by April Ryder
"You going to get that?" he murmured as he wove his fingers into my hair and caressed my cheeks with his thumbs.
"It's just a text."
"It might be important."
I sighed and shoved my hand into my bag and produced my cell phone. Jake didn't let me go, so I had to hold the screen up to see who I had to murder next. I groaned. Of course it was Paul. And of course he was back at the apartment and wondering where I was.
"What's wrong?" Jack asked as he nuzzled my neck.
Paul is so dead.
"I was going to invite you back to my place but it's currently occupied," I complained.
"That's a shame," he said and my eyes almost rolled back when he licked at that spot behind my ear.
"Yeah," I agreed.
"I wanted to go back to your place too. Mine is being renovated so we can't go there."
No one would ever find Paul's body.
"Maybe another night then?" he offered.
With one last toe-curling kiss, Jake saw me safely into a taxi and sent me home so I could murder my ex-fiancé.
The taxi ride home gave me enough time to devise an array of spectacular ways to off Paul. CSI should really hire me as a creative consultant. My ideas were as creative as they were cruel. The man was going to suffer. That was until I walked into the apartment and straight into an oversized bouquet of sunflowers.
"What the…"
"They're from me!" Paul called out from behind the enormous flowers.
Dammit, he had used the flower attack. I was stunned. Paul had acquired new—yet somewhat traditional—techniques to re-woo me. I was not prepared for this.
"Oh my God. I love sunflowers!"
Damn. Damn. Damn.
"You do?" he said with a surprised tinge to his voice that made me squint with suspicion.
"Yes. They're so sunny and happy."
"Of course, that's why I got you sunflowers," he said smoothly.
I walked around the massive bouquet that sat in a decorative vase—not one of mine, so it must have come with the flowers—to thank Paul properly. Just a quick hug of gratitude, nothing else. I wanted to savour the taste of Jake on my lips for as long as humanly possible. Even giving Paul a peck on the cheek would sully the flavour. Blech, Paul flavour.
"They're frickin' huge, Paul. They must have been expensive."
He shrugged. "If they help me get you back then it was worth every dollar."
That was actually kind of sweet.
Paul shuffled his feet, suddenly shy. This was getting too cute for words. Where had this side of Paul come from?
"I thought," he said, "we could go out to dinner. Somewhere romantic. I've booked a table at Liberace for Friday at seven and—"
Deja vu.
"I can't," I told him. "It's the semifinals. I'll be skating."
His cuteness evaporated. Instead, his face morphed into the poopy look I was more familiar with. I could see this would be a problem.
"I told you it's too dangerous. Why are you even doing this?" he demanded. "Is it to get back at me?"
Where had that come from?
"Contrary to what you think this isn't about you," I said, stabbing my finger in the air at him. "I like roller derby. I like being part of a team. I like the thrill and the rush and the girl power."
"I don't understand."
"Then maybe you should come Friday night and watch. It's at the sports centre. Doors open at six thirty p.m. Tickets are ten dollars."
With that I took another look at the sunflowers and marched off to my bedroom. At the last moment I took a detour into the bathroom. Shawn the Shower would be required to act as proxy for lucky Number 7 tonight. And if Paul didn't like my vocals he could leave.
* * *
The next two days I managed to leave the house without running into Paul. I made it through work without receiving anymore contraceptive devices from my boss, Trish still had nothing to report back from her HR spy, and my mother didn't text once! Thank God. But still nothing from Family Planning.
By the time I reached the relative safety of the changing room in the Selby Sports Centre though, my nerves were on edge. With everything that had been going on, from Paul's unexpected return and proposal to the stress of the semifinal, I had completely forgotten about Rick the Dick. That was until I walked into the back of him.
I groaned and rubbed my boobs. How on earth I managed to walk into him tits-first was beyond me. Maybe they were subconsciously trying to get his attention…but that was a mad idea and I pushed it aside. To think my boobs would have minds of their own…okay so my boobs have minds of their own. That's not weird.
