by Ginger Scott
My dad moved back to Miami, and I filed a restraining order and an injunction, extra protection on top of what he pledged in our settlement. With some luck and a lot of legal maneuvers, he should never bother me or my mom again. I had to do something for peace of mind while I was away at college. I don’t worry about my dad hurting her, but I do worry about the harassment. I think his DNA is just woven to make him cruel.
“We’re up,” Tory says with a soft knock on the door.
I suck in one last, deep breath and work the nervous energy out through my fingertips.
“Show time?” I say to him.
“Now or never,” he responds. We pause at the door, and when our eyes meet, we laugh. The idea of never coming clean about us has crossed both of our minds. Keeping secrets is hard, especially one like this that deserves so much public display of affection.
“Ready,” he declares, running his hand down my arm, his fingers finding mine and weaving through all the empty spaces. I turn into him and straighten his tie, flitting my gaze up to find him smirking.
“Now we’re ready,” I say. We squeeze each other’s palms and step through the door, making our way to the landing, then down a few steps.
“Great. Okay . . . Tory?” June’s mom immediately begins directing.
“Yeah?” my boyfriend responds.
“Maybe come down a step so you’re lower; it will balance out your height,” she explains.
“Oh, yeah, sure,” he says, taking a step and turning to face me with a wiggle of his brow.
“Oh, but first? I want to tell you all one thing.”
All eyes jet to us, including those couples I don’t know well. Our group has blossomed while I’ve been gone. Life has rolled on. Hayden is dating Lola. Naomi met a girl. Cannon apparently has a soul and possibly decent taste in women. And Tory—he’s still head over heels in love with me. And he’s about to show the world.
In one smooth movement, Tory tugs me into his arms and leans me back into a daring dip, the fingers of one hand splayed on my bare back, the other griping my thigh. He holds my leg up against him and kisses me in front of every person we care about in Allensville, Indiana.
“Holy fucking shit!” Lucas’s words are the first to ring in my ears, and I laugh against Tory’s lips.
“Wooooo!” June shouts. Her mom whistles with her fingers.
There’s actual applause, which seems like overkill, but the adulations only make me want to kiss him more.
I’m dizzy by the time he tips me upright, and he holds my body close to his while the stars circle my head. We spend the next several minutes basically being interviewed by our friends, and there are actual awes when Tory gives Hayden full credit for us ever happening. It’s credit due, though, because without his gentle pushes, I’m not sure either of us would have ever given in.
The party bus finally honks outside, saving us from more prying questions, like the one I fear June is about to ask. She put two and two together, and I’m judging by the distance her brow travels up her forehead, she realizes that Tory and I totally had sex on her bed.
The D’Angelos paid for the enormous Hummer to drive us all to the prom. Even though the distance to the ballroom is short, we still manage to test out every gadget and feature. By the time we roll up to the dance, we have the disco ball spinning and the neon lights changing colors. I think the guys would be happy with their dates for hours in this small, intimate space, but I for one have plans to dance until my feet cave in.
Answering my prayers, Jennifer Lopez’s “Let’s Get Loud” is kicking as we make our way in, and before Tory can plant his ass in a chair, I wrap his tie around my hand and lead him out onto the dance floor.
“Not gonna lie. You intimidate me a little, Cortez,” he says, tugging his tie loose when I let go. He unbuttons the top button of his dress shirt and stretches his arms like he’s getting ready to compete in a triathlon.
“Your arms aren’t as important as your hips,” I say, shouting over the music. His eyes slant, playfully frightened. “Here.”
I put my hands on his hips and stand about a foot away so he can follow my movement. It’s basically a figure eight, only it isn’t just two dimensional, it’s three. When I roll my hips, Tory’s head falls back in a fit of laughter.
“What?” I ask.
He points to my body, drawing his finger up and down.
“There is no way I can do that,” he says.
I look at him sideways, knowing he can. He just needs the right encouragement.
