“Does this mean you’re mine? I can brag to all my buddies that I got the hottest girl at school?”
She snorts as if to blow off the compliment, but I don’t let her get away with it that easy. I slide my hand up inside the leg of her cutoff shorts until the tips of my finger brush against lace. She stills, and her eyes flutter closed for an instant. My lips find the corner of her mouth and stop before making contact. I can feel her breath, warm and shallow, on my face. “You are hot. Gorgeous, smart, sexy as fuck. Own it, Blair. Thinking you’re anything less than that is an insult to me. You think my girl is ugly?”
Her lips part and pull into a smile. “No, your girl is fine.”
“Fine as fuck,” I mutter and capture her mouth.
22
Blair
Is being someone’s girl the same as being their girlfriend? I’m contemplating the differences as we drive to Succulent Hill. Wes is driving, and I’m sitting in the passenger seat exhausted and satiated. He made good on the sex stats last night and this morning, not resting until my limbs were weak and my mind mush.
I could just ask him, but I’m a little afraid of the answer. I know he likes me. Suddenly that doesn’t feel like enough. And if being his girl is really his way of calling me his girlfriend, then why is the word so hard for him to say? What we’re doing doesn’t feel any different from what I’ve done with other boyfriends. Except, it kind of does.
I push back my disappointment, the niggling voice that wishes he would have stormed through the door last night and told me, accident or not, he does love me. Stupid, I know.
If Wes hasn’t been clear on labeling what we mean to each other, he has been loud and clear on basketball being number one in his life. His life revolves around the sport, and even with as much time as we spend together, I know that I’m the other woman, so to speak. The mistress when he’s away from his true love. And even as I allow myself to think this, I know how dumb it sounds.
Wes is who he is because of his passion. Taking ball away from him would take a piece of him that I love. I admire his dedication, but I can’t help but wonder what it would feel like to have that kind of passion directed at me. Is there any room for him to love anything else the way he loves basketball?
Ugh, my mind circles around my insecurities, and I stew, too afraid to voice any of it. Every guy wants a desperate girl begging for love and attention. Yeah right.
I need to just focus on the things I can control, like my career path. I’ve been searching for my purpose since I arrived at school. I love business, but I haven’t found my place in a field that encompasses so much. After throwing myself into the cause with books, podcasts, vlogs, inspirational blogs, the only thing I’ve become passionate about is my quest for passion.
Wes puts the cruise control on and shifts so he can flex his foot.
“Your foot still bothering you?”
He waves me off with a shake of the head as he rests one hand on my leg. “All good.”
I turn toward him to revisit a conversation from last night. “Gabby won’t grill you. She isn’t like Vanessa. Actually, no she’s a lot like Vanessa—or she used to be. I should warn you, though, she is really sensitive about her scarring.”
He nods, and his eyes go thoughtful. After a moment of silence, I stare ahead, watching the familiar sights of my hometown come into view. When he finally speaks, we’re pulling up in front of my parents’ house.
“We all have scars we’re trying to hide. Gabby’s are just more obvious. I’m excited to meet her. She’s important to you, she’s a part of you, and I want to know all of you.”
His words are a promise, and I hold on to them as we step out of the car and walk to Gabby’s house.
Whatever fears I had about Wes meeting Gabby are short lived. They embrace like old friends, and as we sit in the living room after lunch, college football on the television as background noise, they chat like little old ladies at the hair salon. My face hurts from smiling even as my most embarrassing moments have become the topic of conversation.
“Blair always fails to mention that the reason Missy Thomas pushed her off the bike is because Blair was showing off. She was the first to get rid of her training wheels, and she rode up and down the street, ringing her bell and rubbing it in all our faces.”
“I did not. I was just excited and my parents would only let me ride in our cul-de-sac.” My attempt to defend myself falls on deaf ears. Wes and Gabby are in stitches, paying no attention to my rebuttal.
Traitor, I mouth to my friend and tug on the end of one of the bracelets on her arm.
“Oh, I almost forgot.” Gabby reaches into her pocket and pulls out two matching bracelets of blue and yellow. She hands one to me and the other to Wes. “I made them with twelve strands of thread to represent your number.”
“Matching bracelets?” I stare at her a little dumbfounded. It’s one thing to wear best friend bracelets but a matching bracelet with my sort of boyfriend who is keeping me firmly in the I-like-you zone is a whole different thing.
Wes wraps the braided thread around his wrist and holds it out, indicating he wants me to tie it. “You embarrassed to match me?”
I roll my eyes and tie it securely before reciprocating and holding mine out to be tied with the others that don my arm. He shakes his head and nods to the other arm. He wants me to wear it on my right arm. It’s bare, and a shiver takes my whole body as I pull my left back and extend my right.
He seems to understand the significance of wearing it separately from the others because a playful smirk rests on his lips, but his eyes are dark and serious.
