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Under the Bleachers: A Novel

Page 7

by K. K. Allen


  “Why aren’t you girls watching this game?” Blaine yells at us from the other side of the room. “It’s freaking fourth quarter and tied!”

  I flip him off and turn back to Phoebe to finish my story about the chocolate covered strawberry disaster at the Heroes and Legends event. We’ve all had way too much to drink at this point, so I don’t care how many times Zach’s name comes out of my mouth.

  “Wait a second … so you seduced Zachary Ryan and he asked you to dinner?” Phoebe is way too loud, sobering me some.

  I glance around and notice some eyes on us. Shit. Looking back at Phoebe, I shake my head. “We were kind of friends already. It wasn’t a big deal.”

  Chloe detaches herself from Gavin’s arms and stumbles over to us. “You’re so cute when you talk about Zach. You get all pink and agitated.”

  “Nothing happened!” I insist. “We just ate dessert and stuff.”

  “Stuff!” Phoebe shrieks at points an accusing finger at me. “Oh my God, you had sex with him.”

  I’m pretty sure everyone is staring at us now, but I don’t look around the room to confirm. “No! We just made dessert, and then ate it.” I’m not drunk enough to mention the hot make out session involving cake and taste tests of … me.

  “Maybe you should call him,” Chloe says.

  “Why?”

  “Why not?” she challenges.

  This isn’t the first time we’ve had this conversation. I told Chloe the entire story at work the Monday after Heroes and Legends. Of course, the moment she heard everything, she told me to call him. But why should I? It was an innocent make out session. Nothing more.

  At least that’s what it was supposed to be.

  He wasn’t supposed to send me flowers and season tickets a week later. He wasn’t supposed to text and call until I finally blocked his number from my phone. But that was six months ago.

  “He’s seeing someone.”

  “Who?” she challenges.

  “It doesn’t matter,” I shoot back. “Zach plays football. I know far too much about what it’s like to jump into a relationship with one of those guys. They’re rarely home. Girls are easily accessible at every turn. Their lives are free for public criticism. It’s just not a fun situation to be in.”

  “Geez,” Phoebe says with wide eyes. “How many football players have you made dessert with?”

  I laugh and throw a couch pillow at her curly blonde head. “Enough!” I say, attempting to end the conversation.

  “You could have at least taken the damn tickets.”

  I gasp. Chloe claims she rarely drinks. I call bullshit, but she gets mighty brave with some alcohol in her.

  “What?” she asks, clueless to the problem with announcing my season tickets to the entire group of ravenous football fans. “You make out with the guy, he sends you season tickets to his games, and you cut off all lines of communication.”

  I bury my head in my hands, feeling like she’s just cut me open in a sea full of sharks.

  “Season tickets for what?” Marco’s head swivels away from the television to ask. Sure enough, all the guys’ eyes are on me. I groan.

  “Seattle!” Jazz tells him, pointing to the television. “Zachary Ryan gave Monica season tickets.” She flips her head to me, which I spy through the cracks between my fingers. “What did you do with them?”

  Once again, my face heats with embarrassment. This time, Chloe looks ashamed for outing me. I go to cover my face again, but Phoebe holds my hands to my sides. “Sorry, babe. You’re going to have to explain this one.”

  “Please tell me they haven’t been sitting in your Zachary Ryan box of love this entire season. So help me, Monica.” Blaine’s now in on the conversation, shaking his head. They’re all staring at me like I’m crazy.

  “No! Geez, he should have never given them to me.”

  Jazz’s hands move to her hips. “And you couldn’t go? Or didn’t want to go?”

  I glare at her. It’s no one’s business what I did with those tickets. I could kill Chloe for mentioning it. “I’ve been busy! I gave the tickets to Children’s Hospital with the promise that they would go to a different family each game and that they would know they were from Zachary, not me.”

  “Ahh!” the girls gush.

  “That’s sweet, Mon.” Chloe smiles.

  “Why would Zachary Ryan give you tickets in the first place?” Gavin’s edges his way closer to us and Chloe wraps her arms around him, holding him back.