Taking his hands in mine, I place them on my hips and look him in the eyes as I proceed to move again. After a few beats, his feet are moving with mine, and by the time the song is really in its groove, he’s gotten it down, at least enough to hold me close and let our bodies grind. I knew he would like this. I can teach him the fancier stuff later.
The DJ carries right into another salsa song, so we stay on the dance floor, our bodies damp from both the exertion and the sexiness that comes with being this close to one another and moving like this while clothed. I catch June attempting to follow my steps while dancing with Lucas, so I pause with Tory and give an impromptu lesson. By the third song, I’ve managed to teach four couples to do a basic step, and the vibe is singing to my heart as we all sway to the rhythm.
The tempo finally slows, and I’m grateful to have a moment to hold Tory to me and barely move. It also gives me time to prepare for the second big reveal Tory and I planned for tonight—this one for each other.
“Do you want to do it now?” I ask, knowing he’ll get what I mean.
“Hmmm, I’m not sure. What if—”
“We’re different?” I finish for him.
He peels back enough to look me in the eyes, his mouth set with worry.
After we’d been dating for two months, the college talk started to take on realistic consequences. With our past, and with the mistakes we’ve seen our parents make, we didn’t want to fall into the trap of having one of us give up a dream to follow the other person to theirs. We came to the decision that we would narrow down our schools and share our decisions with one another at the same time—tonight.
“There is no wrong decision. And I will love you no matter what coast you’re on,” I say, moving into him and pressing a soft kiss to his lips.
He hugs me tightly against his chest and spins us around.
“I don’t know . . . ugh,” he grumbles playfully. I can tell there are sincere nerves under the surface of his jokes.
To assuage them, I cup his cheek and stand on the tips of my toes, touching his nose to mine.
“I love you, no matter what.” I repeat the core of our pledge. I’m not sure when we started saying it to each other, but it’s become habit. It’s become a promise. It’s our future.
No matter what.
“Okay, on the count of three,” he says, his chest rising with a deep breath. I follow suit and fill my own lungs.
“One,” I say.
“Two,” he follows.
We pause; there’s no turning back. A promise to each other means no cheating. We said we would share at the same time, and if we make it to three, we must. We don’t hang each other out to dry.
Our eyes lock, and I wait until certainty passes through the hazel oceans of his irises. His mouth turns up, and his cheeks lift. He’s ready.
“Three,” I say, immediately followed by the word, “Chicago.”
“Northwestern.”
Our nerves have vanished.
Two schools, twenty miles apart. A train ride.
There were endless combinations that could have been. He didn’t know my final five, and I didn’t know his. Maybe fate whispered to us in our dreams. Or maybe sometimes, friends are also meant to be in love forever.
THE END
Preview of Book 3 in the Varsity Series
By Ginger Scott
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Hollis Taylor is allowed to brea
k the rules. She’s coach’s little girl. And she’s good. If that means she gets to bump one of the guys for the starting catcher’s job on the Public High baseball team, then the others on the squad better suck it up and deal.
Breaking rules has taken Cannon Jennings far in life. One of the nation’s top pitching prospects, he came here to throw to his cousin and show college recruiters everything he could do on the mound. Taking his signs from a girl was not part of his blueprint, especially one that screwed over his favorite relative and best friend.
Too bad he broke the biggest rule of all before he knew exactly who she was.
It was just a New Year’s kiss. Totally forgettable. Especially under the circumstances.
So why can’t he stop thinking about it?
Cannon Jennings
I’m perfectly content ringing in the new year with a sparkler and the leftover pizza. Unfortunately, my cousin Zack is an extrovert. He needs to feed off the energy of others. I prefer to cut out distractions.
“It’s one party, Can. You need to pull the stick out of your ass and enjoy one night. One party will not derail your future.”