As he ties the knot snugly, my heart squeezes with possibilities and hope. I search for meaning in the gesture as my eyes flit to the many bracelets that adorn my other arm. The colors vary from vibrant to dull, but as a whole, they complement each other to create beauty. Years of friendship are living art that I wear daily as a reminder of years gone by and dreams that are still unfulfilled.
This new bracelet, shiny and colorful without the grime and dirt of the real world to mar it, represents a new dream that I hadn’t realized I wanted until I met Wes. A life shared with new hopes and dreams. Like the others, I know it will soon be tested for durability and strength, but I feel certain of one thing as I stare at our matching jewelry. I’ll strive to hold on to Wes and our time together with the same passion and intensity that I’ve strived to hold on to Gabby and the plans we created when we were just kids. Bottom line, if he decides he suddenly doesn’t have time for me, I’m going to be crushed. I’m in deep.
As we stand to hug Gabby and say our goodbyes, she wipes tears from both cheeks. Wes hangs back as I embrace my friend.
“What’s wrong? Why the tears?”
She shakes her head and pulls back. “Ignore me. I’m just so happy for you. And maybe a little jealous too. You really did it . . . the whole college experience we always talked about. I know I’m not supposed to be ungrateful or sit around wishing things were any different from how they are. I’ve mostly made my peace with it. I don’t want you to think I resent your happiness, no one is more proud of you. I promise. But—”
“Gabs, of course. You’re allowed to feel that way. You can still have all those things. You just have to decide you’re ready.”
We share a sad smile, having spoken truths we usually leave unsaid. She turns to Wes and cocks her head at him. “Take care of her and promise you’ll come back. I want to hear more about how amazing she’s doing. She underplays it.”
His eyes slide to me and back to Gabby. “I bet she does.”
After more hugs and promises to return, Wes and I walk down the street toward my parents’ house. At the front door, he cages me in by putting both hands around my hips and pressing my back against the door.
“Thanks for letting me come. Gabby is something.”
“She liked you too.”
“I get it now. I see the way she drives you.”
“She was always the one who
wanted to rule the world. I just wanted to be by her side while she did it.” The words taste bitter.
“That doesn’t make you less worthy.”
“Maybe not, but it feels that way.”
He’s quiet for a beat before he responds. “There are two types of ball players. Those with more talent than heart and those with more heart than talent. You’d think it’d be the ones with the most talent who perform the best, but it isn’t.”
“This coming from the guy who was sleeping through statistics. Where was your heart?” I tease.
“I’ve been running stats for myself and my teammates for as long as I can remember. That class is cake because I studied it early on in order to understand basketball.”
“And none of that is talent or brains?”
“Sure, of course. Listen, Joe Schmoe off the street who’s never touched a ball before isn’t likely to be able to beat Lebron, but when you’re talking players of a roughly equal talent spectrum, heart wins out. Sure, the most talented guys make some shots, pull off things I couldn’t dream of, but they never really become a part of the team. When it comes game time they never mesh, and we’re a team out there. We practice seven days of the week, year-round, and it rules our lives. Talent burns out before heart.”
I consider his words and how it relates to me. Am I all talent and no heart?
“You have as much heart as you do talent,” he says as if reading my thoughts. “You show it in everything you do. I’ve never met anyone with more heart than you. You’re holding on to dreams of your best friend long after most would have abandoned all hope. When you figure out what you’re passionate about, you’ll be unstoppable. It’s time to decide what your dreams are. As shitty as it is, Gabby may never be ready to stand by your side running a company, so whatever plans the two of you had back then have to be shifted some. Why are you holding on so hard when she’s making it clear she just wants you to be happy?”
“Because I can’t give up hope that, someday, she’s going to be ready. I just won’t let myself believe that’s a possibility. She’s the most deserving person I know. At first, I thought I could somehow make up for her absence by doing everything we planned like nothing had changed. And I guess I wanted to honor the dreams we made. I still want those things, and I want her beside me. The scars and the emotional toll of the accident changed her, but she has grit and determination hidden away somewhere deep inside. You two are a lot alike—well, Gabby before the accident.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment. I liked her a lot.”
I nod toward his bracelet. “I’d say it was mutual. I’m a little jealous, actually. You’re the first person besides me she’s ever made one for.”
“Yeah?” He looks positively elated. “In that case, I’m gonna have to get a wristband so I can wear it during games.”
I roll my eyes, but it makes me happy he’s going to make a point to wear it even if no one else can see it.
23
Wes
“You’re dragging ass, Reynolds. Shaw take Reynold’s place while he rests the foot.”
“Coach.”
He lifts a hand. “Don’t bother. You’re off. I’d rather you be rested and ready.”
My foot is killing me, but I keep my face neutral, not giving in to the grimace that begs me to grind down on my back molars to distract from the throbbing radiating up my leg. I sit on a chair at the end of our row, leaving a half dozen seats between me and anyone else. Cursing Coach and Shaw, I wipe my face with a towel and then toss the terrycloth onto the floor in front of me. I know it’s no one’s fault but my own, but I’m pissed anyway.
