by Karole Cozzo
So, without thinking, I hear myself debating the methods of attack. “Plastic wrap isn’t that quick and easy, either,” I point out. “I mean, how many rolls would we need to buy to cover three cars?”
Jamie pulls his phone from his back pocket. “I have an ace in the hole,” he tells me, already firing off a text message. “My cousin works in the back at Home Depot. Have you ever seen an industrial-size roll of plastic wrap before?”
I laugh out loud, the noise sounding unnaturally loud in the quiet night.
Jamie looks at me again, eyebrow raised. “Does that mean you’re in?” he asks, voice hopeful. He extends his fist.
I allow my fist to touch it. “I’m in. God, you’re a terrible influence.”
Jamie stands, smirking down at me. “Not the first time I’ve heard that.”
After a quick pull-up to the rear of Home Depot, as Jamie drives across town toward Jake’s house first, guided by the helpful voice coming from the map app on his phone, at least I retain the good sense to text my mother and check in.
I’m hoping to be home in about an hour and a half. I’m fine.
She responds almost at once.
We’re going to have to discuss a curfew. For weeknights. If more “baseball discussions” are to follow.
She’s joking, sort of, I think … but I’m really not sure. I sigh. But it’s too late to turn back now, not with the hugest roll of plastic wrap I’ve ever seen protruding from the back of the Jeep. For better or worse, Jamie and I are in this one together.
* * *
It’s significantly longer than an hour and a half before we’re back within Farmington town limits. I anticipate a very pointed talk with both parents come morning, if not tonight, about this curfew business, and more than a few questions about the nature of my involvement with Jamie Abrams.
But as we approach my block, I’m too damn gleeful to care, riding high on the adrenaline rush that accompanied disabling Jeff’s pretty Audi, Ronnie’s pickup, and Ryan’s Honda. Every time I picture those dumbasses walking out their front doors tomorrow morning, I start giggling all over again and can’t stop. And in turn, Jamie starts laughing, too.
It’s 10:40 when Jamie slows the Jeep and pulls up to the curb.
I sit up to correct him at once. “This isn’t my house.” I point to the next block. “It’s actually … that one.”
Jamie unfastens his seat belt. He scoots closer to me, smirking, eyes sparkling. “Yeah. I know that.”
I feel my cheeks flaming to life. Duh. I mean, can I give away my lack of experience any more? Internally, I cringe, wishing I could stuff the words back in my mouth. I’m parked in Mr. Smooth Moves’s Jeep, acting like a naive five-year-old.
But Jamie comes all the way close anyway. His hand finds my neck, snakes around and under my ponytail, lifting it gently. “So tonight was fun,” he whispers into my ear.
It’s hard to breathe, just like that, just with his warm breath in my ear, his hand touching my hair.
And I don’t know how many girls have been in this exact position in the front seat of his Jeep, but in that moment, I understand why every single one of them was powerless to leave.
I make the mistake of looking into his eyes—they’re sleepy and seductive, but also … they look warm and happy, and he’s got the smallest little smile on his face. God, it makes me want to kiss him, and so I do, obliterating any further thought of the ghosts of Jeep girls past. Obliterating the telltale time on the digital clock, obliterating any good sense I may have had.
I really liked kissing Jamie outside of school and I really liked kissing Jamie in my driveway, but inside his car, warm and heady with the scent of him, kissing Jamie feels like the focal point of the universe, and it’s all I care about.
It’s how I end up letting him recline the seats, how I end up splayed against him, letting him kiss my neck, nibble on my earlobe, his hands eternally lost in my hair before demanding he kiss me again. His free hand ghosts around, coming to rest near my back pocket, guiding me closer when I start to slip away.
I can tell there’s perspiration breaking out at my hairline; I sense the moisture in the car before I even notice the foggy windows. I realize Jamie’s hand has found the bare expanse of skin beneath my shirt, above my jeans, and I realize how intoxicating the feeling is—skin on skin—and that I’d let him, that … I want him … to keep touching me.
