The Locker Room

by Quinn, Meghan

  Farkle scoops the ball up and sweeps across the field. One, two, three steps.

  Jesus Christ.

  Looks like I’m going to be taking this guy to the side and working on his release.

  “Thirty pushups, everyone,” Disik yells while flipping the bat and walking up to Farkle, hovering over him as he counts out every single pushup.

  A few “Fuck you, Farkles” are said while grunting out pushups.

  Once we’re done, we pick up our gloves, and Coach lets out another warning to the freshman to do it right or we’re spending the rest of practice conditioning.

  “She’s a good girl, Gent,” Carson says while we intently watch Farkle get into position. “I wouldn’t want to see her get hurt.”

  “When have I ever hurt a girl?” I ask. What the hell?

  “When have you ever been this willing to be with someone, rather than just fucking around? I’ve never seen you serious about a girl.”

  “Which means I won’t fuck this up.”

  Farkle scoops the ball up, takes one step, then shoots the ball across the field.

  Thank God.

  “Was that too much to ask?” Disik yells. “Jesus Christ, get in the back of the line.”

  “Or, you care too much that you will fuck it up.”

  “What the hell is your problem?” I ask Carson.

  “Nothing, just be careful, man.” He steps up into position and just as the ball is hit, he dives to the left, catches the ball, hops to his feet, and throws the ball over to first in one smooth motion. He’s the best second baseman in the country. He has the stats to prove it and mechanics to make any coach drool, even Disik, who nods his head in approval.

  Even though I’m good at blocking out unnecessary shit when on the field, it’s hard not to think about what Carson said as I’m getting into position.

  I’m not going to screw this up. I might not have ever really cared this much, but that means I’m going to work harder when it comes to Emory. Because she’s worth that.

  Disik grounds a ball out to me and it bounces high, hitting me in the chest. Not even flinching, I grab the ball with my right hand and throw it to first. It wasn’t clean, but it was effective.

  “Good recovery,” Diski yells, but I drown it out when I walk up next to Carson.

  Muttering under my breath, I say, “I’m not going to fuck it up.”

  “I sure hope not, because she’s perfect for you.”

  I couldn’t agree more.

  * * *

  I check my phone for the hundredth time of the night and when it reads blank, I subtly pound the back of my head against the wall.

  What the fuck?

  I left a message on student chat for Emory, letting her know to get here around eight, and it’s now nine thirty and there’s no sign of her. Trust me, I’ve been scanning the party every five minutes, making circles like I’m herding cattle, looking for one girl and one girl alone.

  Is she really not going to fucking show?

  I know she said she would think about it, but hell, we’ve been playing this little cat and mouse game for a while now, so I thought that was her coy way of saying she’d spend the night with me rather than actually saying it.

  Boy, was I fucking wrong.

  I drag my hand through my styled hair—yeah, I fucking styled it—and scan the room once more as Carson comes up to my side and holds a beer out to me. I have yet to take a drink of anything tonight in the hopes I would be spending my evening with Emory.

  “Dude, I hate to say it but I don’t think she’s coming.”

  I take the beer from him but hold the bottle at my side, not in the mood to drink. Give me five minutes when the bitterness of the night starts to kick in.

  “I think I might punch someone,” I say, clenching my fist at my side, my anger starting to boil over. “Fuck, I don’t understand. I’ve done everything right. I get that her boyfriend was a dick and I sort of remind her of him, but fuck, I’m a goddamn different person. She should at least give me a chance to show that.”

  “Yeah, I don’t know what to say, man,” Carson replies while pulling a sip from his bottle. “Hey, aren’t those her friends?”

  “What?” My head snaps to where Carson is pointing. Sure enough, Lindsay and Dottie are gathered by the beer pong table, laughing and having a jolly fucking time.

  Does that mean Emory’s here?

  I whip my phone out again, but there’s nothing.

  “Is she here? Did I miss her?”

  “Nah, Brock would have told me. He’s manning the door. I told him to text me when she got here so I could let you know. He said he hasn’t seen her.”

