by Fox, Cathryn
I walk down the hall, and fist pump a few guys from the team, and note the surprised look in their eyes as their gazes go from me to Ivy. They’re not the only ones who are surprised. I’m surprised. Ivy stops outside the auditorium door, goes up on her toes and presses a kiss to my lips.
“Later, babe,” she says, and gives a shake to her jean-clad ass before disappearing inside. I stand there for a second longer, my brain not working so great. Someone bumps me from behind and it sets me in to motion. I absently head down the hall until I reach my class. The next few hours go by slowly, as I sit in class but take in nothing the prof is saying. I’m going to have to ask Ella about last night. I fucking need to know what truly went down in my bedroom last night.
Once my day is finished, I head to the locker room, change into my gear and walk onto the field for practice. I search for Brady, and he comes running up behind me and jumps on my back.
“You disappeared early last night, dude.”
“Yeah.” I shrug him off.
“Heard you were with Ivy.”
“Wow, you guys gossip like a bunch of old women.”
He circles me, and narrows his eyes. “What the fuck?” Clearly he’s picking up on my mood.
I kick the ground with my cleats. “Listen, you saw Ella there last night, right?” I ask, and he gives me a look like I might have taken a toke from the wrong pipe.
“Uh, yeah we all did. You and I had a conversation about her, remember?”
“Okay, just checking.” Good to know I’m not losing my mind or hallucinating.
He puts his hand on my shoulder. “What’s going on? I haven’t seen you this stressed since…” He lets his words fall off. We don’t talk about the incident that left my face scarred.
“Fuck,” I say. “I think I slept with Ella and Ivy both last night.” I put my hand up, palm toward him, to forestall what I know is coming next. “At different times, but now I’m not sure of anything.”
Brady continues to stare at me. “Dude, you’re not making any sense.”
“My room was dark, and I walked in and found Ella there.” I scrub my face. “At least I think it was Ella. Yeah, I’m sure it was. Today, though she’s acting like it never happened and I woke up with Ivy in my bed.” Brady gives a low slow whistle. “Yeah, I know,” I say. “Fucked.”
“That’s about as fucked as it gets. You’re going to have to talk to Ella.”
“She’s coming over tonight to help me study. You still going out with your Dad for dinner?”
His face scrunches up. He and his dad don’t get along, and his dad puts him under a tremendous amount of pressure to make it to the big leagues.
“Yeah, you have the place to yourself. If dinner ends early, I’ll go hang out with the guys.”
I nod. “Thanks.” The coach blows his whistle.
“I’ll be okay, Landon. You get this all figured out. Ivy though, hey. I guess she marked you as this semester’s boy toy.”
“Looks that way. Didn’t even think I was her type.”
“Don’t let the scars concern you. Girls dig them.” He touches his flawless face. “Thought about giving myself a few.”
I laugh, and throw my arm around him. “You don’t want to ruin this pretty-boy face, Brady.”
He fake punches my gut as we walk to the coach, and for the next hour we practice. I’m a sweaty mess when we finish, and stay in the shower for an extra minute, thinking about Ella as I scrub my skin clean.
Back at home, I search the fridge and decide to whip up some pasta. I pull the ingredients out and my phone buzzes. My pulse leaps, hoping it’s Ella. I pray she hasn’t changed her mind on tonight. I swipe my phone from my backpack, and frown at Ivy’s message.
Ivy: What time should I come over? You know you owe me.
Me: I actually have to study tonight. Need to pass English or I’ll get kicked off the team.
Ivy: Well that sucks. Want me to help you study?
Me: No, Coach found a great tutor for me. I’m good.
She begins to text back, and for a long time I watch the three dots. Her message must be a long one.
Ivy: Raincheck?
Me: Yeah, talk soon.
I guess whatever it was she was going to say, she must have changed her mind. I run my fingers over my phone, and before I can think better of it, I shoot a text to Ella.
Me: Hungry?
I wait a long time, and I’m about to toss my phone, figuring she was either busy or wasn’t going to answer, when her text pops up.