He grunted and looked over his shoulder at me.
We both froze when we realised who the other was.
Other players and skaters walked past us, a few whispering behind their hands to each other while the rest openly gawked. I got the feeling news about our hot tryst last week had spread. Rick didn't strike me as the kind to fuck and tell, and I knew Adam would take this to the grave, even with threat of torture. So that left whoever Adam had been with when they walked in on us in the middle of what we had been in the middle of. Which meant the odds of Rick's wife knowing were also pretty good. What a mess.
"Did you—" he started to say but I gave him no chance.
"Running late. Gotta go. Nice to see you. Have a good game. Play hard. Win. Break a leg. Break someone else's leg. Bye."
I didn't stop until I was on the other side of the changing room door and it was firmly closed behind me.
"What a huge fucken' mess."
We were subjected to Pretty Vicious's pre-game pep talk and threatened with death if we fucked up and lost the derby. Dismemberment may have also been mentioned. Even though I had impressed her with my inventive way of getting off the bench for today's match, I had lost brownie points by skipping the last practice. Because of this the first round would be on me.
Pretty tried to add in a few more rousing words before Kilty could silence her. "All right everyone, let's go lop off their tits and force-feed them to their significant others—"
Ponytail Puller leaned over my shoulder and whispered, "My therapist gets a kick out of hearing what comes out of Pretty's mouth."
"You have a therapist?" I asked, surprised that someone would divulge that kind of information.
She nodded. "Yeah, she was the one who suggested I try out for the team. Said it would do wonders for my self-confidence. I can give you her name if you want. I get half-price session for every new referral."
I was about to pass on her offer but considering everything I had going on maybe talking to someone who had nothing to do with my life might be a good idea. "Sure. After we win."
Ponytail grinned and we skated out to the roaring, foot-stomping crowd seated around the rink. Jake was the first familiar face I saw as we started our warmup laps. He beckoned me over, and risking the wrath of Pretty, I obliged.
He grabbed my hand and pulled me in for a reminder of last night's toe-curling kiss. "Good luck," he said before letting me go.
The spectators around him wolf-whistled as I zoomed away, my face beet red from the unwanted audience attention. I caught sight of Rick, who scowled deeply as I passed. What was his problem?
The shrill whistle from one of the refs snapped me back to the here and now. I hustled to join the rest of the Slammers on the bench and we glared at the Marauders as they took to the rink. Going by the crowd's reaction, our supporters vastly outnumbered theirs. Our supporters were also much more vocal of their dislike of the visiting team. I hoped for everyone's sake the crowd didn't get violent. Alcohol and sports fans never mix well.
I started the derby as part of the pack for the first few jams before being subbed off. Pretty was just as shrewd of a tactician as she was vicious. I never wanted to meet her alone on a dark street. At least she was keeping her verbal violence to a minimum.
Kilty veered off the rink and sailed to the bench, catching her breath and the spot beside
me. She nodded her chin in Pretty's direction and said the last thing I would have expected of the demonic little woman. "You know she's an early childhood teacher, right?"
I dammed near fell off my chair. "What? They let her look after small children?"
She nodded while guzzling back water. "And teach them."
I was lost for words, which was fine because the teacher of the next generation of delinquents ordered me off the bench and back into the fray as our jammer.
My jamming opponent was a pro. The way she looped her leg around the front of mine in an effort to force me to change my beginning stance really pissed me off. I mimicked her movement and dared her to do it again. We fought a round of leg pea-knuckle before the ref blew the starting whistle. Unfortunately her leg was in front of mine when we pushed off, so I lost precious seconds waiting for her to get out of my way. As much as I wanted to trip her I didn't want to get sent to the sin bin. That was a sure way to get your limbs gnawed off by Pretty.
