by J. Saman
He searches the crowd, spotting me, and smiles, throwing me a wave. I wave back, smiling equally as big. You’d think it’d been days since we’d seen each other based on the amount of butterflies I have right now, but it’s only been a few hours.
“God, you two are so nauseating.”
We sorta are. I can’t even deny it.
“Did I tell you he’s insisting on buying all of us dinner tonight?”
Cass looks over at me, her eyebrows at her hairline. “He’s in love with you.”
I shake my head, trying to ignore the way those words make me feel, my gaze focused on the field.
“Yes. He is. This is so much more serious than you play at.”
“It’s not serious,” I protest, maybe a bit stronger than I should, given the audience, but it’s the freaking truth. Well, at least it’s the truth we keep feeding ourselves. Or at least I do with myself. I swallow that pill on a daily basis. It’s become my morning vitamin. Especially when we leave each other’s bed. Especially when I find myself thinking about him constantly and looking forward to the hours we spend together like they’re my elixir to a happy life.
It’s been months since Christmas, and as anticipated, I’ve fallen so hard for him. So. Hard. So impossibly hard that there is no stopping this for me. Even though we’re barreling at an alarmingly fast rate toward the end of the semester and an entire summer apart. I try not to let my mind wander to such caustic territory, but it’s impossible. I’m a planner. I like to have every situation figured out to the best of my ability. But there is no figuring this out.
Because we’re on a day-by-day plan.
Stupid fucking day-by-day plan. I knew that would come back to bite me in the ass, and it most certainly has. I have to play it cool and casual when I am anything but. The stupid, insecure girl in me is afraid to bring it up. And I hate that almost as much as I hate obsessing over it, because I am not a stupid, insecure girl. I’m not. But Jameson has inadvertently altered my neurochemistry and day by day—I really hate those words—I come up with more excuses to keep my mouth shut.
I have no idea if Jameson even gives our situation any thought. Because we don’t talk about it. We don’t say ‘I love you’ or ‘I’m crazy about you’ or anything remotely similar. We live in the moment with each other, and while I’m content to do that ninety-six percent of the time, that pesky four percent is eating me alive, occasionally overshadowing that much larger ninety-six percent.
“Lyric, any man who wants to buy his girlfriend’s parents dinner is in love,” she says with conviction. “I know we’re not talking about this, but what happens next month when you go to California and he goes to New York?”
I hate the way she just asked that. It’s not even the question, it’s the concern in her tone that’s gutting me.
“I don’t know,” I answer truthfully. “I’m assuming we breakup.”
“Seriously? And you’re cool with that?”
“No. I’m not cool with that, but I don’t see another way. Do you?” I stare her down, knowing that she doesn’t have any answers. Same as me.
“Yeah, I do actually,” she grins, nudging her body into me and jutting her chin towards the field.
Reflexively, I turn to look and find Jameson next up to bat. But before he heads for the batter’s box, he stops dead in his tracks—the whole stadium waiting on him—finds me again, and winks. But it’s more than a flirtatious gesture. It’s the gleam in his eyes that stops my heart. It’s the way he continues to watch me for another couple of seconds before he heads over and gets ready for his turn at the plate that has my whole body humming with an infusion of dopamine.
“You stay together and ride out the distance. I’ve been at this school for three years, Lyric. And Jameson Woods has been here with me the entire time. Like I said to you on the first day, it’s a small school. You pretty much know everyone and even if you don’t, you know Jameson. Or at least of him. He was a party guy. A guy who slept his way through two-thirds of the female students. Until you came along. You can deny him being in love with you all you want, because maybe that’s how you mentally get through the ambiguity of your relationship, but he worships you.”
I swallow hard, my throat feeling like it’s closing up on me, the swell of emotion lodged in it threatening to become something else.
Something like hope.
“I needed to hear that,” I say, feeling a little foolish for admitting that.
“I know.” Cass grabs my forearm and gives me a squeeze. “But that’s not why I said it. I said it because it’s the truth. You need to talk to him, Lyric. The two of you need to figure this out.”
