Fumbled Love

by Lila Rose

  Should I open the text? What does he want? Why did he text me? What if he texted the wrong person? He might have been texting a friend called Reginald, and his name would have been right next to mine.

  Shit. I may have received Reginald’s text by mistake.

  Holy crapoly, I needed to calm the hell down.

  Sucking in a deep breath, I opened the text.

  Carter: Hey, what have you been up to?

  How had I been? Was he asking me or someone else by mistake? What did I do? Should I reply?

  Biting my bottom lip, I texted back. Not much, you?

  There. It was nice and simple. So in case he’d sent it to me by mistake, he’d see my name pop up, and the mistake could be easily fixed because neither of us texted anything weird.

  My whole body jolted when my phone chimed. I fumbled it a bit and then held it against my chest. I glanced around my empty house as if there were someone else here seeing my klutzy moves over a guy texting me.

  But come on, it’s Carter Anthony…. I really had to stop saying his whole name in my head. It was like his whole name held power. I guess in a way it did; it certainly caused my body to hum to life.

  Carter: Just relaxing after practice. How was school today?

  Thank God, he knew it was actually me he was texting… unless he knew another school teacher.

  Shit. I had to stop doubting myself. Carter Anthony could have texted me on purpose.

  After all, he’d said he wanted to be friends.

  Me: Good. Well, except for the mouse running around my classroom and Tom finding me screaming and standing on my desk. I sent that off and then another quickly after. Oh, and tripping up the steps falling to my knees where my face nearly came closely acquainted with Steve’s crotch. The kids have already started a story I was giving a BJ on the steps.

  Shit, shit, shit. Why did I tell him that?

  Even in texts I blurted out too much, and he probably thought I was getting it on with stinky Steve. Should I add I wasn’t? My mouth was nowhere near his junk. If it had been, I was sure I’d vomit all over it since I was sure he smelled even worse in that area. I dry heaved at the thought.

  He didn’t reply.

  Why wasn’t he replying?

  Had I scared him away?

  Did he actually think I gave head on school property?

  Could I text him again?

  Would that seem too clingy?

  Then again, how would it seem clingy since he’d texted me in the first place?

  Me: Carter?

  At least through a text he couldn’t see my panic, the sweat forming on my brow, or hear my heavy breathing.

  I let out a little yip when my phone chimed. Carter: Sorry, I was too busy dying from laughter. Only those sorts of things could happen to you. I’m surprised you didn’t pass out from being so close to the Steve smell.

  I smiled widely. It was so big that if anyone were around, they could probably see all of my teeth.

  Me: Ha ha, laugh it up. If you come to the school ever again, I’ll make sure Steve knows you want a hug. Then you can be on the verge of vomiting.

  Carter: Shudder. No thank you.

  Me: How was practice? I heard you won the game on the weekend. Good job, you.

  Carter: Thanks. What do you mean heard? I thought you would have watched. ;)

  Me: Well, I would have… maybe, if I hadn’t been forced to help my parents paint. Actually, I didn’t have to help; they bribed me with a home cooked meal.

  Carter: I don’t blame you for that. How did you hear we won then?

  Me: Dad’s a fan. Your team is the Wolves, right? I really knew for certain Carter played for the Wolves. I just didn’t want to come across as I knew everything about him. After all, it was Brooke who stalked him online.

  At my parents, I’d been surprised when I’d caught Dad talking on the phone to Tom about the kickass—his words, not mine—game the Wolves played. When he got off the phone, I asked him if the Wolves were his favorite team. He looked at me like I’d grown two heads and asked if I’d been living under a rock. I took that as a yes. He then proceeded to fill me in on the game. Of course, I zoned. He gave up when I started humming under my breath and told me to get back to work.

  Carter: Yes, woman. Say, what are your plans this weekend?

  Rolling my eyes, I bit my bottom lip to stop the ache in my jaw from the continuous grinning. Texting with Carter was easy. Fun even.

  Me: Going to a game like I said I would.