  “Motherfucker.” I grind down on my teeth. “What the hell. So her friends came but she didn’t? Hell . . . now I’m pissed.” I start to walk toward my room to give Emory a piece of my mind when Carson grabs my shoulder, stopping me in place.

  “This was what I was talking about at practice. Take a deep breath and try to think about this rationally. Maybe there’s a reason she’s not here.”

  “Other than her stringing me along? I’m a fucking moron.”

  “Dude, seriously, calm down.”

  “Don’t tell me to calm down.” I shrug my shoulder away. “She should have at least said she wasn’t coming.” I pull on my hair and look over at her friends. “I’m going to get answers.”

  “Don’t do it, Knox.”

  But it’s too late. I’m already headed in their direction, anger simmering at the base of my skull, tensing my shoulders and clenching my jaw.

  “Ladies,” I say in greeting. They both turn around and when they make eye contact with me, both of their mouths fall open and they cringe at the same time. That’s a weird reaction.

  I go to ask where Emory is when Dottie presses her hand against my forearm. “Holy shit, we completely forgot to tell you. Oh my God, Emory is going to kill us, you can’t tell her.”

  “Tell her what?” I ask, my emotions rocketing from pure anger to concerned curiosity.

  “She wanted us to send you a message when we got here. She has a migraine and couldn’t make it.”

  And concern turns to anger again.

  Lame fucking excuse.

  “That’s the best she could do? A migraine? She could have at least faked breaking her leg or something. Given me an excuse a little more memorable.”

  They exchange glances and then Lindsay says, “No, she really has a migraine. She gets chronic migraines. They take her out. Ever since middle school. She can’t move and or open her eyes. She lies in darkness, waiting for it to subside.”

  “Sure.” I roll my eyes. “Tell her I hope she gets better.”

  I go to walk away when a hand pulls on me. I turn to find Dottie pleading with me. “We’re not lying, Knox.” She holds a keycard out to me. “Go see for yourself. She’s in complete darkness right now.”

  I eye the keycard. “How do I know you won’t text her the minute I leave?”

  They both reach into their pockets and hand me their phones. “Knox, please don’t give up on her. Her stupid-ass boyfriend was an absolute bastard, and he hurt her, so yeah, she’s guarded. We lost her for a few years, and would tell you to fuck off if we didn’t think you were good for her,” Lindsay says. “Take our phones, give them to one of your teammates, and when you see we’re not lying, you can text him to give them back. She’s really sick right now.”

  “Threw up twice already,” Dottie adds. “Something I’m sure she doesn’t want you to know. It was so bad she couldn’t have any lights on, so she asked us to tell you she couldn’t make it. We got a little distracted and that’s on us, we’re so sorry, but please don’t be mad at her. She wanted to be here. She even picked out a cute skirt to wear. She was coming, Knox, she really was.”

  Shit.

  I think they’re telling the truth.

  I drag my hand through my hair again and check the time on my watch. “How long has she been alone?”

  “An hour at least.
We got here a little late.”

  “Shit. Okay.” I take the keycard and pocket it. “Suite three ten, right?”

  “Yes.” When I go to walk away, Dottie says, “Don’t you want our phones?”

  I shake my head. “No, I trust you.”

  I take off toward my room, stuff a bunch of shit in my backpack, zip it up, and pocket my car keys. Looks like I’m spending my night in the dorms, something I haven’t done since I was a freshman, but the choice to be next to Emory, especially when she needs someone in her corner? No-brainer.

  Chapter Fourteen

  EMORY

  Deep breaths.

  Just like that.

  With a face mask over my eyes, I roll to the side and let out a long breath, trying not to get nauseous from the movement. But my hip is hurting from being on my left for so long that I need to rotate, slowly.

