by E. M. Moore
“Can you help me pick the perfect outfit out for tonight? I guess it’s Mr. and Mrs. Ivy with a few of their friends. Sloan told me to where something fancy, but not too fancy.”
Mom turns, a smile on her face. “Men and their descriptions. What does fancy but not too fancy even mean?”
“Good question.”
Her eyes glitter, and she waves me toward the stairs. “Come on. I’m sure you’ve got something. Lord knows we’ve gone to plenty of parties.”
My mom and I spend the next couple hours picking out the perfect outfit and styling my hair. We don’t always get to do this because I’m not usually the ‘let’s do my hair’ kind of girl. Don’t get me wrong, I love to dress up, but I don’t need to dress up to practice, train, or play and I’m always practicing, training, and playing.
When Sloan rings the doorbell, my mom squeezes my shoulder as we look in the mirror. Then, she goes downstairs to let him in as I turn in the outfit we picked out. It’s a sleek navy blue dress that hugs my body but has a little flair to the skirt after my hips. Downstairs, I hear Sloan and my mom making small talk, so I hurry. The small heel I’m wearing doesn’t bother me as I descend the staircase. I’m not one for high heels. I’d spend the whole time tripping all over myself.
At the bottom of the steps, Sloan looks up past my mom once he hears me. His jaw drops a little and suddenly, I feel like I’m going to prom or something. “Too much?”
He shakes his head immediately. “It’s perfect. It’s just I’m used to seeing you in regular clothes or workout clothes.”
I gesture toward him. “You, too.” He’s wearing a dark gray suit with no tie. His hands are in his pockets, pushing his suit jacket back which only accentuates his toned figure. His brown hair is usually styled in a messy way. It still is tonight, but it’s in a gelled messy way that looks like he tried.
“Aren’t you two cute?” my mom says.
I blush hardcore and end up running down the rest of the stairs. I lean over to give my mom a kiss on the cheek. “I’ll be back later.”
“Have fun,” she calls out after us as Sloan opens the door.
A shiny black car is parked in the driveway. “What’s this?”
He shrugs. “Borrowed my dad’s beamer. I can’t take someone who looks as sexy as you around in a Jeep.”
I push his shoulder. “I like your Jeep.”
He pulls the passenger side door open for me and helps me in. Once I’m settled, he goes around the front and then stretches out in the driver’s seat. He looks over at me again. “You look beautiful, Tessa. My mother’s bitchy friends are going to be so jealous.”
“Jealous?”
“You know, because they’re old now and not even a hundred-dollar cream can make them look like they’re seventeen again.”
I shake my head, my chest bursting with laughter. “You’re awful.”
He starts the car, which turns on much quieter than my Mustang. It hums underneath us like a gentle purr. “I never said I wasn’t.” He keeps staring at me, his body half turned in the seat. “I kind of want to take you anywhere but my house right now. You’re too good for that.”
The way he says it catches my attention. Normally, I would just chalk this up as a Sloan thing to say, but there’s an emotion behind it that makes me think he’s got a million thoughts behind what he just said. Even though he looks better now, I still remember his tired eyes and the way he looked like he could burst at any moment. Reaching over, I grab his hand and squeeze. “I’m looking forward to this.”
He turns in the seat, dropping my hand. “Why?”
“Does because you’re going to be there count?”
He shakes his head, and then pulls out of the driveway. He doesn’t talk for a little while, but his fingers move, his eyes flash. He’s definitely thinking about something. The thing with Sloan is, I never know when I should pry and when I should keep my mouth shut. Eventually, he says, “I’m worried about what you’ll think of me after this.”
“Sloan, seriously?” It’s not like he hasn’t already done his worst to me. “I’m used to dinners and parties like this where we have to kiss other people’s asses. Don’t worry about me.”
We pull up to his house, and I’m once again struck by how it looks like it belongs in another period in time. “Stay right there,” he says, then he gets out and comes to my door, opening it with a flourish. He holds his hand out to me, and I take it to step out. He leans down over me. “From this moment forward, don’t believe anything that comes out of my mouth unless we’re alone.”
