forth; sometimes we were in the lead, sometimes the Pioneers were. It was the closest game I’d played in a very long time.

  We were down by two points, and the audience had started to count down the time with the clock. Eliza passed me the ball, and I went up to shoot, but one
of the Pioneers immediately fouled me. The shot still made it, and the points were counted.

  The ref told me what I already knew—that I’d get one free throw. I glanced up at the clock. Two seconds left in the game.

  If I missed, we’d go into overtime. It would delay the inevitable confrontation with Evan Dawson I was about to have.

  If I made the shot, we’d win.

  And I did so enjoy winning.

  Everybody moved into position while I stood at the free throw line. The ref bounce-passed me the ball, and I lined up my shoulders and feet. I bounced the ball a few times, clearing my head until the only thing I could hear was the sound of my own breathing.

  I squatted down slightly, lifted back up, and released the ball . . .

  Nothing but net.

  My teammates ran to hug me, jumping up and down as the audience cheered for our victory.

  I couldn’t help myself. I looked for Evan. Had he been impressed? He was on his feet, clapping and grinning. He even did that guy whistle thing with his fingers.

  “Way to go, Ashton!” His voice rang out clear and strong, above all the other happy commotion. He waved, and I quickly averted my gaze.

  I stayed in the center of the crowd as my teammates were congratulated by friends and family. Evan remained in the bleachers, as if he was waiting for me to come to him.

  When the crowd shifted over to our bench, I grabbed my jacket and my duffel bag, hoping to sneak out quietly. I glanced up and saw that Evan had started walking toward me. Crap.

  “Hey, Ashton, you coming out with us to celebrate?” Verity asked me. “We’re thinking karaoke.” It was what we usually did after winning a game—the single ladies would head out together and do something fun.

  “I can’t tonight. I have to deal with . . .” My voice trailed off as I pointed at Evan.

  “Evan Dawson is here for you? Lucky girl. Tell me all about it at our next practice,” she responded, waggling her eyebrows at me as she walked away.

  Lucky? Not so much.

  Annoyed and feeling a bit stabby? More on target.

  Even if he did look sort of yummy in his dark jacket, a slate-gray T-shirt, and his blue jeans.

  “Great game! Really intense. You played so well. And I usually hate women’s basketball,” he said when he reached me.

  How did he ratchet my annoyance from an eight all the way up to, like, ten million? “I don’t remember inviting you.”

  “You didn’t.”

  Was that all he was going to say about it? “How did you find me?”

  “I called your dad’s law firm, and he gave me Aubrey’s extension, and she was happy to tell me where you’d be.”

  Oh, a conversation was going to be had between me and my sister. Maybe a conversation of the physical variety. Because I was going to kill her. And given his role in this fiasco, I’d force my dad to represent me for free after I took her out.

  We were starting to attract an audience. I saw a group of giggling teenage girls hanging around by the bleachers, waiting for him. I wanted to be like, “Run! I’m the ghost of Evan Dawson’s past! This won’t turn out well for you!”

  Instead, I said, “Okay. I’m going now.”

  He fell into step alongside me and then even opened the gym door, letting me go first. I was about to tell him I was perfectly capable of opening my own doors when I noticed the teenage horde was closing in on us. I’d seen videos of what they did to celebrities, and I did not want to get caught in the cross fire. We went around a corner, out of sight of the throng. I grabbed Evan by the shirtfront and pulled him into the empty gym. I held still in the dark, listening to the sound of too much lip gloss and low self-esteem passing us by.

  “You know, if you wanted to get me alone, Ashton, all you had to do was ask.” His voice was low and almost purring, like a giant predatory cat.

  I needed to remember that’s what he was. A predator who only looked out for his own self-interests and couldn’t care less about other people.

  And yet I stood there, still holding on to his shirt, breathing in his scent of soap and some kind of masculine cologne that had my toes curling in.

  I forced my hand to release him and backed up, feeling along the wall for the light switch. I found it and turned the lights on, flooding the gym with brightness.

  “Thanks for the save,” he said, hands in his pockets as he leaned against the wall.

  “I didn’t do it for you.” I couldn’t explain why I’d done it at all. “I think they’re gone. We can go now.”

  Instead of pushing on the door and leaving, he walked over to a cart and grabbed the basketball on top. He bounced it on the shiny floor, the sound echoing loudly off the walls. “It’s been a long time since I’ve played.”

  Nobody cared, least of all me. Before I could say as much, he spoke again.

