Falling for Seven

by T. A Richards Neville

  There was only a half hour left on the clock before they unleashed the Zamboni, and I wasted no time tearing up the ice, diving into a symphony of twists and turns. I hit the ice on a backwards landing just off an Axel jump and I slid to a slow stop, my attention fastened on someone sitting in the bleachers. I was skating towards him, looking around for anyone else that might have come in, but he was alone. We were alone. Even the janitor had scarpered.

  I wiped my hands over my thighs. I felt hot all of a sudden.

  He clapped, the hollow effects bouncing around the wide-open space, catching in the high beams. I smiled, even though the appreciative audience was hardly anything worth taking a bow for.

  “What are you doing here?” I stopped at the boards, stepping up onto the rubber on the other side of the gate. “Did you follow me?”

  He sat on the bottom row and he didn’t move while I stood waiting for an explanation.

  “I think I did, yeah.” He sounded unsure of his own words.

  “You haven’t bothered to tell me your name, yet you followed me?”

  He laughed, the sound low and husky. “Yeah, I guess I didn’t. Man, I’m rude. It’s Julian. Julian Lawson, but everyone calls me Seven. I’m quarterback for the Boston Lions... I’m a junior. I’ve never been to this ice rink before in my whole life, even though I live less than a half hour from here, but here I am… and yeah, I followed you.”

  “Should I be scared?” I didn’t feel afraid of him. Unsure if anything. I couldn’t read him or what he wanted out of me. This whole day had been weird, and apparently it could get weirder.

  “Maybe.” There was no playfulness in his steely gaze. His unwavering calm forced a shiver down my spine. He was playing with me.

  Damn football players.

  “Why did you follow me?”

  “I didn’t finish what I was saying earlier.”

  “What were you saying?”

  “I was going to say that I knew you would have a Spanish name.”

  I licked my lips and smiled in disbelief. “More lines, really? You came here for that? Hmm, you must be bored.”

  He stood, his hands in his pockets as he descended the steps to stand in front of me. “Hear me out.” He held up his palms, halting anymore outbursts from me. He’d changed, too. He was wearing light gray sweats and a white T-shirt. But these weren’t everyday sweats and they weren’t hanging off his body in that gross, ill-fitting way they did on so many other men. These sweats were molded to him everywhere they should be; his thighs, his biceps—his ass too, I’d bet. Most of his hair was covered with a matching beanie, but the same curls were there, refusing to stay hidden away, escaping onto his tan skin. He was so masculine, I couldn’t remember ever noticing so much detail about someone, other than Jordan. And as much as I loved Jordan, I knew his appearance was an acquired taste. One that I acquired daily and without shame.

  But then he spoke.

  “I knew your name would be Spanish because—”

  “Oh my God.” I stepped around him, walking away as fast as I could still wearing blades. He'd cut my time short on the ice and killed my enthusiasm to carry on. I really couldn’t stand and listen to another word. My interest in hearing anything else that he had to say was zilch. If these weren’t lines, then I had been living on another planet. Gorgeous or not, his brains were absent.

  I could hear him catching up to me, his blunt footfalls growing nearer. “Angel, wait up.” He blocked me at the door to the women’s changing rooms, his overbearing presence surrounding me.

  “What? What was it that you were going to say, huh? You knew my name would be Spanish, because what? Because I look Spanish?”

  He bit down a smirk and said in his husky voice, “Yeah, I kinda was.”

  “Idiot.” I attempted to break through his thick arm that was now acting as a human barrier.

  “It’s your mom, right? You’re not full Spanish, there’s something horribly western about you.” I rolled my eyes and crossed my arms over my chest. “She’s beautiful, but you are more beautiful. Am I getting warmer?”

  “I think you’re dumb. Estúpido.” It was true. I had never heard so much shit in my entire life.

  “I’m trying to sound like I know what I’m talking about.” His eyes glittered as he lowered his arm to let me pass. “I’m serious. I’m kinda like an animal, you know? Attracted to your smell.”