Fortunately the Slammers had control of the pack and I caught up quickly. The crowd roared in approval, encouraging me to push through. The Marauder to my immediate left used her voluptuous body to thwart my attempt. As I bounced off her behind, I thought I heard her say, "I slept with your boyfriend."
Another Marauder darted in front of me but I thrust myself into the opening they had left. Big mistake. It had been a feint and I gasped as two Marauders sandwiched me between them.
This time I very clearly heard what they both said, "We slept with him too."
Wait, what?
At last week's game I had been accused of sleeping with one of the Wicked B*tches of the West's boyfriend. That had been a misunderstanding that we had cleared up at the beginning of half-time—thank God. But what was this about?
"Paul?" I asked, dumbfounded as I struggled to free myself.
"Who?" one of them asked.
Okay, so it wasn't Paul. Wait, did they mean Rick? Had he also fucked their brains out? I don't know why the thought of the Dick being with other women—not counting his wife—annoyed me so much, but it did. I didn't know how much it ticked me off until after I had physically lashed out at the girl on my left.
I'm not sure exactly what happened next but I do know I was sent to the sin bin for ten whole minutes with a fat lip and holding strands of someone else's hair in my hand. That and Pretty was alternating between yelling obscenities at me and praise. Mostly the former as we now had no jammer on the rink for the duration of my stint in the bin. I really do fear for the kids in her care.
The Marauder who had taken a knee next to me in the sin bin muttered, "Bitch," under her breath. Why they thought putting us all together in one place after a three-way catfight was a good idea was beyond me. At least I wasn't sandwiched between them this time.
"You started it," I pointed out.
"You hit me!"
"You bit me!"
A ref skidded to a stop on his inline skates, effectively silencing our argument for the time being. He had the power to ban us from the rest of the derby. None of us wanted that. Seeing that we were being good he skated back to the match and the three of us exhaled our collective breaths.
"I've slept with that ref too," the one closest to me said.
What is it about roller derby that brings out the slut in everyone, I wondered.
"He's nowhere near as good as Jake though," the other said with a dreamy sigh.
"Jake?" I said.
They nodded in unison.
"But—I thought you'd slept with Rick."
"Who?"
"Number 13."
"You mean Mister Grumpy?"
"Ew, no."
"So," I said slowly, just to make sure I didn't confuse myself. "You're saying that you've both slept with Jake?"
Nods.
"Number 7?"
Nods.
"The one from the Selby Inline Hockey team?"
"What other dark-haired, perfect-smiled hunk of man named Jake would we be talking about?"
The other Marauder spoke up again. "Don't you just love the way he twirls his tongue—"
Indeed I did.
"All over your body?"
My mouth dropped open. We were talking about the same Jake. Not that he'd used his tongue anywhere other than in my mouth and behind my ear—although he had in my shower fantasy. If what they were saying was true I now knew how he had become so skilled with his tongue. Practice. Lots and lots of practice.
The whistle signalling half-time coincided with the end of my temporary incarceration, but I was more than happy to rejoin my team.
Kilty must have noticed my dazed and confused look because she took me by the elbow and steered me to the end of the bench. I was wrong though, she had something else up her sleeve.
"You're going to love this," she said as the team filed past us into the changing room.
"They've slept with Jake," I murmured. "Both of them."
"What?" she asks, distracted by the commotion at the commentators desk.
"The two Marauders I fought with. They've both slept with—"
"Pfft, is that what started the fight?" she said, ignoring my bug-eyed expression. "He's slept with a lot of derby girls. All of them do. Heck we do too. I mean with the hockey guys. It's just sex, Skids."
"Well when you put it that way—" I said but stopped.
Did that mean Jake just wanted to use me for sex? Why was I questioning that? Wasn't I doing the same thing? Well, when I put it like that, I guess I was. But what about our date? Did the fact we hadn't gone home with each other mean I hadn't passed some kind of fuckability test? Wait, no. Jake had given me a good luck kiss before the derby had officially started. Sex with him was still a possibility. But what if I wanted more than just sex?