Ella: This is why you wanted my number? To check on my appetite?
I grin. Is Ella playing with me? I’m not sure but I’m going to play along.
Me: You’re tutoring me tonight. I don’t want you hangry. I have sisters, and that never turns out well for me.
Ella: No worries. I always keep granola bars and juice packs in my bag. I won’t be hangry.
Me: Ah, to be twelve again. Seriously though, I’m making pasta.
Ella: Carbs, mmm, my favorite.
Me: I knew you weren’t like those other girls who only eat salads.
Ella: Are you calling me fat, L?
Fuck. She just called me L. I grin, liking that.
Me: No, I like to keep my balls intact, that’s all.
Shit, shit, shit. Why did I bring up my balls?
Ella: Now you’re saying I’m a ball buster?
I laugh out loud at that, relieved I hadn’t offended her.
Me: You’re perfect, E.
I wait a long time, my stomach tight, my breath hissing from my lungs. Did I just blow this?
Ella: Will this pasta be edible?
Me: Only one way to find out. See you in thirty minutes.
Three dots appear, like she’s writing a long message and Jesus, I can’t believe how fast my heart is racing at the thought of her coming here, of seeing her again. I can’t believe Ella is still going to come over, especially after the look on her face when Ivy wrapped herself around me this morning. That thought gives me pause. Truthfully, with a career in the NFL on the line, I shouldn’t be involved with any girl. I should be studying, and avoiding any kind of distraction, and that’s exactly what Ella is. A distraction. I have no idea why I am pulled toward her, or what it is about her that fascinates me. She’s different from the girls in our circle, and I like that about her. Okay, maybe I did sleep with her, maybe I didn’t, but either way, it’s time to move past that and sharpen my focus on my schoolwork. As much as I hate to admit it, there can’t be anything between us, especially after what happened between Ivy and me in the theater. Fuck. That sort of cemented my relationship with Ella right then and there. I don’t want to hurt Ella. I won’t, which means we can only ever be friends, despite the insane tension between us.
Ella: Later, L.
I drop my phone and stare at it, a stupid grin on my face as I read over our messages. A car horn blaring outside and pulls me back, and I walk into the living room and turn on the music. I head to my bedroom, and stop when I find my bed unmade, having left Ivy in it this morning. I had dressed in the dimly lit room, and ran out like the house was on fire. I’m about to pull the covers up when I notice drops of blood on the sheet.
Shit.
I sink down onto the mattress, and exhale a long breath. Fuck me. Is that Ella’s blood, because she gave me her virginity? Shit, I am so not worthy of that gift, and seeing those droplets convince me a little more that it was her in bed with me. Why is she acting like it never happened? Is that what she wants? To just pretend nothing happened, because she doesn’t want anything more from me?
I tug the sheets off, toss the comforter back on the bed, and put the sheets in the washer. I go back to my room to change into a clean pair of jeans and a polo shirt that’s been in the closet for ages. I’m not much of a collar guy, but I want to dress up for Ella.
I hurry back to the kitchen, and get the alfredo sauce cooking, suddenly grateful that my mother made her kids responsible. We all took turns cooki
ng, and over the years, I’ve gotten pretty good at it. I check my watch, and get the water boiling when someone raps at the door. My heart leaps into my throat and I work to calm myself. I rinse my hands, and hurry to the door. The second I pull it open and find Ella standing there in a pair of denim overalls, with a daisy on them, I lose my ability to speak. My God, could she be any more adorable? Her long hair is tucked under her ball cap, her freshly scrubbed face makeup-free, and I know in an instant I want to be more than friends with her.
Fuck me.
9
Ella
“Hi,” I say, and stand there trying to remember how to breathe as I take in the nice way Landon cleans up. Unable to help myself, I blatantly admire everything about him, from his scarred face, to the way his polo hugs his shoulders, right down to the loose-fitting jeans. The man has his own gravitational pull, and it’s all I can do to stop myself from leaning in. I take in his bare feet, his cute toes, and I swear to God my ovaries just clenched. What the hell is it about a guy in jeans and bare feet that gets to me? Honest to God, I have the strangest fetishes.
