Varsity Tiebreaker

by Ginger Scott

  I take a deep breath. It’s hard to say no to June. She has this way of making people do things they don’t really want to do, like buy flowers for a girl who will never be theirs.

  “I’ll try,” I say. I’ll probably cave and show up briefly just to make June happy. I really don’t want to, though.

  “Okay,” she says, leaning over the counter and throwing her arms around my neck. As I lean in, she kisses the top of my head.

  “That was all her, dude. You saw it,” I say to Lucas, holding my hands up innocently. He laughs because he thinks I’m joking, but lately I’ve been hit enough over women that I’m not taking any chances.

  “I’ll see you guys,” I say, grabbing my beanie from the counter and stuffing it on my head. It’s crisp outside, the sky clear and full of stars. It’s a no-moon night, so the glitter in the sky shows off a little more than normal. It also makes the drive home pitch black.

  I go slow, taking a route that passes Abby’s house because I’m a sucker and the torture reminds me that a part of her wanted me, too. Her car is gone, which maybe means her mom finally caved and took it in for new tires. Things for her are about to get really hard, and as messy as my parents’ relationship is, the one between her mom and dad has years of complications woven into it. She’s only shared the tip of the iceberg with me.

  I stayed locked in my room until Hayden left, but I saw him haul out my dad’s guitar, so he’s at least going to try. Even his poor skills on the thing are going to make her swoon. I get in our driveway, parked in the place where our—I mean his—car normally rests, and sit there for a few minutes with my engine off.

  Maybe this is all I need to get myself to grow up. I need to take ball more seriously, and I have to send some emails to coaches on my own. My dad was doing the work for us, but it’s probably not on his mind right now. I want to get out of this place, go somewhere warm maybe. Basketball in California sounds nicer and nicer.

  I leave my car, renewed about my direction. I’m so wide awake and sober on a Saturday night that I might get started making my plans tonight. I practically skip through the garage, my mom’s van unmoved for the entire day. I find her already asleep upstairs, her TV on low and a box of things she brought up from the garage on the bed in front of her. I recognize my Little League jersey right away, and pull it loose from the pile. Hayden’s is snagged on it, so I bring them both in my hands, noting how they’re both Youth mediums. He’s number one and I was number two, which makes me smile and laugh to myself. I bet he loved being number one just this once. I remember how excited he was when dad threw the jersey at him. I’d asked to be number two, but not to be nice. I wanted to be Derek Jeter.

  My mom lets out a light snore, so I set the shirts on the bed and pull her blanket over her arms. She’s still wearing the same clothes she had on earlier. She’s probably been cleaning all day, or reliving better times by going through boxes like this one. The sight makes me both happy and deeply sad.

  I back out of her room and pull her door closed, not wanting to disturb her. Hayden’s door is wide open, and I think about closing his door too, but instead pause at the entrance and look at all of the things inside to remind me who he really is. His closet door is open, exposing his perfectly hung shirts and pants. Who hangs their joggers? Hayden does. The space smells clean, like lemon, and not because mom whisked through with her laundry basket, grumbling while she picked up socks and boxers, but because Hayden actually cleans things. We have matching quilts; they’re made of old jerseys that we wore throughout the years. His is tucked in and even, ready for military inspection. Mine has a peanut butter stain on it from a protein bar I ate two weeks ago, and I don’t think I’ve ever folded a thing in my life.

  I’m smiling as I back out of his room, somehow a bit of the hostility I’ve been clinging to easing. But the carefree moment is quickly replaced with the tight squeeze of suspicion when I step into my room and find Dad’s old guitar resting on my bed. My light smile drops, the corners of my mouth like arrows pointing to my feet. I stand over the instrument and run my finger along the D-string, making it vibrate with an eerie buzz. I know Hayden took this with him. At some point, though, he brought it back. He left it here for me to find.