  Carter: Good! Make sure you go to the information booth and have ID on you. I’ll leave a ticket there for you and Brooke.

  Wow. That was nice.

  Me: Um. Thank you.

  Carter: You’re welcome. I’ve got to go, but we’ll talk soon.

  Me: Okay. Bye.

  Carter: Later :)

  When Carter had said we’d talk soon, I thought it would be maybe the Sunday of his game. Instead, it was the next night; only he decided to call. My belly swirled with nervous butterflies, or it could have been gas, regardless, I pulled up my big girl panties to answer.

  “H-hello?” I whispered. Why I said it in a whisper, I didn’t know.

  “Hey. Am I interrupting something?”

  Even though his deep rough voice woke up my lady bits, the question threw me. I was doing my usual channel surfing before Supernatural came on, so I had no idea why he thought he’d be interrupting something.

  “No. I’m not doing much.”

  Should I have said that? Maybe I should have made up I was doing something exciting like… pole dancing. An image of Elena popped into my head, and I shuddered.

  “So, what are you doing?” he asked.

  Frantically, I went through the search engine of my brain to think of something other than sitting on the couch being lazy. In the end, I come to the conclusion that if Carter cared that I was relaxing with wine and waiting for hot men on TV, then he wasn’t meant to be in my life. He had to accept me for me.

  That’s what friends did, right?

  So I told him the truth. “Sitting on the couch with papers I need to grade, but I’m putting them off because my show is coming on soon. Ah, what about you?”

  “What show?” he asked.

  “Supernatural.”

  He chuckled. “What’s that about?”

  I gasped. “You’ve never seen Supernatural?”

  “Can’t say I have.”

  “You… what… how can that be so?”

  Another deep chuckle followed, one I liked hearing a bit too much. Just friends.

  “I’m more of an action movie, documentary-watching kind of guy.”

  My nose scrunched up.

  He let out another chuckle. “I just bet you’re pulling a face at that. It’s all right, we can compromise.”

  Compromise?

  Why would we need to?

  That didn’t make sense.

  He couldn’t mean we’d be watching something together, could he?

  Why would he want to?

  “Reagan?”

  “Sorry… I, um, does that mean you’ll give Supernatural a try one time?”

  My eyes widened. Why did I just ask that? Maybe because I thought everyone should at least try to watch Supernatural just once. Dean and Sam were worth sixty minutes of everyone’s time.

  “Sure, I’ll give it a go.” When he spoke, it sounded like he was smiling.

  “Okay,” I breathed. Carter wanted to spend time with me. It deserved a breathy moment.

  Still, friends watched shows together. They talked like we were currently. They teased. Laughed at one another.

  Shit, I shouldn’t have gotten breathy on the phone with him.

  Could he tell I liked the thought of having time with him by my voice?

  I hoped he couldn’t read me that well, but if he did, I was screwed.

  I needed to change the subject to calm my mind. “You, ah, didn’t tell me what you were doing.”

  “I just got out of the showe
r.” That damn well didn’t help my mind settle. It was impossible. Picturing him naked in a shower, toweling his naked body dry, but he’d miss a few drops that I would have to lick up…. No, no, no, do not go there, Reagan. Think of something else. Him pooping. Sitting on the toilet and straining…. okay, I’m good now. That’s a thought my mind should never have ventured. “And now I’m going to get some sleep.”

  Damn Carter Anthony and his evilness.

  Carter… in my bed.

  “I have to go,” I blurted.

  “Everything okay?” He sounded legitimately concerned, and I felt bad as everything was okay, except for my filthy mind.

  “Y-yes. I’m good, I ah, just really should grade some papers before Dean—”

  “Who’s Dean?” he demanded, his tone low and growly.

  Oh my.

  Smiling to myself, I said, “He’s—”

  “Do I know him?”

  “No, he’s—”

  “Is he from high school?”

  I laughed. “Carter—”

  “A friend?”

  “If you just let me—”

  “A boyfriend?”