“Hi,” he responds after a long moment—like he’d forgotten how to talk—as he stands there staring back at me, his dark, haunted eyes a mixture of confusion and angst. Wait, is he having second thoughts on dinner, or me tutoring him? Clearly, he’s with Ivy now, and over the last couple of hours, after a few hard lectures, I came to terms with that.
Aren’t you tired of conceding to your sister, Ella?
I cringe as that inner voice taunts me. The truth is, Landon and I are from very different circles and Ivy is more suitable for him, anyway. When she slept with him, she didn’t know I liked him, so how can I hold it against her? I’m not saying I don’t want something with him. I’m not saying I do, either. Besides, I’m not supposed to even like football players, and the fact that I do fills me with an incredible amount of guilt.
But now, as I stare at God’s gift to women, I realize we had one night of hot sex. He might not know it was me, but I’ll never forget that it was him. From here on out, we can only be friends—and maybe he doesn’t even want that. As that reality sinks in, I take a small step back and my knees wobble as I search for the handrail. His hand instantly reaches out and snatches my arm to pull me back. My body collides with his, and his hardness mashed against my softness is a clear reminder of the way he touched me last night.
“Careful,” he warns, his warm breath washing over my face. “The railing is loose and I don’t want you to fall.”
“Oh, thanks.” His head dips, and I breathe in the scent of his freshly showered skin. I have no idea what kind of soap he uses, but it’s quickly becoming my favorite. His lips linger inches from mine, and if I knew better, if I had one brain cell that worked properly in his presence, I’d step around him, and get straight to our tutoring.
You are just friends.
As I mentally recite that, his head snaps up, like someone just slapped him across the face—or maybe he can read my thoughts—and he backs away from me.
“I hope you like chicken alfredo,” he says, his voice husky as he gestures with a nod for me to follow as he heads down the hall toward the kitchen, his bare feet slapping the tile floor.
I kick my shoes off and following him as I rub my stomach, even though he can’t see me, and glance at the bare walls. In all the years they’ve had this house, they don’t have a single picture up. The place really needs a woman’s touch—it just won’t be mine.
“It’s only my favorite.”
I follow behind him and try not to stare at his perfect ass in those sexy, low slung jeans. It’s impossible, so I just go ahead and look my fill. I breathe in the delicious scents when we reach the kitchen and look at the pots on the stove.
Trying for casual, two friends about to have dinner together, I grin. “I’m impressed, Brooks.”
He smiles back at the use of his last name, and gives me a little nudge with his shoulder. “You should be, Holmes.” I pull a baguette from my backpack, and he glances at the brown paper bag. “That had better be homemade.”
I laugh at that. “Sorry, it’s not. If you don’t want it,” I make a move to shove it back into my bag when his hand snakes out to grab it. His fingers brush mine, linger for a moment, and my damn traitorous body tingles from the top of my head to the tips of my toes. He pulls the bread from my hand fast, like his hand was on fire, and puts it on the counter. Alrighty then. No touching. I get it. He’s with Ivy now.
“Point me in the direction of the knives and I’ll cut this up.” He pulls a knife from the drawer, and hands it over. “Cutting board?”
He produces a cutting board and I go to work on the bread as he drops the pasta into the boiling water, and stands beside me, watching me carefully. My body tenses, so aware of the man beside me and the way he’s tracking my every movement. I shift, a little uncomfortable under his inspection.
I cast him a fast glance. “Can I ask you something?” I begin and this time his entire body goes stiff. What? Is he worried I’m about to bring up last night? Does that mean he knows it was me?
“Yeah, sure.” He shoves his hands into his pockets, pulling his jeans down even more, and my synapses fire erratically at the sexy sight. How the hell does he expect me to carry on a conversation when he looks so damn slurpalicious—as Peyton would say?
The fresh scent of the still warm bread reaches my nostrils, and I poise the knife over the remainder of the loaf. “How well do you know Cameron Reid?”