I nod. She’s right. I know she’s right. “Big girl panties.”
“Yep. But more than that, you need to remember that you’re a smart, beautiful, worthy woman. He’s the one who’s lucky to have you. He’s the one who would be a fool to let you go.”
“Stop,” I laugh-cry. God, I’m freaking crying at a baseball game. Could anything be more pathetic? Cass rests her head on my shoulder and we both watch as Jameson faces the pitcher with single-minded focus and determination. “Thank you,” I manage once I get myself back under control. “I really love you and shit.”
“I know. I really love you and shit, too.” She sighs out. “This is for the win, right? Like if Jameson gets a hit right now, they win and we can leave?”
“Huh?” I look over at the score board and sure enough, it’s the bottom of the ninth, only one out, but a runner is on third and the score is tied. “Oh. Crap. Yeah, we should probably cheer him on and stuff.”
“I’m not yelling anything, Lyric. That goes against every cool girl code I have.”
I scrunch my nose up. “I know. I feel sort of lame yelling, go Jameson. Do you think he’ll notice if we don’t?”
“No, he’ll—” A loud clang sounds as his aluminum bat smacks the ball and it goes careening through the air like a bullet on a mission. Jameson starts to run full steam ahead towards first base. “Oh my God,” Cass screams. “Get down. Get down!” I think she’s talking to the ball that’s still in the air and I’m trying to so hard to suppress my laughter, but it’s bubbling out of me anyway. “Yes! That’s a hit. We won.”
Now I’m hysterical, because she’s on her feet, jumping up and down, the same as everyone else, wearing black shorts and a t-shirt that says, I don’t ask, I tell. I also stand up, because my boyfriend just won the game for his team and our school and it’s the sort of moment you cheer. Even if it makes you feel silly to do so. Jameson comes around the base and the whole team is out there, jumping up and down with gleeful smiles and crowding around him, before they launch on him, mauling him like they just won the freaking World Series. They didn’t. They just suck, so I guess a win is a big deal. But they’re treating Jameson like he’s their god right now, which I can’t help but love.
Pride swells in my chest. My guy did it. He won the game.
“Don’t worry,” I say, nudging my elbow into Cass’s side. “I’ll keep my mouth shut. This moment shall forever remain between us.”
“It better.” We both laugh and then Jameson is at the bottom of the red partition between the field and the stands, smiling like a guy who just won the game and waving for me to come over to him.
“That’s my cue.”
“Go. I’ll catch up with you tomorrow.”
I lean in and give Cass a kiss on the cheek. “Thanks for coming with me.”
She winks at me. “Anytime. Now go.”
I do go. I practically skip down the large cement steps that separates my seat from the field. “Hey,” I say as I get within hearing distance. “Congrats. That was freaking awesome. I’m so proud of you.”
When I reach him, he wraps his arms around me, holding me as close and as tight as the barrier will allow. “I cannot believe I got that hit,” he says into my ear, his tone pure elation mixed with astonishment. “I’ve never done that before, Lee.” He pulls back and cups my cheeks, the
cloud nine smile on his face not going anywhere anytime soon. “It’s you. You’re my good luck charm.”
“Kiss her,” one of his teammates yells from behind. Jameson and I laugh, but then the whole team gets in on the action, chanting, “Kiss her, kiss her!”
My face turns beet red, but Jameson just laughs harder. “Gotta give the crowd what they want,” he says before he crashes his lips into mine, lifting me off my feet and pulling me over the barrier until I’m on the field in his arms with his mouth pressed to mine in front of hundreds—maybe thousands—of fans.
We’re awarded with whistles and cheers and catcalls, causing us both to laugh into each other. But I’m not embarrassed enough to stop kissing him. I love that he’s this happy. I love that he has this moment to shine. It’s contagious. Infectious. So goddamn perfect that I never want it to end for him.