I blink and look up at him, but he’s all serious now. He puts my arm through his and then walks me to the front door. When we get there, Senator Ivy and his wife are just inside like they’ve been waiting all day to greet their guests. “How are you, Quintessa?” his mother says.
I see what Sloan was saying now. She said, ‘How are you?’, not ‘How have you been?’ or ‘How are things?’. ‘How are you?’ is generic. Throughout the whole dinner, that’s the feeling I get. Everyone here is acting like they’re one of those wind-up toys. They only speak about neutral subjects. There’s no real feeling or emotion. There’s laughter, but it’s one of the fakest sounds I’ve ever heard in my life.
Sloan and I answer questions when they’re directed to us, but there’s not many. The food is really good. One of Mrs. Ivy’s friends asks me what designer made my dress and when I tell her I don’t know, she has to catch herself from laughing. But really, who knows those things? We probably bought it off the rack.
A few of the senator’s friends ask Sloan about basketball. The fact that I’m trying out for the team never comes up, even though it’s obvious they know who my father is. By the time the dinner ends and the adults move to the formal living room, Sloan asks his mom permission to show me their game room. I’m almost relieved to be away from all of them. Why talk at all if no one cares what the answers are or what other people are truly doing in their lives? I need to wash the insincerity off me stat.
With Sloan’s hand tight in mine, he leads me down carpeted steps to the basement. It’s dark at first, barely visible outlines coming into view until he flips the switch at the bottom of the stairs. There’s a foosball table in front of us and an air hockey table to our right. That’s all I notice before Sloan backs me against the wall and kisses me. There’s hunger and need in his kiss that immediately haywires my brain. When his fingers dig into me, hard, I cry out. He immediately pulls away. “Shh,” he says, laughing. He looks up the stairs to the open entrance. His parents are only a few rooms over with all of their uptight friends. He drops his forehead to mine. “I’m sorry I made you do this. I can tell you hated it.”
I reach my hands up and place my palms on his chest. His heart is racing underneath my touch. “I didn’t enjoy it, no,” I tell him, unable to hide my thoughts. I can see why he’s intent on kissing me now. He wants something real. He looks down, but I tip his face back up to look me in the eyes. “It wasn’t all bad. I got to stare at you during dinner.”
“Looking at you was torture. I was daydreaming of pushing our plates to the floor and then propping you up on the dinner table just to kiss you so I could get a raw reaction out of them.”
I lean over and laugh into his shoulder. “Now that would’ve been funny. I guess you’ll just have to settle for us making out down here.”
“Maybe they’ll come down and catch us?” He raises his eyebrows a couple times in quick succession, making me smile. I feel bad for Sloan, but I can’t tell him that. He won’t like it. Instead, I let him kiss his frustration out on me. Little by little, his loneliness seeps away. So does all the bravado and masks until it’s just the two of us, heart to heart. He pulls away, his lips red and plump. “I hate my parents. They’re awful people. They suck at parenting, but they’re also just terrible humans.” His hazel eyes latch onto mine. “That’s why basketball means so much to me. I want to earn something on my own instead of having it given to me because I’m an I
vy. I want to pay my own way for college, then whatever I do afterward is on me. I don’t owe them anything if I do things my way.”
I cup his cheek, startled by his outburst. “You’re such a good player, Sloan. You’ll make it.”
He swallows, his eyes closing for a split second. When he reopens them, there’s a fire there. It’s so bright it almost scares me. “I didn’t think I’d be able to tell anyone that.”
“The Ballers know, don’t they?”
“I’m not talking about them. Of course they know. I’m talking about you. I’m talking about bringing a girl here for the first time because I knew they wouldn’t scare you away. Apparently, nothing scares you away. You’re ten times—no, a hundred times—the person my parents and their friends are. Why do you like me?”
“I don’t know,” I tell him honestly. “There’s some things you just can’t explain, right?”
He nips my lip. “I’m going to give you reasons to like me. I promise.”
