Full Court Press

by Sierra Hill

  But seriously? I’m. Right. Here.

  Part of me wants to raise my hands to the sky and yell, “Yoo-Hoo! I’m here! There’s another girl at the table, Miss Sorority Bimbo.”

  And just as my thoughts center on that desire, I hear my name.

  “Ainsley, this is Hailey Conrad. She’s co-captain of the men’s basketball cheering squad. Hailey, this is my friend, Ainsley.”

  Oh goodie. I’m now his friend. Should I be flattered by this descriptor? Should I fall down in front of him in worship and reverence, or faint at the high-regard Cade has just bestowed up me? Either that, or I’ll just find the nearest trash receptacle to barf in.

  I don’t have time for any of that because Miss Perky O.C. Conrad turns and glares down at my sitting form. The two-thousand-dollar orthodontia smile she plasters on her face is so fake and plastic it would put Mickey Rourke’s nips and tucks to shame. She pins me with the eyes of a viper. And I have a feeling I’m going to get stung.

  This girl gives me the most practiced line I’ve ever heard.

  “So nice to meet you, Annie. Any friend of Griff’s is a friend of mine.”

  I try not to wince at the obvious passive-aggressive dig with calling me by the wrong name. Judging by her snide misuse of my name, she’s not one to be trifled with. So I don’t bother correcting her or even sticking around to say more. Instead, I give a tight smile and nod, gather up my trash and book bag, and stand up to leave.

  As I’m practically hurling myself toward the exterior exit doors, I feel a hand gently wrap around my bicep, halting my progress just before I open it.

  “Ainsley, wait. Where are you going?”

  “I have to get to class,” I spit out quickly, a little shaken by the exchange with Barbie and by the heat of Cade’s touch. “I gotta go. But thanks for the ride and my dinner. See ya around.”

  “But-”

  Cade seems shocked that anyone, especially a girl, would ever walk away from him. I think it’s safe to assume most of the girls on campus would drop everything just to follow him around all day like googley-eyed sheep. But not me. I won’t fall for his boyishly good looks, and his sweet charm. And his cute butt. And those cut biceps. They look like he chops wood every day because the grooves are so defined.

  No sir. Not me.

  His eyes follow mine as I look back over to Hailey, who’s standing there with a shocked expression. “You better get back to Miss Cheerleader, Cade. She doesn’t seem too happy that you just ditched her and her Pom-Poms.”

  I give him a piteous smile and nod toward Hailey’s overexposed cleavage. He seems to know better than to push it with me and drops my arm to let me go as I walk out into the quad.

  It’s weird how just minutes ago all the attention was directed toward me – well, Cade, but I was cast in his glow – and now I’m as imperceptible as the gaseous air around me. And that’s the way it should be. I don’t want to be in the limelight. Or be noticed for anything outside my accomplishments. Cade Griffin is a super-hero to the people of this school. He’s a celebrity in his own right. And everyone wants a piece of him. But not me. His spotlight is too hot. I’d scorch to death if I spent any time in his public eye.

  I enjoy the walk through campus, with its pathways lined with palm trees, bright red bougainvillea, benches and open areas filled with clusters of students and faculty activity. But today I feel like something is missing. Although the sun shines bright, I feel a shiver of cold run through my spine, as if the rays are no longer strong enough to penetrate through my skin.

  Cade’s light feels hotter and more intense than even the ball of fire in the sky.

  I chastise myself as I walk into the lecture hall and grab my seat in the top right corner. While this is the largest lecture theater on campus, the room is only half full with students at the moment. I’m about ten minutes early, so I pull out my study guide, notepad, pens and text book to review the most recent material I read. This is my Human Development lecture course, one of the upper-division humanities requirements, and part of the psychology aspects of the nursing program.

  I really enjoy the professor. She is both a nurse practitioner and academic, so she understands the whole bedside manners dilemma when dealing with the ill and dying. Many professors have only been in the classroom and have no idea what it’s like to show empathy for someone who can no longer speak because they have a breathing tube down their throat and can’t communicate, or who is so angry at their lot in life because they can no longer bend over to put on their own socks.