  Glancing back over my shoulder, I half expect to find him standing in my doorway, waiting to punch my other eye out. The hallway is dark and silent, though. A quick check on social media brings Hayden up blank. He’s turned his location settings off, which usually means he’s out at McCaffey’s place. Nobody shares their location out there, mostly so the people who aren’t invited don’t know their way in. Hayden is probably drinking, or maybe taking advantage of McCaffey’s side business—the cat sells the best weed in the county. I shouldn’t care what Hayden does, but damn it, I do. The guy can hold his beer but that’s about it. I fish around in my bag for my keys and toss my beanie on my desk, hurrying down the stairs and through the garage toward my junker so I can just get eyes on him. I’m nearly halfway across the driveway when Abby’s headlights flash off and on and catch my attention.

  Shading my eyes, I take cautious steps down my driveway as she kicks open her door and throws it closed behind her. She’s parked across the street in an open alley space like some undercover cop on surveillance. She’s wearing a black dress that swings around her knees, her feet stuffed in bright white tennis shoes, and her arms covered in some obnoxious pink sweatshirt that she’s only pulled over her arms, the front left bunched across her chest.

  “This is your fault,” she says, her voice raw as if she’s been crying.

  I figured tonight did not go as planned when I saw the guitar on my bed. I can understand why Hayden would be marching toward me with a hot fist and fire in his eyes, but Abby? She kissed me. Yeah, I kissed back, but this, for once . . . this isn’t my fault.

  “Abby, I know you’re upset, but now is really not the time.”

  I don’t get a chance to say more before she levels me with both hands in the dead center of my chest. She pushes me so hard that I fall back a few steps and she legit ricochets.

  “I broke up with him. Are you happy? I’m a terrible person and I just ripped your brother’s heart in half and threw away so much trust. You satisfied?” She comes at me again, this time grunting on impact. I don’t budge, but only because I see her coming and brace myself.

  “Abby, you aren’t a horrible person. I think Hayden’s at McCaffey’s. I’m just gonna make sure he’s—”

  Another shove knocks the wind out of me.

  “Goddamnit!” I grab her wrists as she lunges at me again.

  She literally growls and tugs down hard, my grip quickly releasing as she rips away from me. She takes off one of her shoes and throws it at my head and I swat it away, but not in time to block the second one. It hits me square in my still-black eye.

  “Abby . . . stop!” I whisper-shout.

  She’s swaying forward and back, her arms dangling in front of her, the sweatshirt bunched around her wrists. She has to be freezing with her bare shoulders and bare feet. I can see her breath, it tangles with mine in the air as we both pant.

  “Just stop.” I hold my hands out flat, like I’m ordering an audience to be seated.

  She blows at the stray hairs that have fallen in her face. Sniffling, she runs her sleeve along her nose, yanking the sweatshirt up her skin only for it to slide down to her wrists again as she stands there a total mess, body rocking with this unleashed rage that I think is meant for me. Her head shakes and she points at me, only lifting her arm halfway.

  “God damn you, Tory D’Angelo.” Her words quiver, either from the cold or from the fumes of emotion left in her tank.

  My hands are balled into fists, and I’m incredibly uneasy. My world tilts more by the second just from staring into Abby’s eyes. It’s so dark that it’s impossible to see the golden hue, but I spot the red in the whites. Her features are heavy, a pairing of exhaustion and fear that I only recognize because maybe I feel it, too.

  �
��Why did you break up, Abby?”

  I touch the inside of my wrist to my lip that feels fat from where her shoe hit me. She blinks at my question.

  “You know why,” she says, her voice low and discreet. If none of the neighbors have come out to see what’s happening after the shoe bit, they aren’t coming out now. I think my mom might have indulged in a little wine during her walk through memory lane, so we’d have to practically be murdering each other with screams for her to come look.

  “No, I don’t. I have learned that I don’t know shit, Abby. I can’t afford to pretend or assume. I need you to tell me.” My hands flex from outstretched to fists and back again. My legs tingle, either ready to collapse or to carry me on a marathon. And still, Abby stands out of arm’s reach and rocks, and stares, and lets that one tear run down her cheek and fall into the small divot on her neck above her collar bone. It’s lit by the stars, like a diamond gliding along her smooth skin.