Zack has been on my ass about loosening up for weeks. Deep down, I know he’s probably right…to an extent. If I keep grinding like this through my entire senior year, I’ll burn out before I even land at summer camp wherever I get signed. But when you’ve dreamed of pitching for Vandy since you were six years old and it’s legit within your reach, it’s hard to let up off the gas, even just a little.
“Come on, man. It’s New Year’s Eve.” Zack’s head falls to one side and his lip juts out.
“Are you gonna fuckin’ cry?” I toss my glove to the corner of the sofa and get to my feet. Zack rubs his hands together while shuffling his feet in this weird-ass jig.
“I’m not going if you’re going to do that,” I say, pointing at his lower half. He freezes and instantly stands tall, rolling his shoulders and clearing his throat.
“Sorry. Must have been overcome with shock that Cannon Jennings is actually going to do something social,” he says.
“Pfft,” I huff at him. I grab my keys and my lucky hat and we both head out to my car.
Zack is overexaggerating. I’ve been social. I went to a party a week ago, and I’ve made some decent friends. I’ve done pretty well for being the new guy at school. I moved in with my cousin over the summer as part of the grand plan my dad and my uncle, Zack’s dad, devised to maximize the attention we both could get for offers to play college ball. Zack has caught for as long as I have pitched, and we used to play together when we were younger. But Zack’s family moved to Indiana for work right after junior high, and it broke up our dream duo. We’ve both done all right without the other, but we’ve got one more year to really show our stuff, and Allensville Public High just hired a new coach—one with Division One coaching experience. It means I’m sleeping on the couch at Zack’s while my parents sell our place in New Mexico. Once they do, though, we’ll move into a rental together—and I’ll have a bed that doesn’t fold up during the day.
“I don’t really know June very well,” I mention as we pull up to the Mabee house. We only live two blocks from them, so the drive was easy.
“Yeah, but you know Lucas, so it’s all good,” Zack reassures.
He gets out of the car with an actual skip in his step, still cradling the six-pack of micro beers he stole from his dad.
I let myself enjoy the quiet of the car for one more breath. He’s right. I’ve gotten to know Lucas pretty well. And the D’Angelo twins. They’re all pretty decent athletes, and it’s nice to mess around and do things with a group of guys who aren’t all about baseball. I gel with Tory D’Angelo the most. He’s got plans to play basketball in college, so he gets my constant focus. I swear, as much as my cousin Zack says he wants to play college ball, he doesn’t seem to have the obsessive passion that I think it takes.
My cousin raps on the window, tired of waiting on me, so I get out and put on my best happy-to-be-here face.
It’s a strange collection of people inside. Someone who clearly is someone’s father opens the door for us, and he eyes the beer in Zack’s hand as we enter.
“Maybe we shouldn’t have brought beer,” I whisper to my cousin, but he ignores me, weaving through the house and into the garage, where an extra refrigerator is stuffed with drinks. He pulls a beer out and hands it to me, taking one for himself, too. I arch a brow, not sure this is allowed.
“It’s fine. June said as long as we don’t make it obvious around the adults, we’re good to go.” Zack pops the cap off and takes a swig, gesturing for me to do the same. I do, but only because I think drinking half of this beer might settle the knots in my chest. Maybe I’m not so great at social things.
We weave through the house to the back yard where I find more faces I recognize. My shoulders relax a little when I spot Lucas sitting near the fire pit with space next to him. I nod toward him, letting Zack know where he can find me, and head toward the flames. I’m beat to the open seat by two seconds when Lucas’s girlfriend, June, slips in. I’m about to bail when an absolute goddess steps into the space behind them.
I don’t know a lot of people in town or at school, but how I’ve missed this face, I have no idea. She’s tall, maybe only an inch or two shorter than my six-foot-three, and her long blonde hair looks like molten gold as she stands near the fire. I can’t tell if her eyes are gray or blue, but I need to get closer to settle the debate in my head. She’s supermodel hot, but playing it down in a pair of baggy jeans and an old baseball jersey worn over a hoodie to keep her warm. I bet her dressed-down look keeps her under the radar. Most of the fucking douchebags at this school only want to keep score and see who can date the hot girl first. Lucky for me, though, she’s shown up here tonight dressed for the part of exactly my type.