I push myself up in a flash, nearly banging my head on the roof of the car.
Suddenly I’m back at the restaurant with Marcella, her confessing how it “just happened,” that she hadn’t really known she’d lost control of her decision making until she had.
Not that I have any intention of that happening, but still … all of it suddenly feels like a very slippery slope.
I push my mussed hair out of my face. “I better go.”
“Okay,” Jamie answers, voice even, pushing the button to bring his seat forward again so he can look at me. “You all right?”
I struggle to look at him. “Yeah. I just…” I wave my hand toward the clock. “I’m pushing my limits on the time here, and I actually care about school, so…”
Jamie stares at me, looking confused, almost hurt. “You didn’t really need to say that. You could just say it’s time to go.”
I should’ve just kept kissing him. At least when my mouth is busy with his, I’m not saying something mean.
“Sorry. You’re right. And I … better go.”
My hand reaches for the handle. I pause, look back at him. “Hey. Thanks. Tonight was fun. I’m glad you texted me.” I throw him a small smile. “Cheered me up.”
Jamie smiles right back at me. “You’re welcome.” He leans back across the seat, one last time, and plants a quick, sweet kiss on my lips.
“Good night,” I whisper, finally making myself climb out of the Jeep to face whatever awaits.
As I cross Marcella’s front yard, through the grass, I feel disoriented. It’s too late for me to be outside, and my street doesn’t feel like home tonight. I feel lost, walking through the damp grass at eleven o’clock on a Thursday, lips swollen and shirt askew, feeling like a different person walking toward the door than when I walked through it to leave.
My head is sort of spinning. A few days ago, when I pulled out the win when Jamie was hurt, he’d barely even looked at me. Today’s victory was his, and I got ice cream, kisses, and the chance to put those douchebags in their place.
I glance back over my shoulder, watching the taillights of the Jeep grow smaller and smaller as he drives away. Everything about our relationship so far has been affected by our status within the team. We might be “one team” these days, but Jamie and I are definitely still competitors.
And until I figure out what’s more important to him—life on the field or off—I can’t bring myself to program his number into my phone, kiss him with abandon, or think about what … this … is.
Walking into my room a few minutes later, I stare at the empty space reserved for the Cy Young trophy, experiencing a sick sensation in my stomach as I touch the shelf.
How easily he’s gotten into my head, shifted my focus from my game and my list of obligations, persuading me to run around town an hour after I would’ve been asleep. It feels like fun in the moment, but ultimately … he’s not the only one who has to figure out what’s most important.
Chapter 22
April 22
Jamie
I end up staying really late at the Barn on Friday night, reason enough to sleep in on Saturday morning. It’s ten thirty before I’m out of bed, and when I lift the shade over my window, the sun is bright in the sky and I don’t see any clouds on the horizon.
A wide grin breaks out on my face. I told everyone you can’t trust the forecast, that the weather gods would have our backs today. No way they’d ruin this, one of the greatest parts of Pirate baseball. It’s turned out to be an unseasonably warm, perfectly sunny day. As it is every year.
The lacrosse
team has their spaghetti dinner fund-raiser. We have the Turn the Hoses car wash.
For years, the high school baseball team has flipped the idea of the bikini car wash on its head to raise money for new uniforms or equipment replacements. It’s the guys who show up in bathing suits and board shorts in the school parking lot. After we wash the cars, the drivers have the opportunity to draw all over the Pirate of their choice with gold and black body paint, then hose him off.
The girls at school, girls at several schools, actually, eat it up, and the event is pretty much made for me. “Nothing you love more than preening for a cause,” Naomi had said last year, right before smiling sweetly and dousing me with a blast of the hose. I got plenty of attention last year, most of it positive, although I have to admit that a few girls who showed up and paid for a chance to paint me were there with revenge in mind.
