by Doe, Anna B.
His girl, not yours. His. Maybe if I repeat those words enough, my mind will catch up.
The flash of ginger catches my attention, just in time to see Lia and Derek leave the room.
The beer I just swallowed tastes funny in my throat, and I can feel my chest squeeze painfully.
“Max…”
Jeanette reaches to touch me, but I pull away. Throwing my head back, I force down what’s left of the beer. “Think whatever you want. I’m going to find something to drink.”
And that’s exactly what I do. I push all thoughts of Amelia and Derek out of my head and concentrate on the party. I join the guys on the team and we shoot the shit. Talking hockey and girls while playing beer pong.
I’m not even sure how much time passes or how many beers I’ve had, but the world is spinning and I’m sure I’m seeing double, but I’m having fun and that uneasy feeling that was haunting me before is gone. There’s no tightness in my chest. Nothing’s impeding me from breathing. No dark thoughts going through my mind.
Guys laugh when another ball goes into my cup. Tossing the cup back, I feel some of the beer slip down my chin. I down the cup and put it back on the table, wiping my chin with the back of my hand. Somehow in the process, I lose my balance, and I would’ve fallen on my ass if it weren’t for one of my teammates standing behind me.
“You should slow down, Sanders.”
I shake my head stubbornly. “Nah, I’m good, man. I just need to take a leak.”
I wave him off when he offers to help me and stumble out of the room.
The hallway is quieter, and the sudden change in light blacks my vision. Gripping the wall to regain my balance, I close my eyes until the black spots are gone before I continue walking.
The downstairs bathroom is always full, so I stumble up the stairs where I know Drew doesn’t allow people to wander.
It feels like forever before I reach the top. I open every door I pass until I find the bathroom.
I take a piss, and as I’m washing my hands, I look at my reflection in the mirror. There are two of me, and my drunk self finds it funny because I start chuckling, the almost frantic sound echoing against the tiles.
Although it’s Halloween, I opted for a Wolves hoodie and dark jeans. It’s not like helping Derek with his plan left me with time for costume shopping. My dark hair is disheveled, light stubble covering my jaw. My pupils are dilated, eyes glassy with darkish circles underneath them.
Basically, I’m a mess.
Splashing some water over my face, I hope it helps me with sobering up. I’m not the one driving, but I know Jeanette will rip me a new one if she sees me like this.
As presentable as possible at the moment, I walk out, only to crash into a body outside the bathroom.
The person, much smaller than me, stumbles from the impact. I try to save her from falling, but as we established earlier, my reflexes are shit when I’m drunk, so we both end up falling to the floor in a mess of limbs.
“Uff…”
“I’m so sorr—” I try to lean on my forearm, but at the same time, she attempts to put her hand down so she can push up. Our limbs lock together, making me lose my balance and fall forward.
I catch a flash of blond hair with blue and pink tips. Heavy, slightly smudged make-up on her face. Her eyes grow wide as I crash into her. I try to prevent the impact, but it’s no use. My body falls on hers, much smaller and softer, kicking the air out of her lungs. Her lips part just as mine land on hers.
A brush.
Barely a touch.
That’s all it is.
Barely a touch, yet I can’t help but feel how soft her lips are.
It’s been long, so long since I kissed a girl. So long I forgot how good it felt.
Running my hands over their soft curves, feeling the silkiness of their skin underneath my rough palms. Kissing those velvet lips as sexy, feminine perfume surrounds me.
The image of Lia enters my brain. Is she kissing Derek right now? But as soon as the question forms, I push it back.
It’s so fucked up. Thinking about one girl while having another one in my arms. Wrong on so many levels. Inexcusable. Especially since the girl I’m thinking about isn’t somebody I can have. Isn’t somebody I can even think of having. Because she was never mine to begin with.
Irritated and angry at myself, I swipe my lips over hers.
A punishment and a distraction.
Tentative.
Questioning.