  “You are telling me that you are so attracted to me that you followed me here?”

  “You’re probably not everyone’s taste, but you’ve caught my eye.”

  “Was that an insult?”

  He reached out his hand and slid his fingers over my smoothed-back hair. “This mousy-blonde color isn’t really doing anything for you. You should go back natural, bring out the honey in your eyes.” I pulled a face of outrage but it was no deterrent. “Just saying. Dark would suit you better.”

  “You are lame.”

  I could feel the smile stabbing into my cheeks and it only tempted out Julian’s own. I was letting him think that this kind of behavior was okay, when it really wasn’t. I loathed people like him. Not jocks per say, but generic chat up lines were not my thing—too empty and dishonest. Surely they weren’t anybody’s thing? My guess was that there wouldn’t be enough fingers in the world to count on how many girls he had used these moves on, and I found myself more interested in how many it had actually worked on. He was obviously a pro, gliding through life on his looks alone, and I’d give him that. His face was a thing of beauty. His body wasn’t bad either. But he seriously left a lot to be desired.

  He lifted his shoulder lazily, never looking away from me. “Maybe I am lame. We could be friends.”

  “You want to be friends?”

  “Sure, why not? Doesn’t seem like you have any.”

  I charged past him and into the changing room, holding the heavy door in my hands. I would be lying if I said I wasn’t in the tiniest bit affected by his full, soft lips, or his blazing eyes—anyone would be. But I would be a fool to go along with his ridiculous game.

  “Julian, you would be one friend too many.” And I slammed the door closed, locking it and him on the other side.

  2: Julian

  NICKY GRINNED, HIS hard-thought epiphany bursting onto his face.

  “The next person to come round that corner.”

  “Too easy,” I said, my gaze fixed on the bend running onto Lincoln Street. “Lost your imagination?”

  “I’m still waiting for someone who can say no to you, bro. And I would look good in these wheels every day. Gray is my color.” He flipped down the visor, checking himself out. “Who am I kidding? All colors are my color. Shit, I make colors look good.”

  I would never jeopardize losing my Range Rover over a stupid fucking bet, but there was no way I could lose this, no matter how much Nicky wanted me to. I watched, bored, waiting for the next face to show. “What if it’s a guy?”

  Nicky barked out a laugh from the passenger seat. “Still stands, bro.”

  “Fuck off,” I said, shaking my head with a smirk. “No dicks.” I pulled down the glove compartment and put on my cap, twisting it to the back.

  “Whoa.” Nicky slapped a large hand onto my chest, dragging himself away from his own reflection. “Your lucky day, Seven.”

  I looked out the side window, briefly catching the blonde’s ass before she disappeared inside the bar. And what an ass it was. I wouldn’t mind burying my dick in it.

  And that’s how I ended up here, in the fucking parking lot to the ice rink. ‘Cause I never back out of a bet, and so far this chick is making it really fucking difficult.

  I ducked my head and climbed into my car. I sat behind the wheel, not ready to start the engine. Not ready to leave her just yet. She wasn’t going to change her mind easily, she was one of those frigid types. But then my phone ringing made me ready.

  Kit’s ice-blue eyes and pink smile filled my screen.

  Shit. When the fuck had she set her picture t
o caller ID?

  I picked up, irritated with the disruption. “What?” I said, my voice way too clipped.

  “Where you at? We’re all waiting for you.” She reminded me of a whiny school girl.

  I knew the chances were slim that anything of excitement was going down at her house. Kit’s parties were the same old shit, only on a different day. “I’m on my way,” I said.

  “Hurry, yeah?” She switched up her tone to one more alluring, a sexy purr radiating through the phone with the subtleness of a jackhammer to the head. It was working, though, and my dick responded at the thought of getting her naked later. That was how these things always ended. It was a reliability I could depend on like the sun setting every night.

  It was going to happen.