“Sloan, don’t be—”
He cuts me off. “Remember when I asked you if you wanted me to touch you?”
I nod.
“Please tell me.”
“It’s not obvious?” I reach my hands around his neck, running my thumbs over his taut skin. He’s so handsome this way. Careless, not holding anything back. I wish I could bottle him up this way and keep it. I understand why he’s always putting on a show, but he doesn’t have to. Not for me. Not for anyone. My mom has told me countless times that I’m not my father. We don’t have to pretend to be him. We don’t have to pretend anything. We can only be who we are.
I wish Sloan had someone like my mom when he was growing up.
I pull on his neck to kiss him. He comes willingly, eagerly. He wraps his hands around my ass. In return, I move my legs around his hips until he’s holding me, pressing me into the wall as we kiss each other senseless. I can feel how hard he is between us. It makes me moan into his mouth until I cut it off, afraid I’m making too much noise. He kisses down my neck. “Don’t stop. I don’t care.”
Turning, he sets me on the side of the air hockey table. My knees come apart as he kisses lower and lower, barely hitting my collarbone until the fabric of my dress is in the way. He lightly kisses my pebbled nipple right over the fabric, drawing another moan from me until he pushes my knees apart and lifts my dress, revealing the panties I put on without my mother’s knowledge. They’re silk and lined with lace. His fingers curl around the top as he slowly lowers them. I bring my knees together, my gaze locked with his as he rounds them over my knees and then down, letting them drop to the floor before pushing my knees apart again.
His gaze devours the most private parts of me. My legs tremble with the want to close them but the need to keep them open at the same time. His hands come up, curving over my knees and down the insides of my thigh. His thumbs stop mere inches away from my center before traveling back up to my knees. He kisses the side of my knee and lower until I’m almost hyperventilating. “Sloan, I’ve never done this,” I whisper, my voice high and tight and weighted down with passion.
“You really shouldn’t have told me that,” Sloan says. His tongue darts out, burning a trail down the inside of my thigh. I lean back on my forearms. I’m already shaking so much I don’t know if I can even prop myself up.
He gets closer and closer to my center. I swallow because my mouth is so dry from panting, but nothing helps. He’s so close. His tongue rims around my lower lips. I buck into him. “Holy shit.”
He groans and darts forward, his lips suckling. A cry lodges in my throat with a noise at the top of the stairs. “Sloan!”
No!
Sloan shoves himself back. He kicks my panties under the table just as footsteps descend the steps. He pulls me off the ice hockey table. My legs still shaky he has to help me arrange my dress and hold me upright. When his mom finally does appear, he’s got one of the paddles in his hand from the air hockey table. “Yeah, Mom?” he asks, cool as a cucumber. He flips it in the air and catches it again.
She glances at me, and I smile way too wide. I think she can see my heart beating right through my dress, maybe even to the trail of saliva he left on me. I’m still pulsing and hot with need. “I’m sure Mr. and Mrs. Dale will be wanting Quintessa home now.”
It’s like a bucket of ice water falls over me. Sloan can feel it, too. “Sure, Mom. I’ll drive her home now.”
“I was actually hoping you’d talk to Mr. Barnes. Can her father pick her up?”
“Mom,” Sloan says. “I picked her up, I have to take her home.”
Her lips thin.
My muscles tense. I’m angry and hurt at the same time. I guess their superior generosity only goes so far. “I’ll call my mom. No big deal.”
Sloan grabs my hand. “It is a big deal. My mother’s lost her manners.” He drags me up the stairs until he’s even with her. “It won’t look proper if I don’t take a lady home, Mother.” With that, he drags me behind him and then I’m walking out the front door of the Ivy house with no panties on. Lovely.
28
The next few days are a blur of Baller texts, meet-ups, and rigorous workouts and practices. Shawn and Matt come over to my house to use the court and gym as it’s nearing the time when the Ballers decide to recommend us for a spot on the team with Coach or to tell him not to bother. They say Coach listens to them, and I wouldn’t be surprised. The team is supposed to work as a unit. If someone doesn’t mesh, it could throw everything off. It reminds me of what I had to promise Ryan when they made the decision to claim me as theirs.