This year, with a whole new crop of girls at school, is definitely going to be even better than last, and noon can’t come fast enough. I eat, shower quickly, and pull on a pair of red board shorts, flip-flops, and an old sleeveless gray T-shirt for the drive.
Olivia asks me to drop her off at a friend’s, so by the time I get to the school, most of the guys are there already, having parked their cars and trucks on the far side of the parking lot so there’s plenty of room for customers to pull in and make their way down the first row. Brendan and Nate are divvying up supplies—posters to be held up along the street, the buckets and sponges and bottles of soap, containers of body paint and brushes for its application. I start grinning again just looking at it all.
At ten of twelve, Nathan pulls the group together and goes over the plan. There are a few guys from South who still look unsure about this, but for the most part, I can tell the guys are getting into the spirit of things.
Brendan glances at his watch. “I think we’re good to go.” He smiles. “Ladies will be showing up in droves any minute now. Who’s not here yet?”
We all look around. It’s obvious, but Matty says it anyway. “Scott and Eve.”
“Is Eve coming today?” someone asks.
“This is a team event,” Brendan answers. “She should be.”
“Sweet.” One of the sophomores guffaws. “I’d kinda like to see her soaped up and topless. For a good cause, of course.”
The words are out of my mouth in an instant. “Shut your mouth, asshole.” I glare at him, watching him visibly shrink back into the crowd. “She’d beat your ass if she heard you say that, and you know it.”
Nate shrugs. “Not like we weren’t all thinking it. Defensive much?”
Wishing I could’ve kept my damn mouth shut, I struggle to respond. Luckily, it’s at that second that we all watch Scott’s car pull into the lot. The crowd goes silent, and I can’t help but feel somewhat bad for her. It’s easy enough to imagine how she must be feeling inside the car, even though I have no clue how she’s planning to play this. Shit, Lord knows she surprised me with that little stunt during our initiation ritual.
Scott pulls up to the group to let Eve out before going to park his car. She gets out, and I swear, I see a few mouths actually fall open.
At least it’s not just me.
Dear God.
I decide in that instant, if a girl could ever step directly out of my fantasies, this is what she would look like.
She’s got the braids in. They’re sticking out from under her Pirates cap, which today looks incredibly sexy given the rest of her outfit. There’s not much to it. Black sports bra, cropped shiny gold yoga pants. Bare feet.
Eve looks like she’s shown up to kick Jillian Michaels’s ass or take on the American Ninja Warrior course or something. Like a total badass.
Although … it might just be the angry set to her face as she stands before us and plants her feet firmly on the concrete.
She rolls her eyes. “Whatever smart-ass comments you’ve been saving up, don’t even bother.”
My teammates are at least smart enough to keep their damn mouths shut.
She glares specifically at Nathan. “Especially you, jerk-off.”
I bite my lip and slide my sunglasses on to hide my expression.
“I mean, I have to say … you boys over here at East sure do love getting naked together.” She shrugs. “But whatever. I’m here, and a sports bra is as good as it’s gonna get. No string bikini, no bathing suit bottoms. Dream on.”
She glances over her shoulder, and we follow her gaze. The first cars are starting to pull into the lot, overeager girls honking loudly, rolling down their windows and sending catcalls in our direction.
“And no one’s coming near my skin with body paint,” Eve finishes. She extends her hand in Brendan’s direction. “Now hand me a damn sponge and let’s get this over with.”
Most of my teammates follow her instructions, quickly turning their attention to the group of girls excited to get the party started. But me, I’m left staring at her, wishing she’d look my way so I could smile at her.
Wishing for a lot of things, actually.
The way she just got out of the car and stared us all down … looking like that … There’s this weird part of me that’s whispering, She’s mine in my head, smiling about that fact. It makes me want to acknowledge it outright, approach her, put my arm around her, but … I shake my head … we’re not doing that.
Frustration grips me. I don’t know what we’re doing.