Those big eyes, somehow familiar, grow even wider, but I can feel her lips tremble underneath mine, and then they return my kiss.
Slowly, so freaking slowly, she brushes her mouth against mine and it feels like heaven. I groan loudly, the gentle movement the only invitation I need.
My tongue slides through her parted lips, meeting hers and stealing a soft moan from somewhere deep in her throat as velvet meets velvet.
I disentangle my hands from hers furiously. Cupping her cheeks, my eyelids fall shut. I angle her head so that my tongue can slip deeper into her mouth.
There is no finesse to my touch.
Just pure. Fucking. Need.
Her hands grip my hips, pulling me down as she arches up, body meeting body. My dick reacts to the touch, growing harder in my jeans. With every thrust of my tongue in her mouth, she arches into my touch, our lower halves grinding together as denim rubs against denim.
The kiss breaks as her head falls back, her tits brushing against my chest with a sharp intake of breath.
Not discouraged in the slightest, I let my mouth trail her jaw and down her neck, licking and nibbling her soft flesh. Honey and wildflowers overwhelm my senses as I brush my nose down the column of her neck.
Her hands run up my back, feeling my muscles tense underneath her fingers, over my shoulders and neck until they tangle in my hair, pulling me back for another wild kiss.
Tongues mashing together.
Teeth grazing.
Mouths devouring.
Wild.
Free.
All-consuming.
Her kiss sets me free and grounds me at the same time.
My penance and salvation all wrapped into one tiny girl I’m not even sure I know.
Her nails scratch my skin, making me hiss as my groin meets hers.
“Yes, just like…” I run my hands down her sides, feeling the soft curves. Gripping the round globes of her ass, I grind our hips together, feeling her hotness even through the layers separating us.
“M-more…”
Our movements are frantic as we try to feel more of each other. One of my hands slips underneath her shirt, trailing her soft stomach, brushing the underside of her boob, feeling its weight in my palm before I give it a firm squeeze.
She mumbles something incomprehensible, her hands scratching down my back. And it takes everything in me not to rip our clothes off and get lost in her tight little body.
“Gosh, Lia, you’re driving me crazy…”
My hips continue grinding against hers, hand unclasping her bra so I can slip my fingers beneath the material and grip at her soft flesh without any barriers. My fingers pinch her nipple, the bud reacting to my touch instantly.
And then her hands push against my chest.
“What the—”
I stumble backward, falling on my ass as she quickly wobbles back to her feet. It takes me a moment to lift my head because my mind is spinning. Maybe it’s the alcohol still running through my veins or maybe it’s because those fervent kisses deprived me of oxygen for too long.
My eyes narrow as I try to see clearly. The blond wig is crooked. Her red lipstick smeared around her mouth from our kisses. Her mouth pressed in a thin line.
Displeasure? Anger? Resignation?
The fuck if I know. I’m not even sure what I did wrong. One moment we were grinding against one another and the next…
“Fuck…”
The realization of what I did hits me like a train wreck. I rub my hand over my face, tryi
ng to wrap my head around how I could be so stupid to… no, just no.
Suddenly completely sober, I force myself to lift my gaze and actually look at her. Look at her face. Eyes that looked somewhat familiar only moments ago—a pair of deep-set, field-green emeralds—are like a punch to my gut, making me double over.
“B-brook,” I stutter, looking at her, completely stupefied. What the hell have I done? “I’m…”
Her whole body is tense, face hard as she looks down at me. Moments ago, she was melting in my arms, and now I can see walls closing around her.
“This”—she wiggles her finger between the two of us, a cold, serious expression on her face—“never happened.”
She shakes her head from above, and then without giving me a chance to explain, not that I’d know what to say to make this even remotely right, she turns around and walks away.
Another frustrated swipe over my face leaves red smudges on my fingertips. Her lipstick. My hand forms a fist, and as it falls down I let it punch the floor, enjoying the sting that runs through my hand from the impact.