  Sheesh, why did he sound so tense?

  “Carter,” I called loudly through the phone.

  “Yes?”

  “Dean is from the show Supernatural.”

  Silence.

  I started giggling.

  “Oh,” he said.

  “But just because we’re becoming friends doesn’t mean I can’t have others,” I stated, since he seemed so concerned another could replace him. Which was really weird since we’d only been in each other’s lives for less than a week.

  I paused, thinking about something Brooke had said. Did Carter fancy me?

  Nope. Nuh-uh.

  That was laughable.

  He was a football god and dated models.

  I was an English teacher and hardly dated at all.

  “Right, yeah, I know that… but do you have other male friends?”

  I bit my bottom lip. My mind wanted to crash into the thought of Carter wanting me, but my heart pulled on the reins and said, “Whoa.”

  “Reagan?”

  “No. I don’t. In fact, I don’t have many close friends besides Brooke, and, well, my parents. But they have to put up with me since they brought me into the world.”

  He snorted. “I say the same to my folks.” He took a deep breath. “Anyway, I’ll let you go. I’ve got to be up early for training. If I don’t talk to you before Sunday, I’ll see you then.”

  “Sounds good.” Crap, was that too forward? “Ah, buddy,” I quickly added. His burst of laughter followed before I hung up the phone.

  God. I really had to stick to just texting the poor guy, or he would end up knowing I was a head case.

  Chapter Eight

  Reagan

  My stomach was in a turmoil of emotions. Nerves, excitement, fear… almost every damn emotion possible swirled in my stomach, all because I was at Carter’s game. Football wasn’t my thing, but it was Carter’s, and I kind of did want to see him play and hoped I understood enough to be interested in it for him.

  Yes, I wanted to like a sport because of a man.

  Where had my smarts gone? Down the drain along with my rational thoughts when it came to Carter, apparently.

  “Ree, these are damn good seats,” Brooke said as we made our way to the spot Carter gave us tickets for. “Holy crap, we’re sitting in the new boxed in area at the front. I’ve only recently read about these spots, how they’re testing them for important people instead of the glass booths way up the back.” She continued to rattle on and on about how she thought people would like it better, but I tuned out. Thank God she’d been willing to come with me since I didn’t know the first thing about the stadium or reading a map.

  Words, grammar, books, and teaching I could handle. Throw a map at me and tell me there was free coffee and chocolate for a year at the end, I’d try my best to find it, but I wouldn’t be able to. I’d get lost and lose my mind, and no doubt end up crying in a corner somewhere for missing out on free goodness.

  “That’s good,” I said, but unsure if it was in fact good. If they were close, close enough that Carter could see me, I was worried he’d see a bored look upon my face… or even find me asleep.

  “It is good, Ree.” She grinned. “Come on, down this way.”

  Nodding, I then followed her into the seating area. She led me way, way down the steps.

  “See,” Brooke exclaimed, as she opened the door after giving the attendant our tickets to mark off. “They said it was the two left in the front row,” Brooke told me. She must have read on my face that I wasn’t absorbing anything in my panicked state, so she took my hand in hers. We passed the other two rows, with a few people already sitting in some of them, to the front where three men sat to the far wall of the boxed area. Brooke sat me in the vacant seat next to an older man, and she took the one on the end. Maybe she was scared I’d make a run for it.

  I had been thinking it.

  Honestly, I was sort of annoyed at myself for thinking how it was important for me to like this game, but I couldn’t seem to stop myself from doing it.

  Damn Carter Anthony.

  “This is awesome. We’ll see all the action.” Brooke clapped.

  “Yes.” I nodded. “Awesome.” My lack of enthusiasm caught the attention of the man next to me. He glanced down at me and raised his brows. “Sorry,” I muttered, and moved my gaze out onto the field.

  It was just in time to hear announced, “And here come the Wolves.” People everywhere cheered loudly. My heart perked up and skipped a beat. I shifted forward on my seat to see Carter’s team jog onto the field.