I push away the confusing thoughts and feelings and join my teammates, doing what I do best.
And what I do best … I do really, really well.
There’s this unspoken competition among the guys about who can score the most requests for body paint. So I’m quick to approach every car, those I recognize and those I don’t, leaning over their door frames, offering quick smiles and winks, telling them, “Glad you showed up today, sweetheart. I was hoping you would.”
When Eve is within earshot, sponging off rear windows or bumpers, her eyes almost roll out the top of her head.
By one thirty, I’ve had my chest painted with hearts, phone numbers, and various girls’ names about ten times and been hosed off just as many times. Eve’s still playing it cool, but I know girls just a little bit, and if it’s not getting under her skin at all, well, the girl really is made of steel.
I grin as I jog over to her, knowing I’m going to piss her off, anticipating her reaction. “Don’t be jealous,” I whisper as I pass. “Does it make you feel better knowing you’re the girl I’d actually like to leave here with?”
Her face shows absolutely no sign of reaction, but when I run off, a sharp blast of cold water hits me directly between my shoulder blades, making me jump and twist in the air. I’m still smiling, though.
I knew I could count on her.
Then at 2:20, when we’re getting ready to close up shop—and to be honest, I’m feeling kind of waterlogged—one last familiar car pulls into the lot. I tense up when I recognize Naomi’s ride. She’s been an ice queen since I dissed her the night of the spaghetti dinner, and these days, I never know what I’m going to get from her. Whether she’s going to ignore me entirely or give me shit in one form or another.
I quickly glance toward Eve from the corner of my eye. Today, I’m hoping Naomi decides to ignore me.
After Naomi parks her car and steps out, I catch her gaze flick in Eve’s direction, too. I brace myself, because Eve has caught Naomi’s attention before, and today, looking like that, she’s sure to catch it again. Naomi used to just dismiss her, but more and more, it seems like it’s been harder for her to do that.
But I guess the opportunity to have the undivided attention of the entire team is more appealing than hassling Eve, and instead of focusing on the single girl on the scene, she moves on to all the guys.
“Knew it paid to wait,” she says, sauntering toward the team. “Now I can have my pick of any Pirate I want.” The smile slides off her face and she nearly snarls at me as she walks by. “That’s not going to be you, by the way.”
/> I’m not sure why she’s acting so hurt about what happened that night. From what I heard, she just went and found Brendan, went home with him instead. We’ve never been exclusive; she’s never pushed the issue.
I turn my back and ignore her as she makes a big show of deciding who she wants to paint, relishing being the final customer of the day, that no one else is around to steal her thunder. I shake my head. Naomi was always cool because she wasn’t overbearing, but when she starts acting like this, I have absolutely no time for her.
It’s after she’s hosed off Brendan that I catch her looking in my direction, lips pressed together in frustration that I’m not watching her little show, that I’m not giving any reaction to it. She cracks, and tugs on the waistband of my shorts to pull me aside before she leaves. “Hey, can I talk to you for a sec?”
I try to sneak a discreet look in Eve’s direction. She’s walking toward the school, helping Scott and Pat take some stuff back inside, and her back is toward us.
“Okay.”
Her expression softens. “For the record, I’m still pissed about the way you disappeared and didn’t answer my texts that night. But.” She lifts her face and finally smiles at me. “Prom’s next month, and I still want to go with you.”
It takes a second for me to process it, that we’ve reached that point where prom is only a few weeks away, where girls are starting to make sure they have dates. Shit.
Before, it was just the money thing, but now …
Naomi touches my forearm. “I’m going to assume that feeling is still mutual, that you know if you’re going to go and actually have a good time, I’m your girl.”
I still can’t seem to speak. Before, a comeback, a slightly lewd confirmation would’ve been waiting on the tip of my tongue, but today I have nothing.
“So you might want to think about apologizing for how you’ve been acting. Other guys are already starting to ask. I’m only going to wait on you for so long.”