His tongue sweeps into my mouth for a quick taste, my feet dangling off the ground as he pulls back and drops his forehead to mine, breathless and still grinning from ear to ear. “Now, this was officially the best game of my life.”
“Just game?” I ask incredulous. “Not moment?”
He shakes his head no. “All my best moments belong to you.”
Stop it, heart. Stop it now.
He gives me another searing kiss and then sets me down, his forehead dropping to mine. Say it. Don’t say it. Say it.
“I need a shower, baby. But will you wait for me? I want to go with you to meet up with your parents.”
I love you. So much it scares me.
“How could I say no to the man who won the game?”
His eyes shine, and his lips press to mine once again. “I’m so glad you were here. It wouldn’t have been complete without you.”
“Wouldn’t have missed it.”
He’s sincere and I’m playful, and this moment is so bittersweet. So perfectly painful. So divinely dangerous. “Okay. I won’t be long.” He kisses me again, rubs his nose against mine and then releases me. By this time, most of the crowd has filtered out and the team has gone into the clubhouse or the locker room or whatever the hell they call that place. I watch Jameson go. Just before he reaches the steps that will lead him down into the dugout, he turns back to me and just…looks at me.
But this look is so completely different than any other. This look is everything. This look says he loves me. Even if he hasn’t said the words yet. Even if he doesn’t even realize that’s what this is. It’s love. I know it and I hold on to it. I store it away because in the very near future, there may come a time when I need to pull it out and cradle it next to my heart. Shove it into the forefront of my consciousness to tell myself: See, it was real.
There may come a time when I hurt too much to remember this look and his words and the way he loves me. He ducks down and heads inside and for a few extra moments, I just stand here, holding on to that. You love me, Jameson Woods. Let’s hope we can both remember it when our distance becomes so much more than we bargained for.
Chapter 11
Jameson
* * *
“I don’t know what to do,” I say aloud, my voice small and thick, iridescent and lifeless.
“Marry her,” Cane says dryly, his eyes on his computer as he types away. We’ve got this going. Our company. He tucked his sixty million and my million into it, and Trav has promised his first-born child as well as a kidney, and we’re going. Moving. We have shit already spinning and we’re still so young it frightens me.
I haven’t told my father.
I don’t plan on it yet.
Cane suggested continuing my internship that starts in a few weeks, learn as much as I can, and then next year, we’re going to go in full steam.
“Shut up,” I say, mindlessly staring at a Braves game on television. Our baseball season wrapped up yesterday with a stunning loss. It really wasn’t that stunning. We pretty much suck, but it’s still fun. I like playing baseball much more than soccer, but I’m much better at soccer than I am at baseball. Go figure. I’m stalling. Even in my own goddamn mind, I’m stalling. Like I give zero fucks about sports in this minute.
We’re supposed to leave for a party in a bit. Lyric will be there with her friends. We’ve been…together since Christmas and we’ve done what we said we would. We take it day by day. We haven’t discussed the future. But that doesn’t mean I haven’t been thinking about it relentlessly. She’s going to California. I’m going to New York. Neither of us will have any time, and cross-country travel isn’t all that convenient for a weekend visit here or there.
And really, it wouldn’t be enough for me.
I feel Travers’ eyes on the side of my face, but I can’t face him. I should never have given in. But hell. How could I not? I’m so wild about Lyric. She’s so ingrained in my blood. My brain. In my goddamn essence that I don’t even smell like myself anymore. I smell like me mixed with her. No matter how many times I shower.
I can’t stop fucking her. I can’t stop touching her. I can’t stop spending every moment I possibly can with her.
I just can’t stop!
I can’t get enough because there is no enough.
We spent our entire Christmas break in bed, only coming up for air and food. I was an animal. Insatiable. I fucked my dick raw and all I could think about was the next time I could be with her. And since then, either she’s here or I’m at her place. Every night. I have lunch with her most days. I walk her to class and she meets me after mine.
I’ve never had this with anyone before. Never.