  Oh. My. God.

  “Do you want wine? Snacks?” Brooke asked, but I didn’t answer because I was too busy.

  Around me, people still cheered a variety of chants. Some even cried they wanted to have some players’ babies, and I could finally understand why they’d offer it up so easily.

  In the background, I heard Brooke say something, and then the man on the other side of me reply. But my attention and eyes were glued to the glorious sight before me.

  I should have asked Carter what number he was.

  Not that I minded the trouble of looking for him.

  Holy… there he was, and he looked so dang fine.

  Tight white pants were burned into my eyes.

  Tight.

  White.

  Pants.

  Praise the lord for the football uniform. He was already bulky on top, but the padding helped him look tougher and sexier. His jersey read 32 along with a logo of his team. Under one arm he held a helmet.

  The whole package was what wet dreams were made of.

  “He should have just told me what he wore, and I’d have been at last weekend’s game.” Yes, I’d seen football briefly on the TV, but I’d never studied their uniform… until then.

  “Reagan,” Brooke scolded in a snappy tone.

  “What?” I asked, glancing at her. “You can’t tell me gear like that doesn’t make you hot.”

  She paled and then palmed her forehead.

  I heard a manly chuckle at my back and turned to find an older man glancing at us. A blush touched my cheeks. “Oh, sorry again. I’m not into sports really, but I wanted to try.”

  “And the uniform helps?” he asked, his lips twitching.

  “Well, yes.” I nodded. I didn’t know the man, so I didn’t mind being honest in front of him. The younger man beside the other guffawed.

  “Reagan—”

  “It’s all right,” the man said.

  I frowned at the strange reply. “What’s all right?” I asked, glancing away from the man to my friend and back again.

  “Nothing,” he replied. “Want me to tell you a few things as the game goes on?”

  That was so nice.

  Grinning, I nodded. “Yes, please. Even though the uniforms will keep my attention, I could waver halfway thro
ugh so maybe if I have you talk to me about it, it will help.” All three men in the row laughed heartily.

  Didn’t bother me. Besides, I may actually learn something since it wasn’t my father trying to teach me. It would be different. With Dad, I got my back up and enjoyed torturing him too much to learn a thing.

  “It’d be a pleasure.” He smiled, and he had a really nice smile, so I grinned back.

  “By the way, I’m Reagan.”

  “Patty,” he said, but he said it in a way he thought I should recognize the name. I didn’t. He smirked, his eyes lit with humor. “My boys, Casper and Calvin.”

  “Hey.” I waved. Casper winked, and Calvin smiled, giving me a chin lift.

  “Oi, I need a drink or ten,” Brooke said from beside me.

  “Sorry, this is—”

  “We’ve already met,” Brooke said. “When you were in a daze.”

  “Right.” I laughed, my cheeks heating once again. I sank back in the seat and adjusted my tee. Carter and his team started putting on their helmets and walked out into the middle of the field. The game was about to start.

  Out the corner of my eye, I saw a man step up to Brooke’s side with a tray of items. She passed me a plastic cup. Beer.

  “I thought we had to get these things from the concession stand,” I commented.

  “Not in here, sweetheart,” Patty said.

  I glanced to him. “Cool.”

  Casper leaned around him. “Who are you rooting for?”

  “The Wolves.” I grinned.

  “Yeah, but anyone on the team?”

  Patty sent him a look I didn’t understand. Brooke coughed on something and Calvin was smirking.

  “Ah… Carter Anthony, I guess.”

  “You guess?” Calvin asked.

  “Well, no. I mean I am rooting for Carter.”

  “How do you know him?” Casper asked, causing another irritated scowl from his dad.

  “He visited the school I teach at.”

  “And he asked you to come to the game?”

  Why did I suddenly feel like I was in the hot seat?

  “Yes.”

  “He also gave her tickets,” Calvin put in.

  “Boys, enough,” Patty warned for some reason. Did they know Carter?