“Fuck, just… fuck!”
Chapter Two
MAX
“Sanders.” When I hear my name called, I lift my head and meet Coach’s reflection in the mirror. “My office. Now.”
Some of the guys give me wary looks before they return to their reps. Straightening from the lunge, I put down the weights in my hands and grab my towel, wiping at my sweaty face.
Hockey season is in full swing now, and the coach is working us hard. Gym before classes, ice time after. Not that we mind. Everybody here knows what’s at stake, and if we want to go to the playoffs and play in the Ice Globe Tournament, we have to be in the best possible shape.
I’m not sure what Coach wants from me; it’s not like he makes a habit of asking us to stop by his office. If he does, he either needs something or he’s going to give us a piece of his mind. And since I am fairly certain I didn’t mess anything up... I guess I’ll find out soon enough.
Exiting the gym, I walk down the hall and knock once lightly on his open door. “Coach?”
“Close the door,” he says curtly. “Sit.”
He’s going through some papers in front of him, barely sparing me a glance. Slightly nervous, I dry my sweaty palms against my nylon shorts before I step inside and do as he asked.
Folding my tall frame into one of the two chairs across from him, I wait. It feels like forever, the silence in the room almost deafening. When he’s finally done, he looks through another stack of papers and puts one in front of me before leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest.
“Care to explain?”
I swallow the lump in my throat before my eyes fall downward, looking at the paper. Words are blurry, letters mixing together as always, but even I know what this is.
“Coach?”
“Don’t you ‘coach’ me, Sanders!” he roars. Coach leans forward, his eyes boring into mine. He’s furious. “Why is one of my starting players failing not one, not two, but three of his classes?”
I cringe at his words. I mean, I knew I wasn’t the best student, but this… It’s not even surprising he’s pissed.
“I didn’t hear an answer!”
“It’s just…” I start, but really, what’s there to say? I suck at studying? My brain likes to mix up words so I don’t understand shit of what I read, or try to? My sister’s been acting weird again so I can’t really go to her for help, and she’s the only one who understands how my fucked-up brain works? The only one who knows how to get anything into this thick skull of mine so that I can get decent enough grades to pass.
All of it’s just a bunch of excuses that the coach won’t buy, so I don’t even try.
“Just what?”
“Nothing.” I shake my head. “I’ll do better.”
“You better. You’re excelling at math and physics, but your language and history grades are shit. I talked to your teachers. They agreed to give you a make-up test on Wednesday afternoon. If you don’t pass…”
“I’ll pass,” I say quickly, not even letting him finish the sentence.
We both know what’s at stake.
Not passing isn’t an option.
No grades. No hockey. No championship. No playing on the next level.
A vicious circle makes the bile rise in my throat. If only I could play without worrying about the grades. But life doesn’t work that way.
“You better,” he repeats and gives me another one of his stern looks. “I’ll talk to the guidance counselor and get you a tutor or…”
“That’s not necessary.”
“Sanders…” He runs his hand through his graying hair.
“I’m fine, really. I’ll ask Anette for help. It’s just been a crazy few weeks and…”
Dark eyes stare into mine for a while, until he finally gives in.
“I hope you know what you’re doing.”
You and me both, Coach. You and me both.
Then he turns back to his papers, dismissing me. “Get your ass to the library. I’ll excuse you from homeroom so you can get more studying in.”
“Yes, Coach.”
“Don’t disappoint me.” His gruff voice makes my whole body tense.
Just what I needed. More pressure. Like my future hanging by a thread isn’t enough.
Chapter Three
BROOK
“This looks stunning, Brook.” The sudden comment surprises me, making me jolt in my seat. School doesn’t start for another hour, so I thought I’d have some peace and quiet.
I turn around, facing the older woman. “Mrs. Brown, you scared me.”
Her lips spread in an apologetic smile, making the wrinkles around her lips and eyes more prominent.