  “You don’t have to answer that!”

  “Yeah, way to step up, friend.” I roll my eyes at her and hold up my empty beer. “Getting a refill. You all can keep talking about this if you want, but you won’t get any answers from me.” I point to the television. “Oh, and your favorite QB just threw an interception with two minutes on the clock.”

  In unison, heads snap back toward the game. I use the opportunity to sneak into the kitchen for another shot. Chloe walks in behind me, an apologetic look on her face. “If it makes you feel better, no one doubts that you and Zach could be a thing. That’s saying something.”

  I smile, because for some reason that does make me feel a little better. I’m extra grateful when she hides the bottle of tequila in the crook of her arm and pulls me upstairs into the guest bedroom. We call this my room since I claim it every time I’m too drunk to drive home, which is most times we all hang out.

  “Have you ever talked to Trinity and Gracie?” I blurt out, suddenly racked with jealousy over Meredith and that stupid photo.

  Chloe scrunches her nose. “Not really. They kind of make me uneasy. Always whispering and giggling in their cube. I try to ignore them.”

  “They were looking at pictures of Zach and Meredith last week. She went to some charity dinner with him. The girls think they’re together and hiding it. What if they’re dating, Chlo?”

  “Ignore the gossip queens. You can’t believe a word that comes out of their mouths. You know how jealous they were of you at Heroes and Legends. I wasn’t even there to witness all of it, but from what I’ve heard, they were mean mugging you the entire time you were with him. Meredith too. They’re just trying to hurt you.”

  “They showed me a photo,” I try. “They looked … cozy.”

  Chloe sighs. “I mean, they do attend events together. It’s her job. But tell me something: why do you care so much?”

  Biting the inside of my lip, I nod. “You’re right. I’m being stupid. Maybe I have some regrets.” But I can’t act on them. Reaching out to Zach will only shine light in a cave I’ve been hiding in for good reason. For reasons that I might have a hard time remembering if I let him get close to me again.

  Chloe squeals. “Monica, call him! Even if he blows you off, just get it over with so you stop feeling bad about whatever happened. Maybe you two can start over. He’s such a nice guy, I’m sure he’d understand.”

  I shake my head, but not because I don’t think Zach’s nice. He is nice … and sexy … and smart … and hot. Nice guys aren’t usually all those things.

  He was never supposed to get so close. He was supposed to be the popular football player who I flirted with on occasion. And then he was supposed to disappear.

  Why won’t he just disappear?

  Teeth dig into my skin as a light sigh escapes her lips. A breath tickles my shoulder. I’m pulling her close. I’ve managed to remove the suspenders, but kissing her feels too damn good to press for more. I want to savor this. Devour her slowly. Never mind that tight Superman tee that I’m gripping in my fist. It’s begging to disappear.

  A moan enters my mouth as Monica runs her fingers up my back. She’s a biter from what I gather—or maybe she’s still hungry. I’m not quite sure. All I know is that if she removes that top, there’s no chance in hell we’ll be smart enough to stop what we’ve started.

  It’s like a competition. She grinds into me, and I remove or adjust a piece of her clothing. Then she removes something
of mine and we start all over again.

  I pull away from her to give us a moment to think about what we’re doing, and as I do, I gently tug on her bottom lip. I’m not sure that helps our situation. I wrap my hands around her wrists and lift them from my chest. “Cakes, you’re too addicting.”

  She grins. “I think you’re tasting your triple chocolate cake.”

  My nose touches the spot between her neck and shoulder. “No, it’s definitely you.” I nip at her skin and follow it up with a kiss. “Maybe a little of both.” My groan falls into her mouth before I pull away again. “Damn it. Chocolate has never had this effect on me before.”

  “You aren’t so bad yourself.” She moves in to kiss my neck, and I’m overcome with an urge to make a belt of her skirt so that she’s exposed to me. I want to bury myself in her however she’ll let me.

  You’d think I was prying a pebble out of a cement block instead of putting a measly inch of distance between us so I can speak. “Ah, you have no idea how much I want to see Superman fly right now,” I say tugging her shirt and then finding her eyes. “I like you, Cakes. You should know that before we take this any further.”