  I hung up, lowering the phone to the pocket of my sweats, my eyes glued on Angel walking across the lot. The sexiest and tightest leggings I had ever seen were plastered to her thighs over her leotard. But that was where looking good pretty much ended. She pulled loose the bun that was secured tight enough to induce a colossal migraine resulting in death, and her long blonde hair fell free. I was sure that blonde hair didn’t come cheap, but honestly, it looked shit. It was more yellow than anything. Dark would have been better. A much needed improvement.

  She tossed her duffel into the passenger side of a cream and black Mini Cooper, then flung the door closed and got in the driver’s side. When her reverse lights lit-up, I had the strongest urge to follow her again, but I was already bordering creepy fucking stalker. That, and Kit was waiting for me. It would be rude to keep a lady waiting.

  I gave her a minute of freedom and then I left the parking lot to get back to the party. I could always call off the bet and let Nicky think I was a pussy. She really didn’t look down for any one-nighters. She was serious as hell, and shit, if she hadn't suckered me right in.

  I saw her outside Kit’s, the indecisiveness flashing across her amber eyes, and my dick wilted when she turned around and left. I was so close to going out there and persuading her to come back. But I didn’t. I followed her instead, curious to know where she was going that she decided was better than this.

  I sat outside the rink for a while, giving myself a chance to turn back and forget the whole thing. That it was creepy as fuck that I was sitting in my car about to spring out on unsuspecting prey. I never realized people still came to this rink unless it was to watch the Kings play. We had a rink on campus, why not just go there? It was closer. I smiled at the thought that she could be the cleaner. Hell, if she was I would probably help her sweep up. And then I was getting out the car and strolling along the nearly empty lot in long strides. I wasn’t one to turn away from a challenge, and I wasn’t starting now. The rink was getting ready to close but it didn’t take much for the young cashier to let me in. A bit of harmless flirting and a promise to be right back.

  The bet could wait for now. I’d need to take my time with this one, switch it up a little.

  I swung a right, passing by the student villages. Kit’s party had amped up since I left. People were spilling from the front doors and all over the lawn when I pulled up. I parked outside, far enough from sight that my Range Rover was safe from any damage. I could get a ride home later, there was no chance of me ending this night in a fit state to drive.

  I found Kit in the den, her legs crossed tightly at the knee and her foot swinging in a wild back and forth motion.

  “Seven, ‘bout fuckin’ time.” My teammate, Nicky, leaned over a bong, burning the massive chunk of weed until it released thick, creamy smoke into the opaque-green shoot, and then sucked like he might never stop. “Good shit,” he squeaked through his inhalation.

  I rested on the edge of the couch, spreading my legs, and looked over my shoulder at Kit sitting there tight lipped. She didn’t need to say anything, her wary eyes said it all.

  “You good?”

  “Where did you go?”

  “Out.”

  “Yeah, I got that. Out where? You just took off without saying anything.”

  “Just out.” She wasn’t my girlfriend and I wasn’t in the mood for a grilling. So much for this being a party. Her face had turned up to the wrong function. “You wanna drink?”

  She nodded, a smile bubbling to the surface. That was more like it.

  I unzipped my hoody and threw it over the back of the couch. There was people everywhere, crammed into all available space.

  “What’s up, Seven? We gonna take down the Panthers this Friday, or what?” Some guy I had never met before asked me angrily, pumped to get the game started this very second. He bobbed his head, ready to head-butt someone if the opportunity came along. I got the impression he was hoping it came along.

  “Sure,” I said, still pushing through the crowd. Fucking freak.

  Katlyn was already in the kitchen, pouring all kinds of liquor into a pitcher. She mixed it with a measly cup of OJ and stirred the whole thing with a bunch of straws. “Hey, Seven.”

  “Want me to get that for you?” I picked up the shit-mix and she followed behind me with an arm full of glasses. I took three from her and she commanded everyone out of the way as we walked back into the den. Kit poured me and her a drink while I swallowed up a mouthful of dope and passed the bong to Rixton. I sat back against the cushions, lifting my arm for Kit to rest against my chest.

  “Your friend didn’t turn up.”

  “Is that a question?” I asked, my joints mellowing from the strength of the weed.