“I’m so sorry, my dear. I thought you heard me. I wasn’t that quiet when I got here.”
Gazing over her shoulder, I see her handbag and a couple of plastic bags laid down on the desk.
“I guess I was in the zone.” I shrug, turning back to the canvas I was working on. I tilt my head to the side, observing it critically.
Soft steps come closer, and although I want to hide my painting so she can’t see it, I surpass the urge.
Mrs. Brown stops right behind me, her wrinkled hands touching my shoulders. My whole body tenses at her nearness, but I push the uncomfortable feeling away.
I took this class because it seemed like an easy way to get credits, and I always liked to doodle to pass the time. Contrary to my beliefs, I learned fast enough Mrs. Brown may seem like an old, fragile lady—newsflash, she’s anything but. When it comes to art, she has a no-nonsense policy. If you’re here, you’re here to work.
And, as it turns out, I’m not half bad.
I’m not trying to fool myself into believing there could be something more to my abilities. I’m not dreaming of being discovered and becoming a famous artist.
This, my art and stolen hours before classes start for the day, is something that belongs only to me. And when you come from the wrong side of the tracks, things that are only yours are hard to find and even harder to keep, so you hold on to them for dear life.
Mrs. Brown helped me transform those doodles into something more. Something that even I can’t deny looks breathtaking.
Breathtaking and personal.
So personal that she’s the only one I let see it, and even that reluctantly. Guess you can’t hide what you’re working on if the person lets you use her space and materials for free. Whenever you want it, no less. She’s been trying to persuade me to enter competitions, put my art out there, but my answer is always the same. Hell no. No way am I showing this to anybody else.
It’s personal.
It’s mine.
Coming from the deepest, darkest part of me.
A part I don’t let anybody see.
Vulnerable and naked, that’s how I feel every time she watches one of my projects.
I tried separating it. Separating my art from
my experience, my life, but when I paint, my brain turns off and my hand gets a will of its own. There is no way of knowing what will await me once I take a step back and actually see the canvas in front of me.
“This is so…” She stops, and I can imagine her amber eyes taking in every line, every color. Weighing it. Analyzing it. “Angsty.”
Angry is more like it.
“That’s one way of putting it,” I agree.
“He’s in love with her?”
I look at the scene painted on the canvas. The way the black ink mixes with different shades of grays and red.
A lone guy on the sidelines, his posture stiff as his eyes stay glued to the girl standing in the middle of the room. She’s surrounded by people, faceless, nameless people, who don’t mean a thing because he’s watching her, but she doesn’t see him. Doesn’t even glance his way.
I shrug, not bothering to say anything when the canvas is giving the answer loud and clear.
“It’s in his eyes,” she continues, still focused on the painting. “Oh, to be young and in love.”
Her dreamy sigh makes me frown. “And that is something to sigh about? She broke his heart.”
Brook Taylor, always the realist.
“Better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.”
“Alfred Tennyson.” I roll my eyes. “British Romantic. Excuse me if I don’t share your enthusiasm.”
Mrs. Brown looks at me with curious eyes. “Have you ever been in love, Brook?”
“Can’t say I have, ma’am.”
Love is just a hindrance. It makes you weak and vulnerable. You open yourself up for people to see, even if it’s just a glimpse, and they’ll find weaknesses to exploit. People hurt people. And those who are closest to you have the most power to do so.
A small smile curls her lips as she looks at me. I don’t know what she finds so funny, but I don’t care enough to ask.
“One day you will, and then you’ll understand.” Her hand gives my shoulder a squeeze, light eyes staring into mine. “Love works in mysterious ways, Brook. Some are lucky enough to find their forever love on the first try, but the rest of us have to work for it. We fall in love with different people, only to figure out they’re not right for us. But at the time they were right. Everybody who comes into your life is there for a reason. Everybody. Don’t forget that. You can try to resist it, you can try to run away from it, but love will find you and it’ll make you fall nonetheless.”