  Her pout is almost as sexy as the way she’s rubbing her thighs together to quell the ache I know she’s feeling. “Don’t worry, Zach. I’m not one of those girls you need to make promises to.”

  I chuckle and pull her into my arms again, taking her mouth in mine. “I have an early flight that I haven’t even packed for. Maybe we should wait until I’m back in town. I’ll take you out, do this right.”

  “Like a date?”

  Why does she sound appalled at the idea?

  I brush a loose strand of hair behind her ear and fall into her caramel eyes. “Yes. A date. That thing that usually comes before I tear your clothes off.”

  She shivers in my arms. “I wasn’t complaining.”

  Laughing again, I press my forehead to hers. “If I’m being completely honest, I want to take my time with you.”

  Something in her expression changes. My eager, flirty girl’s eyes lose their tenacity, like her thoughts have launched her into another place and time. “Cakes,” I whisper against her mouth. “Where’d you go?”

  Her eyes snap up. She’s back, and pushing me away. “I should get going," she says. “You promised me a doggy bag.”

  And just like that, she’s hopping off the table.

  No, no, no. What did I say?

  Her suspenders are back on, her skirt flattened into position before I can even get up from the table. She’s searching for something now. Her shoes or purse, maybe. I’m too busy watching the way she moves in that tight little skirt, mentally berating myself for interrupting what could have been. An uncomfortable feeling twists in my gut—a feeling that tells me I’ve lost Monica for good.

  Instinct nudges me in her direction. I wrap my arms around her from behind and kiss the side of her head, giving her reassurance if that’s what she needs. “I get back into town next Monday. I’ll call you.”

  She flips her body around, rejection evident on her face. “Zach—”

  “Cakes,” I cut in before she can say anything. “Did you have fun tonight?”

  She nods.

  “Do you want to see me again?”

  She bites her bottom lip, then nods, but I don’t miss the hesitation. “Yes, but I can’t—”

  Does she think I’m trying to bail on her? “I really do have an early flight.”

  Her expression softens. “I know. I believe you.”

  “Good,” I assert. “Then I’ll call you next week. We’ll make plans.”

  Monica reaches for my chest and slides a hand up my dress shirt. I already miss the feel of her hands on my bare skin.

  But then she says the unthinkable: “I think it’s best if we end this tonight.”

  What the hell? Her words are a vacuum sucking the air right out of the room.

  I take a step back. I knew Monica would be someone I’d need to prove myself to. That’s why up until tonight all I’ve ever done is smile, compliment her, and ask her about her day. I could see from a mile away that she wasn’t going to fall victim to my charms. Not the way I need her to. But after what just happened … I was certain we’d be seeing each other again.

  “You’re serious?” I ask, unwilling to accept her words. Did I completely misread everything about our flirtation? Our banter? This entire night? I’m missing something.

  Confusion and hurt are the two emotions I’ve always had trouble controlling. Sometimes they collide, forming a knot of anger ready to unravel at any moment. I can feel it now, the battle that radiates from my chest outward, blistering my senses as I try to sort through my thoughts.

  “I’m willing to put more time into this, but I won’t chase someone who doesn’t want to be chased.”

  She swallows against the bite of my words, and I imagine it’s regret she’s pushing down with it. “I don’t want to be chased, Zach.”

  There it is. She couldn’t have put it clearer than that. I mean, geez. It’s not like I haven’t been the one to pull a Monica. Make out with someone and push them away when I’m not feeling it. But she was feeling it. There’s no way that what just happened was one-sided.

  So then what is going on?

  “All right, then.” I stuff my dress shirt into my pants and walk into the kitchen, trying my best to snuff the fire in my chest and give her what she wants. I snatch a large plastic container to scoop the cake into and place it in a paper bag. She wants cake.

  Without a glance in her direction, I walk to the back door. “Ready?” I ask roughly over my shoulder.