Kilty tugged on my shirt to regain my attention, and I frowned at what I was seeing. There, in the middle of the rink stood Adam, dressed in a slinky catsuit. If that wasn't enough he also wore heels and had on a blonde wig.
"What the…"
"Ladies and gentlemen, please give a huge round of applause for Mr T. Swift, our half-time show."
Kilty and I watched as my bestie pranced around the rink while lip-synching to TSwift's hit, Shake It Off. I had never laughed so hard in my life. Tears streamed down my face and I couldn't stop them. By the time Adam had finished I had doubled over in pain from a laughing stitch. He would never live this down. Not in a million years!
Before I could go and poke fun at Adam, Kilty's hand clamped on my shoulder. "Time to face the music," she said and pushed me toward the changing room. I gulped, but skated in to face whatever punishment Pretty deemed fit.
"All right maggots," Pretty yelled from deep within the Slammers ranks. "They may have scored a shit-ton of points while our jammer was in the bin, but this isn't over. Not by a long shot. I want everyone to pull up their big girl pants and kick some arse. Skids had the right idea but has too much dick on the brain to use subtlety. Keep your attacks short and sharp. They're harder to see outside of the pack. And up the verbal abuse. Shit like: 'Your mama so fat Maui fished her up instead of a whale,' or go for the boyfriend. Let them know you slept with him."
"Well shit," I said out loud. Had the two Marauders been using the same psychological tactics on me that Pretty had just outlined?
Every head turned my way and I froze—that animal-trapped-in-headlights look—as I waited for everyone to hate me.
Beside me Kilty started to clap. That slow golfers clap that I think people use to denote sarcasm, but it soon became apparent it wasn't meant that way. Others joined in. Wolf whistles and hoots rounded out the applause and I just stood there. Stunned.
Pretty shoved teammates aside to stand in front of me. She looked up while I looked down. I had no idea what was going on.
"Good job, Skids. Takes a lot of effort to get into the sin bin and you managed it on your second derby. Ten minutes sucks harder than donkey nuts though, so don't ever do that again."
She smacked me
on the side of the arm then went back to shouting orders and tactics.
"Gotta check my phone," Kilty said before skating away to her bag.
It took a moment to remember I was waiting for an important text. I retrieved my cell phone from my bag and checked it. One new message, from a number I didn't recognise. It had to be the results of my blood test. The vampire had texted. I didn't have time to angst over it. I had to know. With a tap I would know once and for all what the stupid pee sticks couldn't tell me.
I jumped when someone's hand clamped on my shoulder. It was Kilty. "C'mon Skids. We gotta go," she said.
"Dammit, Kilty. You almost made me shit my pants!"
She snickered.
"I'll be right behind you," I promised and pushed her away.
The changing room was almost empty when I looked at the illuminated screen to read: hCG levels are less than 5. Result = negative.
"YESSSSS!!!!" I screamed, startling Ponytail Puller who was the last at the door.
"C'mon Skids, you heard Kilty. Pretty will kill you if you're late."
"I'm am so not late," I happily told her as we rejoined the team.
Out on the rink I decided to follow Pretty's advice and I'm sure everyone else did as well. We all pulled on our big girl pants. We would not lose to the Marauders. Not again. Not ever. Easier said than done though as half of our blockers ended up in the sin bin.
"Subtle!" Pretty yelled at them from her spot on the rink. "Subtle!"
I hid my smile as the Marauders' blockers shifted uneasily beside me. They were well aware of Pretty's reputation, no doubt having competed against her before. Not one of them wanted to be there while she was on the rink as our jammer.
Sucks to be you, I thought and readied myself for the starting whistle.
Each jammer likes to think they have a special tactic. A perfected way to get around the opposing side's blockers. So I've been told. Having been in the position only a few times I can't yet tell you what they might be. The only options I see open to me are to go for the gaps or force your way through. Pretty though had a more unique technique, and this was the first time I had been around to see it.