His eyes darken, and his chest rises and falls with each breaths. There is a dark, warning look in his eyes when he asks, “Why?”
“He texted me.”
“Stay away from him. He’s trouble.”
I shrug. “He seems nice, and I’m a big girl, Landon. I can make my own decisions.” Why the hell am I bringing up Cameron? Is there a part of me that wants to see if he’ll react? God, have I become that girl?
His knuckles crack as he fists his fingers. “My sisters would tell me to mind my own business too, but I wouldn’t want any of them around Cameron either. Believe me, I’d go to great lengths to prevent it.” He grabs a wooden spoon and stirs the pasta and I like this protective side of him. “Did you give him your number?”
I cast him a fast glance, and I still the knife so I don’t cut myself. “I don’t even know how he got my number.”
“Well, it wasn’t me, if that’s what you’re wondering.”
I shake my head. “No, I didn’t think that.” We both go quiet for a moment, then I break it by replying, “He asked me if I wanted to go to the Growler and get a drink. I told him I was tutoring tonight.”
“Good, stay away from him.” The muscles along his jaw ripple as he clenches down. Does he even know he has that tic when he’s angry about something?
“What don’t you like about him?”
He grabs two plates from the cupboard and puts a strainer in the sink. “He’s a fucking man-whore Ella.”
My shoulder stiffen at the harshness in his voice, and I resist the urge to say, pot meet kettle. “You really don’t like him huh?”
He leans against the counter. “It’s more than that. I’ve watched him chew girls up and spit them out, just for the sport of it and believe me, you’re just his type.”
“What does that mean?” I ask, lifting my chin in a defensive move. How am I some guy’s type? And speaking of types I’m not sure Cameron is mine or even that I have one. One thing though, Landon never seemed like Ivy’s type to me.
“He likes the innocent ones. Bedding one is like a conquest to him. When he gets what he wants, he moves on.” He opens his mouth like he wants to say more, then shuts it again.
“Sounds like a lot of guys I know, actually.”
“Yeah, well at least a girl knows what she’s getting into when she’s with a footballer,” he states, owning up to the fact that he too is a man whore. “We’re pretty upfront about that. Cameron isn’t. He leads them on to believe he’s totally int
o them, then dumps them when he gets it. He’s a sick fuck like that.”
“Oh, I get it, and I’m not judging, Landon. I was just wondering what you knew about him.”
“Just please tell me you’ll stay away from him. If you don’t believe me, ask Ivy.”
My throat tightens at the mention of my sister, and I ask, “You have sisters too, huh?”
“Yes, and all four of them are a huge pain in my ass.” He laughs and it lightens the mood. He goes quiet, like he’s remembering a happy time and it’s clear how much he loves his family.
“You’re all close?”
“Yeah, we are. I’m the baby brother.” He shakes his head. “You wouldn’t believe the things they did to me, Ella. I mean, we’re talking dressing me up like I was one of their dolls. Humiliating, even at three years old.”
I laugh at that, and a new kind of comfort falls over us as he laughs with me. “That’s pretty scarring.”
“A lifetime of damage,” he agrees with a grin.
“Tell me,” I say, and channel Peyton as I go all counsellor on him. “Have you found yourself wanting to get into a pair of panties or a dress?” I hold my hands up, palms out, and wish to God I hadn’t brought up panties. What is wrong with you, girl? “Not that there is anything wrong with that.”
He laughs hard, then one brow lifts, mischief in his dark eyes. “Are you really asking me if I like getting into panties?”
Oh shit. I shake my head fast. “Wait, I didn’t mean it like that.” A loud groan crawls out of my throat, and heat moves into my cheeks. He lightly touches my arm, and his smile is playful when our eyes lock. “Foot meet mouth,” I blurt out.
“For the record no, I don’t wear girl’s clothes, but I’m not opposed to seeing them in mine.”
I nod, and my mind races back to last night, to when I slid into the shirt he was wearing to keep warm. I still have that shirt, and have no intentions of giving it back.