  “Why did you break up with Hayden, Abby?” My mouth quivers in anticipation, and the longer she stands facing me, her mouth unable to say the words, the more I want to reach inside her and pull them out.

  She finally shakes her head.

  “You know why,” she repeats.

  I shake my head, prepared to say I don’t, but words fail me as she takes one step, followed by another, until she’s nearly standing with her feet on top of mine.

  Her tiny frame fits under my chin, and as I glare down at her she raises her face to the sky, her hair sliding out of her face like ribbons, her bare shoulders covered in bumps from the cold air. Clouds are beginning to move in, killing the only light we have, but before the stars are completely gone, I run the back of my fingers along the side of her bare neck, over her shoulder and down her arm. I lift her hand in mine, doing the same with the other as I duck low enough to tuck my head underneath the sweatshirt that tethers her arms together in the sleeves. Her hands rest on my shoulders and she steps up on my feet, her lips soft and fragile, timid and scared. Open. Ready.

  My head falls to rest on hers just as she lifts her chin, and our lips touch just barely. Electric. It’s as if I’ve been stung.

  “Why did you break up with Hayden?” I repeat again, this time only a whisper, my lips brushing against hers as I speak.

  Her head tilts an inch or two to the right.

  “You know why,” she breathes, and that’s enough. Because I do.

  Our lips connect as if they’re starving for the life only we can give to each other. I lift her up and she wraps her legs around me while I walk us both back into the garage, our mouths never once breaking their hold. This is how I’ve wanted to kiss her since the first time she shot me down. I’ve dreamt of this kiss during our late-night talks with June and Lucas. I stared at these perfect lips and imagined what they taste like.

  Honey and peaches.

  Her skin is cold, so I smack my palm against the garage door control, closing it behind us. I set her down on the hood of my mom’s van long enough for her to toss her sweatshirt from her arms and for me to run my hands up her jaw and into her hair.

  We pause to breathe, teeth clinging to each other’s lips as we peel apart, chests heaving and fingers clawing into our clothing. Abby lifts her chin, her eyes flitting upward to meet mine under the haze of her long, thick lashes. She’s classic pin-up, even dressed down. The girl was born to be a star, and it makes me so angry that her father is trying to chip away at her brightness.

  She studies me with a serious face, lips parted enough to take needed breaths, her breasts lifting with each intake of air. I glance down at them just enough, the allure impossible to ignore. Abby reacts by lifting her chest higher and sliding closer to me, her knees parting until I stand between them.

  Her nervous lips grow more confident, sneering at me as she lifts her chin enough to give me her neck. Like a hungry vampire, I take the bait, pulling her body against me, opening her legs wide, and running my hand down the length of her hair until I’ve found enough to grip and pull her head back with a gentle tug. She whimpers when I do, her hands grabbing the loops on my jeans and pulling me close to feel how hard I am for her. I grunt at the sensation and the idea of being so ready against her softest parts.

  I dust kisses along her jaw and neck, and she arches as I move lower, her breasts pushing up toward me, begging me to taste them. My tongue traces along the fabric of her dress, across the curve of her tits, my teeth grabbing at whatever cloth I can, wanting to tear away her dress. I settle for placing kisses over her clothes, nipping the curves until my lips find the hard peak underneath. I bite through the material, and her shoulder blades lift from the cold metal of the car.

  Unable to do everything I want here in the garage, I pull her into me, my cock straining under my jeans, wanting to bust out and plunge deep into her like the barbaric asshole I am. My hands grab under her thighs and lift her up, swinging her around toward the mudroom door. The house is dark, so I’m careful not to move too fast or run us into anything that might wake my buzzed and sleeping mom. I’m not about to let her go, though. I’ve kissed this girl before and when she pushed away, it nearly broke me.

  “Do you want to see my room?” I ask against her mouth in a whisper. She nods and licks my lips, taking the top one between her teeth and clamping down with seductive pressure. I hope I can carry us up the stairs without passing out from the things she is doing to me.

  We both hold our breath at the upstairs landing, passing by the albums and empty shelves where my trophies used to sit. I threw them out, though I saw that my mom saved the bag from the trash and left it in the garage.