  Those are some of the things that I am good at. Where it comes from, I don’t know, but I have a never ending supply of patience for those in my care. Not, however, for guys like Cade. Or for parents who are supposed to take care of their daughters but don’t refill their medications and then fall into deep depression, drinking to stem the pain.

  I’m remembering my mom’s last binge when I hear my name being called and a hush of whispers echoes across the room. My head pops up and I look around the hall in confusion. Is the professor calling for me? I search her out but don’t see her anywhere. And then I feel a strong hand on my shoulder and I tilt my head to find Cade standing in the aisle next to me.

  Dizziness descends upon me from either his towering height, or from the uncomfortable feeling of once again being the center of attention as all eyes are on me right now.

  Cade crouches down next to me, as a gigantic smile unfurls across his face.

  “Glad I found you,” he effuses in a rush of air. “Otherwise I’d have to resort to using a bull horn at the front of the class, which probably would’ve gotten me escorted out by campus security.”

  I roll my eyes and give him a hmph because he’s absolutely crazy. “We can still make that happen.”

  He gives a low chuckle and I feel it down to my toes. Half of me is annoyed that he’s bugging me and interrupting my class prep time. But the other half… my body is vibrating with a strange excitement. My nerve endings are firing off short charges of electricity that lights up my skin. Because Cade Griffin came looking for me, for some unknown reason. And he’s looking mighty fine.

  My voice is a little shaky, tinged with antagonism and wonder. “What are you doing here, Cade? You need to leave before the professor gets here.”

  He moves his head side to side, scanning the lecture hall and shrugs his shoulders in defiance.

  “This will only take me a second. I’m not worried.” He casually points out, like he is above the law because of who he is.

  Arrogant jerk.

  “You rushed out of the union so fast, I didn’t get to ask you my question.”

  My nose and forehead scrunch in confusion.

  “What are you talking about?” I hiss back in a loud whisper. I want him to leave me alone, but now I’m curious. “What question?”

  His grin grows unbelievably wider and I notice how straight his teeth are. His lips are full and look like they could devour a girl in a single kiss. His angular jaw and upper lip are covered with a fine layer of scruff, just like the other day. It’s a little darker than his hair color and I have a sudden urge to reach my hand out and touch, to experience the rough abrasion against my palm.

  I blink, trying to refocus my thoughts. He was about to ask me a question. Right.

  “My birthday is tomorrow.”

  “That’s not a question,” I snidely remark. But I hate sounding bitchy, so I follow it with, “But happy early birthday, I guess.”

  Cade takes it all in stride, shrugs and smiles. Then he blows me away.

  “My roommates are throwing a small birthday party for me. I want you to come.”

  For the record, that was not the question I was expecting. For one, I don’t even know Cade Griffin. We’ve never hung out, had any classes together, or interacted in any other way outside the short expanse of time this past week. And second, I don’t go to parties. I don’t associate with his type of people. Jocks. Athletes. Frat brothers and sorority sisters. Campus celebrit
ies.

  And third, why in the world would Cade want me at his birthday party? I’m not the type of girl he’d want. Not that I know what type that might be, but from the little exchange I witnessed between cheerleader Barbie and him in the union, I’m definitely not of that crowd.

  He must be amused by the look of sheer horror and panic across my face, because he lets go a booming laugh.

  “Ainsley, it’s just a party – not prison camp. I think you’d have fun. And I’d like to get to know you better.”

  “Why?” I squeak out, feeling everyone’s eyes on me.

  I don’t know what my problem is around Cade, but I have no self-confidence around him. I just feel like we are in two different socioeconomic classes. I don’t fit into his BMW-driving, sorority cheerleader life. While I learned early on in life never to compare myself to other girls, because that’s self-destructive, it doesn’t mean I’m meant to be in Cade’s circle.