“Jeter fan, huh?” I say, stepping up next to her and tugging on her jersey sleeve.
A short laugh puffs from her naturally pink lips while she takes a small sip from her cup. I think she’s actually drinking soda, so I casually set my beer on the small patio table behind me.
“Yankee’s fan. Jeter’s all right,” she says, a wry smile on her mouth. I hold her stare for a full breath, partly to challenge her and also so I can get a good handle on the color of her eyes. Blue, and maybe a little green too.
I match her smirk with one of my own, letting it crawl up into my cheeks before glancing down at the small patch emblazoned on the right sleeve of the jersey. This thing came from a game.
“Bullshit,” I say, nodding toward it.
She twists her head to the side and tucks her chin, noting the authentication patch with a slight breath and a smile.
“You got me,” she says, her eyes flitting up to mine. I hold them for a long second again, this time because I like the way it feels when I challenge her to hold my stare right back. She’s a worthy opponent, and I’m the first to break.
“You a fan?” she asks.
“Of the Yankees? Fuck no. But Jeter’s special—he’s like a level above the Yankees. He’s folklore,” I say.
Our baseball banter must annoy Lucas and June because they make a lame excuse to leave us alone. We take over their seats, propping our feet on the lip of the firepit and settling in so we can face one another to the side.
“I have another one of these . . . signed,” she says, pulling down the front of the jersey to even out the Yankees logo.
I lift my brows, impressed. Also, I catch a hint of her accent, which I’m pretty sure is from the heart of New York.
“Super fan, I take it?”
She wobbles her head side to side, playfully, and her eyes dance with this proud kind of joy that you only get when you have a childhood full of memories at the ballpark. I know because I’ve got them, too. Between spring nights at New Mexico State and spring breaks spent in Arizona hunting autographs from my favorite MLB stars at training camps, I’ve got a pretty full childhood of baseball fairytales of my own. I c
an’t wait to write my name into those stories.
“I’m Cannon. I’m new here,” I say, holding out my hand.
She blinks at it, her lips parted for a few seconds before speaking. She finally takes my palm in hers, her grip impressive.
“I’m Hollis, and I’m new here too.”
Definitely from New York.
“Long Island?” I question.
She quirks a brow and blows out from her lips.
“Heck no. Staten Island, baby.” She’s teasing me, and it’s cute as hell. I should have known—Long Islanders are Mets fans.
“Ah, right. Well . . . nice to meet you, Hollis. I’m from New Mexico. Not nearly as exciting as your big city,” I say with a shrug.
“I don’t know,” she says, leaning her head back and looking up at the sky. I follow her gaze to the stars and the embers popping in the air above us. “You probably have some pretty epic views where you’re from.”
She’s right. We do. Or, at least . . . we did. I guess these are my views now.
“We’re both really from Allensville now, don’t you think?” I put that idea out there while we both stare up at the black sky, speckled with salt diamonds and masked by smoke.
She sighs.
“Yeah, I guess we are.” She drops her chin to her chest and I do the same. “We came from both ends and met in the middle.”
She has a way of letting this faint smile linger on her lips after she finishes talking, and I am having a hard time looking away from it every time it appears. I’m doing it now, and normally, I’d be embarrassed by my overt infatuation with a girl. I’m really shitty at flirting. But Hollis—she makes this pretty easy.
“So, what brought you here? To the middle?” I ask.
Her brow pulls in with thought, but that faint smile is still there. She’s calculating something. Maybe it’s how much to tell a guy she just met.
“Family . . . or work. My dad moved here for work.” I sense that she seems conflicted by something, so I don’t pry. She probably misses a lot of things from home. I get that. I miss my parents, but at least they’ll be here eventually. Can’t really move New York to the middle of Indiana.