I’m off my game, and I don’t know if I can blame it on just my foot. I’m not as focused. I spent the past two days with Blair and hardly thought about ball. I’d even put off coming back last night, convincing her to leave at the ass crack of dawn this morning to get back in time for practice. A good break before the crunch of the season was what I’d told myself when guilt crept in for not getting in my drills and daily run. Maybe I shouldn’t have been so eager to have time off. I’m not where I should be, and I have only my lack of concentration to blame.
Coach takes the chair next to me as the rest of the team runs through the plays with Shaw on point.
“How many more weeks of physical therapy?”
“Two more weeks. The foot is fine, coach. It bothers me when I push too hard. They said that was to be expected.”
“I’m switching up your workouts. Until further notice, I want you and Shaw working together. Everywhere you go, he goes. Everything you do in this gym, he does.”
I open my mouth to object, close it, and think through my words before I say something I can’t take back. “I’ll be ready. I won’t let my team down.”
“I know. You always leave it all on the court, but your team needs you to take it easy. Even if you were at your best, we would still need a strong six man. I think Shaw can be that.”
I nod. I don’t like the thought of anyone taking my spot. Least of all the guy who has one foot on the court and the other on the field. What happens if he decides he just wants to play baseball? Or gets hurt? It’s ironic, I realize, worrying about someone else getting hurt while my foot screams. I rationalize it away because I hurt myself playing the sport I love, not the one I’m splitting my time playing.
“All right.”
“The guys look to you, and I depend on you. I’ve never had to ask you to do anything because you’ve always just done. I’m asking this for me, for your team. We need Shaw ready to go sooner than later.”
Blair calls as I’m changing out of my sweaty practice jersey into a clean-ish T-shirt for weight lifting and drills.
“What’s up?” I ask, my voice less grumpy than I feel.
“Heading back to Succulent Hill. I forgot my cell charger and my backpack in our rush out. Got time to entertain me while I drive?”
“Got five.”
“I figured it out,” she says, and I can hear the excitement in her voice. “I have you to thank, really. I can’t believe it didn’t occur to me on my own, but what you said about heart and talent finally hit me today while I was unpacking. The thing I’m passionate about is other people’s goals.”
I cock a brow. “Your dream is for other people to achieve their dreams?”
“I know that sounds like a cop out. Hell, even I thought that, which is why I’ve had such a hard time pinning it down. But hear me out. Think about all the people who have had an impact in your life. Those who helped you get closer to your goals. With social media and a myriad of goal-setting resources, there’s an entire market out there for helping people achieve their goals. Live streams, vlogs, blogs, books, podcasts, life coaching, the list is endless. That’s what I want to do.”
“The lady boss that creates more lady bosses.”
“Exactly.” While I’d love to pretend it’s all about me, I can tell she’s really excited about the idea. She’s a bundle of excitement that’s contagious even through the phone. “I’m meeting with my advisor this week to see if there are opportunities in the career resource center.”
“You’re really something, you know that? You’re willing to dedicate your entire life to helping others, and I’m bitter about helping one dude on my team.”
She’s quiet for a beat, and I picture the adorable way her brows scrunch together when she’s trying to figure something out. “Why? That isn’t like you.”
“This guy just gets under my skin. He has talent, but I’m not sure about heart.”
“What makes you say that?”
“He’s a multi-sport athlete, which means he plays two sports—basketball and baseball.”
“Oh yeah, Tanner Shaw. Mario mentioned him. It’s kind of impressive that he’s playing both sports.”
I roll my eyes. “It’s a giant pain in the ass for everyone.”
“So, you think because he isn’t solely dedicated to basketball that his heart is less than his talent?”
“How could it possibly be otherwise? I can’t imagine playing another sport, trying to juggle between two different games, and then comparing that dedication to someone who only plays one. You see what it’s like, how basketball takes like a thousand percent of my time.”
More silence that makes me feel like a prick.
“Maybe his path is different, but I don’t think it’s fair to question his heart. You said yourself that the test of heart comes with how well a guy meshes with the team come game time. You’re only a few games in, and he played less than six minutes of the last game.”
“Keeping stats on the rookie? Should I be jealous?”
“No, I was keeping stats on you, dummy. When he was playing, you weren’t.”
Those words, which were meant to be reassuring, cut deep. Is that why I’m being a giant baby? I’ve never had a problem giving other guys the limelight. Fuck, it’s what makes me a good point man. I’m not greedy. I take my shots, but I don’t force it. I always do what’s best for the team. Until now.
“It’s my last year,” I say and wonder how such a bland statement can hold so much weight. “My foot is slowing me down, and if someone is going to take my spot, I want that person to give everything for the team. Someone like . . .”
“Someone like you?”
I nod, aware that she can’t see the movement but unable to speak.
“Give him a chance to prove you wrong. Maybe he just needs someone to help in his journey. Someone smarter and wiser. Someone with experience leading a team. Someone with heart and talent.” Her voice is sugary sweet, and I let her words heal like a salve to the open wound of my ego.
The Assist (Smart Jocks #1) Page 15