  I’m quiet with my door, letting it click slowly and twisting the lock behind her back as I hold her up against it.

  Her legs relax their grip around my waist and she slides from my body, down the door, and for a beat, I’m afraid she’s about to tell me this is all a big mistake. Not that it isn’t. It’s a clusterfuck on the scale of mistakes, but I’m already in it. I was in it the moment June talked me into buying flowers and Abby showed up with my brother.

  Hayden would probably say I’ve been handed everything in my life, but that’s a lie. I’ve worked my ass off for every honor I earned, fought my way through expectations and my own failures to show I have grit. Abby was never mine to easily have. I don’t deserve her. But damn, do I plan to fight for her, to fight to keep her, and prove to her there’s something worth being with inside of me.

  With lust-heavy eyes holding me hostage, Abby brings her hands up her body, crossing her arms over her chest, and walking her fingers up to the thin straps of her sleeves. She slides them each over her shoulders at the same time, her dress slipping down her body until she catches it just over her breasts. A coy smile paints her lips, the bottom one caught in her teeth.

  Fuck me.

  I cover her hands with mine, coaxing her hands to let go of the fabric. The silky material slips from her fingers slowly, revealing a new inch of her skin a second at a time until it slips down to her hips all at once. It’s not the kind of dress you wear a bra with, and I knew that when my mouth ran along the smooth material, but it’s still a control-altering sight to see Abby like this.

  Vulnerable.

  Never—not once—is that a word I would associate with her. But she is right now. She is for me, baring her skin and extending her trust.

  Taking her hands one at a time, I lift them above her head, pressing the back of her wrists flat against the door as I step in close, my chest pressing against hers. She leaves them above her head, letting me trace slow lines down the tender skin inside her arms, over the nape of her neck and down her breasts until my thumbs find the aching peaks of her nipples. I gently stroke them in circles, and she reacts by scratching at my skin. I pause long enough to tug my shirt up and over my head and toss it to the floor, and my touch returns to her pink tips within seconds.

  I gently roll the budding nipples between my thumbs and fingers to start, adding pressure as her body reacts. God, I b
et she’s wet as fuck.

  Stepping up on her toes, she nips at my chin, and I drop my head enough to take her mouth with mine, my hands working her breasts while she runs her palms along my sides and to my back, finally reaching inside the back of my jeans and tracing from the curve of my ass and hips to the front. Her fingertips graze along the tip of my dick and it flexes from the slight touch, causing me to growl against her mouth. Her lips smile against mine. She’s proud of her control. So much for vulnerable.

  She easily unsnaps my jeans, pulling on the open waistband to bring my zipper down fast. When her hand reaches in and wraps around my width, I shiver in response, my cock flexing again. Lowering myself in front of her, I kiss my way down her neck and the center of her chest until my mouth finds the perfect hard tip of her breast. I clutch it with my teeth, rougher than I probably should, but she seems to like it. My tongue flicks against it a few times before my hands snake around her legs and lift her ass so I can spin her and carry her to my bed.

  With one hand, I reach to toss away my total bachelor-style blanket before setting her down atop my deep blue sheets. Her body is like snow against the deep color, like the stars that were just moments ago bright in the navy sky. I allow myself a pause to look down at her, one knee on the bed between her legs, her arms bunching up the pillow above her head while a wanting smile turns up the corners of her mouth.

  She hums.

  I obey.

  I’ve never had a girl in my room. I’ve had girls, but never in a way that was so slow and perfect and matching every fantasy I’ve had. I want to take my time, but every nerve in my body wants to rush. And then she groans and rocks her hips, still cloaked under the rest of her dress.

  Not wanting to ruin her trust, I step to the table next to my bed and take out a condom. I hold it up, meeting her gaze with a question. She reaches out to take the foil packet from me, tears it open and hands it back.

  I’m genuinely nervous. Every ounce of bravado that has ever come before is gone; the only thing left is a nervous young man standing before the most beautiful girl in the world, desperate to be hers completely on her birthday.