  My mind flashes to my favorite teen movie, Pretty in Pink. I am the girl from the wrong side of the tracks and Cade is the richie athlete. And never the twain shall meet.

  I quickly add an excuse. “No, I work that night. Sorry, can’t go.”

  Cade blinks a few times, bites his lower lip, and then scratches his chin. Analyzing me. Looking for something that I can’t quite name.

  “I didn’t even tell you what night the party is on. So how do you know you can’t go?”

  Well, shit. He has me there.

  It doesn’t matter what night. Even if I don’t work, there’s no way I’d be caught dead at his party.

  “Whatever, Cade. I can’t go. Let’s just leave it at that.”

  He surprises me then when he sits down in the seat next to me. My eyes dart to the clock on the wall of the lecture hall and see that it’s one minute to four. Crap, he’s got to get out of here before the professor comes in.

  “Tell you what,” he says, his voice calm and collective. The gold flecks in his eyes glimmer like light reflecting off a gold wedding band. Kind of hypnotic. I feel pulled in to whatever he’s about to say and I physically lean closer, to which he grins.

  He crosses one foot over his knee and settles back in the theater-style chair. “I’m gonna plant my butt right here for the next hour during this lecture. At the end of the class, I’ll give you a ride home and you can quiz me on anything related to the topic. If I answer the questions correctly, then you have to show up at my party.”

  An odd noise of disbelief flies from my mouth. What little twisted game is he playing? Why is this even an option?

  I plant my palm against my forehead and shake my head. “You are exasperatingly annoying. Why the hell are you doing this? Can’t you find someone else who wants you to annoy them?”

  Cade laughs and grabs for my text book, opening it up to where I have it bookmarked. I watch his eyes track over the page, his face contorts into thoughtful appraisal.

  “The allostatic load theory of illness occurs when the patient is continually stressed and they are unable to return to a normal stress level, thereby increasing the stress demands on their bodies…” He reads from the book, flipping a few pages to read aloud again.

  Tapping the book with his thumbs, he makes a humming noise. “Hmm, well, isn’t this interesting? The biopsychosocial model is a model of health that integrates the effects of biological, behavioral, and social factors on health and illness...”

  My hand grabs the book and I whip it off his lap, snapping it closed in a mini-tantrum of hysteria. It makes a rather loud sound and I see a few heads turn to see out what’s going on.

  My face is burning with mortification and frustration. I hate attention like this. I just want him to leave me alone. “Cade, just get the hell out of here. You’re making a scene and you’re acting like a child.”

  He turns his broad shoulders toward me and crosses his arms over his chest, making his pecs pop out like the Hulk. I have to turn away so my body doesn’t betray me. Because that? That is too much man muscle to ignore and still stand my ground.

  “Two choices here, Ainsley. You can either say yes right this minute and I’ll leave you to your lecture. Or, I stay and get the most out of my educational experience, learning a little more about biopsychosocial models. And from the looks of it, my shenanigan will probably embarrass the hell out of you. Which, noting from your angry little tantrum, you don’t like one bit.”

  I’m still facing away from him when his hand grabs my chin gently to turn my face back toward him. I want to remain mad at him for disrupting my day. But all of that is impossible when I look into his eyes and see sincerity. And then I just turn to mush out of sheer lack of self-preservation.

  “Fine,” I capitulate, jerking my chin out of his hand, which leaves a warm tingly feeling in its absence. “I’ll come to your birthday party, as long as you leave now. But I won’t be bringing you a present. And don’t you dare expect this to be a hookup.”

  The whoop Cade lets out has now garnered the attention from everyone in the lecture hall, including Professor Lang who just walked in and dropped her notes on the podium. I drop my head to avoid any eye contact with anyone and let out a seething whisper.

  “Now just go! Please…” I implore, fidgeting restlessly in my seat.

  He grabs my cellphone in a flash of movement, types in some digits before handing it back, his face glowing in celebratory glee. And then, when I thought I couldn’t be shocked any more than I already was, he leans over a places a kiss on my cheek.