Things at school are better. Sure, girls look at me like they want to claw my eyes out, but honestly, all of us haven’t had that much time for drama. My relationship with Dawn has just been a stream of texts that go unanswered for too long. I tell her it’ll get better once the season actually starts if I make it on the team. I hope I’m right. Not that David hasn’t been keeping her busy. Trust me, she loves to text about their sex life. Despite having moments with Sloan and Alec, I don’t reciprocate.
I park next to Ryan’s single-story ranch house and look up at it. How many times have I dreamed about being invited here? Too many. Too many times thinking about his lips on mine, his body pressed against me. He tolerates me now that I’ve been let into their inner circle, but there are still glares I don’t understand and the weird texts he sends when I do something nice for one of the other guys. It started with making sure Sloan got some sleep, but I also received texts when Shawn and Matt were at my house practicing. How he even knew about that, I have no idea.
Tonight is supposed to be a celebration for making it through the Baller recruit trials. All the Ballers will be there plus Shawn, Matt, and me. Alec wanted to bring me, but I thought it would be better showing up by myself. Whatever I get, a recommendation or not, I don’t want it to be because Sloan still has my blue lace panties, and Alec’s sister makes me basketball sandwiches. I doubt I’ll even know what the Ballers decide about me in the end. I try not to talk about it with Alec and Sloan. When it comes to basketball, I want it to be all business between us.
Before I chicken out, I run up the steps and ring the doorbell. Ryan calls out, “Come in!” I swallow and let myself in. The house is on the small side, but it’s loved, and it feels lived in like it’s truly a home. Ryan peeks his head around the corner. When he sees it’s me, his gaze goes to the wall behind me. “You’re early.”
“Am I?” I ask, holding my hands in front of myself. I already know I’m early. I was too excited; I couldn’t stand waiting at my house any longer. “Do you need any help?”
He sighs. “Sure. My mom was supposed to make the punch before she went out for the night, but she forgot.” I follow him into the other room and find a kitchen. There’s a punch bowl on the counter surrounded by soda and fruit punch. Ryan places his hands on the counter next to it and stares down. “Do you know how to make it?”
I pull my cell phone out of my pocket. “I suck at stuff lik
e this, but that’s what Google is for.” I find a recipe that has just soda and fruit punch and tell Ryan how much to put in of each. He empties all of the fruit punch and most of the lemon line soda until he turns to grab the ice cube trays from the freezer. He pops the ice free, then dumps the ice into the bowl. “Anything else?” I ask.
He looks around the kitchen, surprisingly a little nervous. I didn’t think Ryan would actually care. He’s so confident and the type that likes to take charge. The guy’s a natural born leader. Why would he care what we think about his party throwing abilities? “I think that’s everything,” he says.
I stand there awkwardly for a second, but there’s been something that’s been nagging at me when it comes to the Ballers. I could be way off base, but I say it anyway. “It must be hard.”
He turns to look at me, wrinkles marring his forehead.
I take a deep breath. “I mean, knowing that some of us might not make the team. I bet it’s hard going through this every year. Just because they don’t make it doesn’t mean they’re not good people.”
Ryan’s gaze narrows. “It’s basketball, Dale. You’re either good, or I don’t give a shit about you.”
Not the answer I was expecting. I also think he’s full of shit which makes my hackles go up. If he didn’t care, why would he send me a text about helping Shawn and Matt? “You barely give a shit about the ones who are good.” His jaw hardens, so I tack on, “Barring the Ballers, of course,” with a slight eyeroll.
“Y0u think you have everything figured out, don’t you?”
He takes a step toward me. My heart beats hard once, but then we hear the front door open and step back quickly like we were about to get caught. Doing what, I don’t know. Fighting more most likely. Sloan calls out, “Yo, Ry.”
“In here,” Ryan says, eyeing me the entire time.
Sloan walks in and hugs me from behind. Ryan looks away after his pupils dilate slightly. “My girl,” Sloan says, playfully biting my neck.