  I still can’t look at her, my emotions clearly brewing something ugly. Something dark that, mixed with the sexual chemistry between us, brings my need for her to a boil. Every inch of her exposed flesh—and then some—has been marked with my touch. It feels wrong to end things this way.

  There’s an awkward silence before she starts shuffling to the door behind me. This time, she doesn’t try to stroke my ego with an apology. “Yeah,” she sighs. “I’m ready.”

  Our season may not have ended the way we would have hoped, but it was a personal best for me. Most passing yards in a single season. Highest passing rating. Four touchdown passes and zero interceptions in six consecutive games. And now it’s over after a tough Super Bowl loss that could have easily gone the other way.

  Not going to lie, though; two weeks later, the loss still stings.

  Hopping on a private jet along with my business partner and best friend, Desmond Blake, seemed to be the best idea ever. So here we are vacationing in Maui, lounging on the deck at our rented villa on a private beach and sipping ice cold beers. And it’s heaven, a little piece of paradise on earth. A gentle breeze coming in with the high surf, crystal blue skies painted across a gradient of blues and greens, and a fragrance so intoxicating it’s impossible to ignore each intake of air.

  My phone rings for what seems like the hundredth time today, cutting into my tranquility like a sharp blade.

  “Damn, you need to mute that shit. Or shut it off. I’m over here dreaming of that hula girl from last night.” Desmond’s eyes are closed, but his brows furrow as he adjusts his body in the lounge chair next to me.

  “Sorry, dude.” I don’t need to glance at my phone to know who’s blowing me up. I can’t ignore it again. With a groan, I pull myself from my lounge chair and press the answer button while walking back to the condo.

  “Hey, Trevor.”

  “Jesus Christ, Ryan. Who do I need to screw to get you on the phone?” My agent’s typical Jersey volume blasts my eardrum.

  “I don’t care who you screw. Just stop messing with my vacation.”

  Trevor chuckles. “Oh, trust me, I—”

  I don’t want to know how many chicks he’s screwed since the Super Bowl all because he’s “Zachary Ryan’s agent.” Desmond pulls that shit too, and I try to ignore it the best I can, but it bot
hers me that they use my name to get laid.

  “I told you, Trevor. I’m taking these two weeks off. I’m doing nothing but baking in the sun, watching crappy television, and sipping girly cocktails. You don’t get to boss me around for two whole damn weeks.” I pause, and then add, “And don’t call me Ryan.”

  Trevor knows I hate it when he calls me by my last name, but he obviously did it to rile me up because I hear laughter on the other end of the line.

  “I’m hanging up,” I threaten.

  “No, wait! Just give me five minutes.”

  “Fine. One sec.”

  Stepping through the sliding glass doors, I force myself into work mode. Passing the palm tree-inspired sitting area and stark white kitchen with a blue tiled backsplash to match the home’s exterior, I push open the French doors to my makeshift office where tropical light pours in from the large windows.

  Even though the work is inescapable, the sand and the sky and the faint sounds of waves crashing onto the shore bring me peace. Just because I’ve told everyone I’m out of pocket for two weeks doesn’t mean I’ve stopped checking emails, unfortunately. I might as well have a nice view while I get shit done.

  “All right, Trev. You’ve got your five minutes, starting now.”

  “Well, thank you so much for giving me a few precious minutes of your time.” His voice drips with sarcasm. “Look, you’ve already got a contract renewal to sign. We need to respond as soon as possible. It’s a big money deal. Four more years, my man. Everything we’ve negotiated and more. No surprises. Let’s put these fuckers out of their misery. Seattle’s shaking a little at the fact that you haven’t signed, so if you need me to go back to sweeten the—”

  “Send it over. I’ll sign it today.” I’ve already looked at the terms, and I’m confident with the deal. No need to squeeze the lemon any harder. Not when Coach and I already negotiated at length and came to an unofficial agreement. That’s a type of trust I would never break.

  Coach Reynolds and I have a special bond. One that dates back to high school when he gave me an ultimatum between joining the football team he coached or continuing down the reckless path I found myself on after my dad died. It was an easy decision, but not one I would have made on my own. That ultimatum got me here.

 

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