  “Your presence, Ainsley, will be the best present you can give me.”

  Then he stands up, turns, strides up the stairs two at a time and doesn’t look back. I watch him leave in haze of incredulity.

  What did I just get myself into?

  8

  Cade

  Saturday mornings around our apartment are usually pretty quiet. We’re either all crashed out from a late night of partying, or my roommates aren’t home. Between the three of us, Lance, Carver and myself, it’s usually a given that at least one of us will wind up with a Friday night hookup.

  That honor went to Carver last night. The noise and sex sounds emitted from his room told me he wasn’t alone. I’m not sure what happened to Lance, though, as I lost track of his whereabouts after I left the party, and I don’t think he ended up back home.

  More often than not, when we do finally emerge from our bedrooms, or the bathroom floor, we are all suffering from some level of hangover. The giant Costco-sized bottle of aspirin on our kitchen counter is a pretty good indicator that this happens fairly frequently. We all suck at holding our liquor.

  Today’s my birthday, though, so I held things together last night at one of our teammates’ parties. We’d played in a scrimmage game until six-thirty, came home, showered and ate, and then went over to Jake’s apartment around nine. At that point, there were just a smattering of guys playing video games, some chicks hanging on their arms, and some music playing. By the time I left at one a.m., the party had blown up and people were busting out the doors.

  I know Carver got laid last night, because I woke to the sounds of his bed squeaking in his room next door and the muffled moans of a female in the height of climax. When I rolled over to look at the clock, it was close to four in the morning. I was too tired to get horny from the noises they were making, so I rolled over and went back to sleep.

  But now I’m awake from the incessant vibration of my phone on my nightstand, as several calls and text messages come rolling in. I mumble a low curse and reach over to grab the offending device to see who has the audacity to wake me at nine a.m. on a Saturday morning.

  The first call came in at eight-fifteen and was from my mom. She left me a voice message that I’m not quite ready to listen to. I’m afraid she’ll want me to come over to the house for brunch or something. Not that it would be a bad thing, but it’s just weird being back home when it’s only my mom living there now.

  Once my dad moved out, and my twin sisters Kylah and Kadence le
ft for school, my mom was completely alone. She took the separation and divorce hard. And now that both Ky and Kady are away at school, too, I’m the only one that lives close enough for her to lean on for support.

  I’ve tried to be her shoulder to cry on, but the timing of it was…well, I was a sophomore going on junior in college at the time they divorced. I’m not a dick, but it isn’t my forte and definitely not where I wanted to be. She was alone for the first time in over twenty years and I just wanted my freedom. We’d finally come to a mutually agreed upon compromise. I would come home every other weekend for brunch. She’d either make a huge spread at home, or we’d go to the country club.

  And now that my sisters are both attending different colleges out of state, the responsibility still lands squarely on my shoulders. I look at the stream of birthday texts and see I have one from Kylah. That girl has probably been up since the crack of dawn studying this morning. She’s definitely the more studious of the identical twins. Kady is the free-spirited wild one, who went off to the University of Colorado Boulder where she’s an undecided major.

  Kylah, the more reserved of the two, is attending Harvey Mudd College, the small liberal arts college in Claremount California where she’s studying science. In that regard, Ky’s a lot more like me academically. We both have dreams of someday developing lifesaving methods – me through the science of medical devices. Kylah through the true form of science to cure some disease.

  I shoot a quick text back to Ky to say thanks and ask her when she’ll be home next. She says she isn’t sure.

  Then I pull up the next unread text, this one from Ainsley. Her contact name is already stored in my list.

  Before I left the lecture building the other day, I dialed my number from her phone, so she had my number. Plus, her number then popped up on my call list, so I could have it. I think she was still in shock that I followed her (or maybe stalked is a more apt representation) into the classroom that she didn’t balk when I grabbed her phone for my stealthy tactics.