  “Who is she, Julian?”

  “She’s no one.”

  “You can tell me,” she prompted softly, her head tucked into the crook of my arm and her hand stroking across my chest. She felt good on me but her mouth was ruining the image.

  “Can I?” I asked. “Then it’s none of your business.”

  Her hand stalled and I looked down to see her startled expression. She was hurt. Everything I did hurt her. She was never happy, and that would cause a shit load of problems for me. “Kit.” I tipped her chin towards me with my free hand. “We aren’t together, I can do what I like. You can do what you like. Don’t be like that. Don’t look like that.”

  “Do you like her? She’s pretty.”

  I wouldn’t exactly say pretty. It was a struggle to see past the fake, yellow hair.

  “I told you. I don’t know her, she isn’t important right now. Since when can’t I have friends?”

  “You put your dick in your friends.”

  My gaze wandered over to Katlyn and she pursed her lips, staring back at me.

  I moved my hand away, freeing Kit’s face. “You wanna start with me in front of everyone?” I had smoked a fat lump of weed and she was still stressing me to death. I rolled my shoulders backwards to loosen up and get rid of some of my tension. “Anyway, you never complain,” I pointed out.

  “Is that still all I am? Your friend?” Her big blue eyes looked right into me, wanting more than I would ever offer. Everyone else would disagree, but I didn’t get off on seeing her so downtrodden.

  “You know you’re more than that.” That might have been my dick talking. Or maybe I wanted to be better for Kit. Maybe I wanted to be a good guy for her, because, hell, that was what she deserved. She was the sexiest thing walking this university.

  Kit was hot, I wasn’t denying it, and she was a good friend. But I wasn’t open to a relationship and she knew this. I was getting through my final year and straight into the NFL. I wasn’t doing that with any hangers-on, that was for sure. And Kit would be a fucking hanger-on. If she knew the definition of ‘breathing space’ I might give her a chance. But unlucky for her, she didn’t.

  She passed me my drink, and I scrunched my face on the first taste, tempted to spit it back in the cup. “What the fuck is in this, Katlyn?”

  “Everything,” she said, climbing into Nicky’s lap.

  “Did you shit in it?”

  Nicky choked on his laughter, smoke expelling from his nostrils until his laughing morphed into a harsh
coughing. He punched at his chest with the bottom of his fist. “Ah, fuck, that hurt.”

  Rixton abandoned his cup on the coffee table. “That’s nasty,” he said, wincing, and pulled a beer from the mini fridge, popping the cap with his teeth.

  “I like it,” said Katlyn, shrugging. “You guys are pussies. Can’t handle a real drink.”

  I peered into the cup at the foggy brown mixture. “You think that’s a real drink? You need to wake the fuck up.”

  Nicky grinned. “The whole pitcher, me and you, Seven. I drink half, you drink half. No coming up for air.”

  Katlyn scowled. “I was enjoying that.”

  “No, babe, you weren’t.” Nicky patted her shoulder with a firm hand and a sympathetic smile like she was his sad dog.

  “You’re on,” I said. “Finish what’s in your cup first.” I loosened my hold on Kit and sat forward, sucking in a sharp breath of fresh air before I inhaled the offensive liquid into my body. I knocked it back as quick as I could, gagging on the last mouthful. “Fuck!” I slammed down my cup and wiped my mouth, chasing the aftertaste with a swig of Rixton’s beer.

  Nicky puffed out his chest, burping like an animal. “I think my guts are on fire.”

  “You two are so offending me right now. I made this drink for us.” Katlyn crossed her arms over her chest. She was seriously pissed off? She had served us shit, and she was pissed off?

  Nicky shook his head, uncaring of his girl’s feelings. “Shouldn’t have bothered, babe.”

  The guys in the room sniggered. I went for the pitcher first, pouring my half down my throat without being sick. I handed Nicky what was left and he dove in, polishing off every last drop. I lay back and let my eyes fall closed. It might taste like sewage, but I was tipsy as fuck. The head rush was instant.