  “I am sorry for just showing up, but I need to sit down and talk to you. I gave up too easy the last time I tried to apologize to you, and I’m not doing that again. Have dinner with me?”

  How many times was he going to ask the same question and expect a different answer? “This is your plan? To hound me until I give in?”

  “Not hound. Ask nicely. Repeatedly.” He took off his jacket, and my traitorous eyes followed the outline of his biceps and shoulders in his shirt.

  “Why do you even care? Why is it so important for you to explain?” The words burst out of me; I hadn’t intended to speak them aloud.

  “Because of all the things I regret in my life, what happened with you is one of the things I regret most. I’d do anything to go back and change it.”

  Why did that make my eyes fill up with burning tears? “Yeah, so would I. But time travel is still not a thing.”

  He held the basketball against his stomach, resting his forearms around it. “Right. So the only thing left is for me to beg for your forgiveness after I explain everything to you.”

  “Not going to happen.”

  There was a pause as he considered my instant response. “I never figured you for the kind of girl who’d hold a grudge like this.”

  “It’s not holding a grudge. It’s just keeping certain memories fresh in my mind so I’m better prepared for having to talk to you.” And to keep my hormones in check, because they liked Evan Dawson and everything about him very, very much.

  He laughed. “I’d forgotten how funny you are.”

  Today, it was not on purpose. I let out a long sigh as my response.

  “Ashton, please go to dinner with me.”

  My resolve started to crumble ever so slightly. “Why do I get the feeling you’re going to keep asking until I say yes?”

  “Because you’re getting to know me?”

  I’d just about had my fill of Evan Dawson. Especially when he was trying to be cute. I started for the door, but he blocked my path. “Ashton, wait. How about this—we play a game of one-on-one. If I win, you let me take you to dinner and apologize. And if you win, I promise to never bother you about it again.”

  This shouldn’t have been a difficult decision, but it was. Because I was torn between making another grand exit and playing his game to see what would happen. Maybe it was because I’d spent the afternoon reliving my teenage trauma with Nia that now some perverse part of me wanted to hear what he had to say.

  And after all these years, I did want an explanation. Just to get closure so I could stop obsessing about it.

  Not that I intended to forgive him or anything like it, but it wouldn’t hurt to have him believe he was in my corner as I tried to find out the truth about him.

  Who knows? Maybe he’d reveal something else at the dinner that I could use for my story. At the very least it might be progress to report to Brenda.

  “Fine.” I set down my duffel bag and took off my jacket.

  And nearly squawked out loud when I saw him taking off his shirt. “What are you doing?”

  He tossed the shirt on top of his jacket. “I don’t want to get my shirt all sweaty. Not to
mention I told you it’s been a long time for me, and I just saw how good you are. I need every advantage I can get.”

  Yes, because being a professional athlete wasn’t going to help him at all. “And you think this is an advantage?”

  “I don’t know. Ask your eyes. They’ve been glued to my chest for the last minute or so.”

  He wasn’t wrong. His chest was a thing of beauty. Rippling, sculpted muscles and sinews and fading bruises in every color of the rainbow, all of which my fingers itched to touch.

  I’d obviously hit my head harder during the game than I’d originally thought. “Are you always this full of yourself?”

  “Only when someone gives me a reason to be.” He dribbled the ball, walking backward. “Play to ten?”

  I tightened my ponytail. “Let’s go.”

  He bounced the ball to me, and I immediately sank my first shot. “Two points, me.”

  Evan turned out to be a stronger opponent than I’d thought. He had four inches on me, which helped him to block. As did his whole standing super close without a shirt on. It was a distraction and a definite advantage for him. I lost control of the ball more than once due to my idiotic physical reaction to him. Like he was scrambling my senses by being so close and smelling so good and giving off this intoxicating heat that made me want to cling to him like a baby monkey.

  “Eight to eight,” he reminded me, his words burning against my earlobe, my back pressed to his front as I dribbled.

  I could easily pivot out of this and make the shot. Game over.

  Instead, I just kept dribbling, like the ball represented what was going on in my mind. Did I want things to be over and never see Evan again?

  I turned to shoot, and the ball bounced against the backboard. Evan grabbed the rebound and with an easy layup won the game.

  “Yes! Yes!” he said, both arms high above his head. “I win!”

  “Okay, okay. Stop dancing in the end zone,” I told him. I was all hot and bothered, and I suspected it had nothing to do with the physical exertion and everything to do with the guy celebrating under the hoop.