  Every month, like clockwork, I get migraines that seem to cut me off at the knees. I was getting ready to see Knox when the nausea hit. A few minutes later, the pain behind my eyes struck, followed quickly by severe sinus pain. Shit. I knew at that moment I wasn’t going anywhere but horizontal. Once a migraine hits, there’s nothing I can do but let my body rest. I tried drinking water, threw some Ibuprofen at it, even some Icy Hot on my neck and shoulders, although nothing made a dent. The migraine hit me head-on—no pun intended—and I was out. Completely immobilized.

  After throwing up twice, I was able to make it to my bed and turn off the lights with the help of Lindsay and Dottie. They set me up with a dark room, a trash bin next to my bed in case I was sick again, and a big cup of water.

  I asked them to let Knox know, feeling terrible, but there is no way I would have been able to make it out of my room, my bed, let alone to a party. Noise. Movement. Light. All too much.

  No, this is where I’m staying tonight.

  I finally get into my new position, my head pounding relentlessly. I hear the door to our suite open, but I have no recollection of time at this point, so I’m assuming it’s Lindsay and Dottie. When the door to my room partly opens, bringing in a little bit of light, I’m grateful for my eye mask.

  “How was the party?” I croak. “Were you able to tell Knox I couldn’t make it?”

  “They did,” a deep voice comes from the other side of the room, startling me.

  “Knox?” I push my eye mask up and blink a few times, letting my pupils adjust to the sliver of light in the room.

  “No, don’t move.” He’s quickly at my side, setting a backpack down and sitting on the mattress. His hand goes to my head where he lightly strokes my hair. “Hey you. Are you okay?”

  I squeeze my eyes shut and take a deep breath as my head continues to pound. “Nope,” I squeak out.

  “Shit, okay. What can I do?”

  “Shut the door.”

  “Sure.” He gets up and shuts the door. He returns to my side and strokes my forehead with his thumb. “What else? Can I get you anything to eat, drink? Any medicine? Heating pads?”

  “No. Can’t think about eating anything right now.”

  “Understandable. Have you thrown up again?”

  “Oh God, they told you that?”

  “Yeah, and I’m glad they did. My mom had headaches like this, and do you know what would help her?”

  “What?” I ask, draping my hand over my head.

  “My dad. He always helped.” I hear Knox kick off his shoes and then he climbs over me so he’s behind me. He scoots under the covers carefully, obviously trying not to rock the mattress too much, and slides his body against mine. “Is it okay if I hold you?”

  “When have you ever cared about asking?” I chuckle.

  “I don’t want to hurt you.”

  He’d never hurt me. I know that at this point. Abandoning a party to make sure I was okay? That’s coming from a man who doesn’t have a hurtful bone in his body.

  And honestly, at this point, there’s no fight left in me. It seems inevitable. No matter how hard I try to keep my distance, he’s going to be in my life.

  “I’m not going to break,” I tell him, and then I take a leap of faith. “Hold me, Knox. I want you to hold me.”

  His hand slides around my stomach and instead of pulling me into his chest, he moves his body closer to mine carefully. How he knows not to rattle me too much is astounding. Never once did Neil care for me in this compassionate, thoughtful, and selfless way. Knox’s touch is gentle, soothing, and when he finally fits himself along my body, I can feel my muscles start to relax, and I melt into him.

  “Is that okay?” he whispers, his voice like a velvety caress over my bare shoulder.

  “Perfect,” I sigh. “Thank you.”

  He kisses my shoulder and says, “Get some sleep, Em. I’m not going anywhere.”

  And he doesn’t.

  * * *

  The first thing that wakes me up the next morning isn’t the sun beaming through my dorm window, nor is it Lindsay’s morning jams subtly coming through the wall. It’s the large hand that’s splayed across my stomach, a gentle thumb moving up and down the silk fabric of my camisole.

  My migraine is gone, but my muscles are still tense in my neck, which always happens, but I’ll take it over the incessant pounding in my head.

  “Are you awake?” Knox’s voice whispers, his breath minty fresh, his body lying on top of the covers.

  I peek an eye open to find him hovering over me, a concerned look on his face.

  I bring my sheet up to my mouth and say, “Hey.”

  He smiles. “Good morning. How are you feeling?”