I was convinced it would feel like an obligation. That spending all this time with her would be a drag. But it’s not. Because when she leaves my bed in the morning, it feels empty and cold. And when I leave hers, I’m dragging ass all the way to the gym or class or wherever I’m headed. I spend all this time with her because I want to. Because I don’t know how not to.
Does she have to be so perfectly flawed? So absolutely right for me? Couldn’t she just have been a regular girl?
“Break up with her,” Cane says, flipping the tables.
“Never gonna happen.”
“How do you think this summer will go? You’re talking four months apart,” Travers points out, oh so unhelpfully.
My fingertips dig into the denim of my jeans. I have no answer for that. Mostly because I can’t think about being away from her that long. I’m screwed.
“He’s in love, dude,” Cane says. “It’s too late for any of that crap.”
Again, I stay silent. I can’t be in love with her. It’s not even possible. We have a day-by-day plan. We haven’t said anything anywhere close to that to each other. Yeah, we have a lot of sex and we spend a lot of time together, but we don’t talk or act like we’re serious. Besides, love is for the blind and daft. I am neither. That doesn’t mean I won’t try to find a way to get to California a few times at least.
Cane passes Trav a joint, the cloying scent hitting my nose. Trav offers it to me after he takes a hit and I shake my head no. “You knew this was coming. I don’t get why you’re all messed up about it.”
I shrug, leaning forward to grab my beer from the coffee table. I take a slow, easy sip before I return it to its previous resting place.
“Because she’s Goldicocks and our boy Jamie here is her just right.” I turn to glare at Cane and he laughs. “Right. Tell me again that you’re not in love with her. Admit it, dude. She’s got you by the short and curlies.”
“Shut up twatlick,” Trav snaps at him before turning back to me, the joint hanging loosely from his lips as a slow curling stream of smoke floats up. “When does she leave?”
“Right after finals.”
“They do have studios in New York,” Cane offers, like he’s brokering a deal. Like I haven’t thought of that already. “Her gig might be more flexible than yours.”
I finish off my beer, kicking my feet up onto the coffee table. “Robert Snow hates New York. He stays in LA, so that’s where she’s going. She going to be an assist
ant producer on the new 5 album.”
Their eyes widen, and they exchange impressed glances. It’s big time. She’s big time. Or at least she will be. I don’t feel big time. I feel like a college kid playing at being a startup. Only instead of doing something cool and techy, we’re playing with other people’s money. Would you trust the three of us with your cash? No. You wouldn’t. So yeah, I can’t imagine this ending the way we want it to. She’ll be miles ahead of me and I’ll be so far behind she won’t be able to see me, not even if she squints.
“She has access to a private jet, right?”
I shake my head. “Nope. Her father has it with him in Europe where Blind Tears are touring.”
“Then you’ll see her in September.”
Yup. September. Awesome.
I get to my feet and Trav snuffs out the joint as Cane closes up the laptop. Time to go.
The party is for the baseball players. Our team captain, a senior by the name of Jonas Oswilder, lives in a big off-campus house with a few of the other senior baseball players. It’s why he’s standing on his kitchen table, which looks like it’s about to snap under his weight, with a red plastic cup in his hand, yelling out some bullshit about our team. Everyone cheers and shouts.
That’s what drunk athletes do.
But I can’t relax. I can’t get into the spirit and the mood of the party. I don’t care about being here. I need to talk to Lyric and see where her head is at. We’ve been avoiding it, but with only a couple more weeks before we go our separate ways, it’s time.
The clock strikes midnight and as I turn, for what feels like the millionth time, to the front door, she walks in. Finally. She’s smiling, taking in the organized chaos and drunken bedlam with a sense of humor.
Daria, her roommate, is clinging closely to Cass’s arm. I’m not quite sure what the two of them are, but I know it’s something. Lyric is wearing a dress that makes my cock instantly thicken in my jeans. Short. Hot pink. Low cut. Her blonde hair is down, sweeping along the crest of her shoulders now that she cut it off last month. Her lips match her dress and her eyes are bright and clear.