  “Much better, thank you.” I take him in and notice his hair is wet. “Did you take a shower?”

  He nods. “Didn’t think you’d want to hang out with me after my morning conditioning.”

  “You worked out?” My eyes pop open even more. “It’s a Sunday, you have conditioning on a Sunday?”

  “Just a quick morning run, not the entire team, just me.”

  “What is quick in your book?”

  “Two miles.”

  “Oh.” I twist so I’m lying on my back. “That is quick.”

  “Felt stiff, wanted to loosen up a bit.” He shakes his shoulders. “I like your shampoo, smells all fruity and shit.”

  “You used my soap?”

  “And towel,” he says unapologetically.

  Who is this guy?

  I slowly sit up and rub my eyes with my hands, needing the bathroom immediately from all the water I drank last night. I throw the blankets off me and start to get off my high bed when Knox grabs my arm and helps me. I’m about to tell him I’m not a ninety-year-old, but when my feet hit the ground and I wobble, I’m grateful for the assist.

  “Bathroom?”

  “Yeah, but I can do that myself.” I laugh and pat his hand.

  I quickly pee, brush my teeth, and give myself a brief once-over in my mirror. Silk pajama set, no bra, and bedhead . . . could be worse. No. He’s already seen worse. I tame my hair a little, pinch some color into my cheeks, and then walk into my bedroom where Knox is sitting on my mattress, hands behind him, propping him up. His eyes burn a trail up my body and stop directly at my chest.

  My nipples are hard, I know they are, I can feel them pointing against the silk fabric of my camisole, but with zero shame, I walk toward him.

  He licks his lips and sits up as I reach him, his eyes lazy, his hands falling to my hips.

  I reach out and caress his cheek, his stubble rough against the palm of my hand, a delicious feeling I completely forgot about up until now.

  How is that possible, to forget the feeling of a man’s coarse cheek under my touch? It should be something I crave, something I long for, but then again, Neil changed that. He changed everything about our relationship as we grew older. He took the simple things away from me like my right to touch him intimately. I tried, but toward the end he always pushed me away when I tried to hug him, or his kisses were barely a peck on my cheek if I was lucky.

  I
miss this, being intimate with another human without being overtly sexual.

  “I’m sorry I ruined your plans last night.”

  He wastes no time in pulling me between his legs, keeping me in place with his hands. He’s such a big man and since my bed is higher than normal to fit storage underneath, he’s looking down at me.

  “You didn’t ruin everything. Plus, I can see perfectly down your shirt right now, which is a pleasant morning surprise.”

  I roll my eyes and attempt to push away from him but instead he hops off the bed, picks me up, and carefully places me on the bed where he joins me, his large body eating up the entire mattress.

  “Next time we spend the night together, it’ll be at my place because your bed is tiny.”

  “You think there’s going to be another time?”

  Lying on his side next to me, his upper half hovers over my body, deliciously trapping me in place.

  His fingers trail up the side of my arm, a shiver spreading over my skin.

  “There will be another time.”

  “You’re so sure of yourself.”

  “Babe, your nipples are so goddamn hard, so if that’s any indication, there will be a second time.”

  My face flushes but I don’t let it deter me. “That’s just how my nipples are in the morning, excited for sunshine.”

  He laughs. “Yeah, they’re not excited for anything else?” His fingers glide over my collarbone and I swear, my nipples grow even harder. Is that even possible?

  “Nope,” I answer, even though it’s a weak nope from me having to catch my breath.

  He lowers his head to mine, inches apart as his hand travels down my arm to the hem of my shirt. Not waiting for a go-ahead, his hand slips under my shirt, and his fingers spread over my stomach.

  I suck in a sharp breath, and for some reason, my legs fall open. He’s nowhere near that area, but that doesn’t stop my body from reacting. A deep, needy throb starts to ache between my legs as his hand travels higher to my ribcage. I shift underneath him, realizing how much I want him to touch me, kiss me, do wicked things to my body, not even caring that my two best friends are a wall away.