Out of Play

by Jolene Perry

  Pat’s good people. It’s cool hanging out with him, and I wonder why I don’t do it more often. Plus, he could have blown my cover a long time ago, but he hasn’t. “Wanna play?”

  His eyes light up. “Hell yeah.”

  We jam for a little while—okay, a couple hours, before a few kids come in.

  “You like the drums?” I step up next to the one with the shaved head, eyeing the kit.

  “Yeah! They’re so cool!”

  I look over at Pat and he nods. “Want me to play something?” I ask them and they look at me like I’m an idiot, so I sit down and show them what I can do. It’s like it’s coming from within me—this incredible feeling sprouting from my insides and coming out through the drumsticks.

  “Holy cow!” The other boy says when I finish. “You’re good! Can you teach us something?”

  The next hour and a half is spent teaching them some rhythms and freestyle tricks. It’s actually pretty cool. The bald kid reminds me of when I started playing. He’s good. This—teaching him—feels even better than that.

  Finally, it’s close to time for Penny to get out of school, so I head out. She still has practice, but I go to the school anyway. I feel like watching her, since I probably won’t get to see her game. I’m sure she’ll be done with me after what I tell her today.

  Standing in the doorway to the arena, I watch her on the ice. My mind flashes back to her in the truck this morning—how she just pulled off her sweats in front of me like I deserved to be there and see her. Like I belonged there with her.

  Like I told her mom, nothing holds her back.

  I realize I’m smiling when I head inside. She’s skated to the back, but all the guys are out here, still in their big ass hockey gear. Mitch does a double take when he sees me and then skates over. “What’s up, man?” Even though Penny used to be into him, he’s all right. The least I can do is be cool.

  “Hey.” He has his helmet in his huge, glove-covered hand. “You here for our girl?”

  “Whose girl? Nope, not here for your girl.”

  Mitch grins at me. Then Chomps skates up, doing the same.

  “You guys got something to say?” This is the part where they tell me not to screw up with Penny, and though I respect them for it, I don’t need to hear it from them. I know exactly how lucky I am. And I know I’ve already fucked up, too.

  Chomps’s smile grows, but it’s Mitch who speaks. “We’re going sledding in a few days. You wanna come?”

  Sledding? What are we, twelve? “Nah, I’m good. Thanks.”

  “It’ll be fun.” Chomps nods his head at me. “You can borrow gear from Pen, or we’ll bring some for you.”

  “Gear? I’m pretty sure I can handle a sled without gear.”

  They both laugh, and Mitch leans over and puts an arm around me.

  “This is going to be fun! Gotta make sure you’re tough enough for our girl.” He steps away.

  My shoulders rise and fall in a shrug. “Believe me. I have what it takes.”

  They start laughing again, and I open my mouth to tell them to screw off, when Penny skates toward us, sliding to a stop next to the wall.

  “What are you doing here so early? You’re going to get bored.” She leans toward me, her eyes bright. Yeah, she wanted to see me, too. She pushes her way through Mitch and Chomps who skate off, still laughing at something, but I couldn’t care less. I didn’t come here to deal with them.

  For the first time, I want to take my hat off instead of pulling it lower. “I wanted to watch you, Pen.”

  She opens her mouth, closes it, and opens it again. For the first time, Penny Jones doesn’t know what to say. “You can sit in the stands, but if I see you looking sideways at Rebecca, I might freak.”

  There’s the girl I know. Reaching forward, I touch her face. “If she’s not kicking ass on the ice, or challenging me at snowmachining, she’s not my type.” I wink at her before heading over to sit down on the bleachers. For the second time, I leave her speechless.

  “So, you and Penny, huh?” I look over to see Mitch’s girl a few rows up.

  “Yep.”

  “Thank God.” Rebecca laughs but then looks shy about it, looking away and kind of biting at her lip. “Seriously though… It’s cool to see her happy and not just because she wants Mitch—”

  “Used to want Mitch.” My gut tightens. And maybe will want him again after she knows the truth.

  “I didn’t mean anything by it.” Again she looks away. She’s so different from Penny. Not that that’s a bad thing. Just different.

  “And?” I prompt her to see if she’ll keep going.

  “I know she wouldn’t believe it, but I’m happy for her. Penny’s cool, even if she hates me and insists on calling me Rebecca when she knows I like Becca better.” Her voice is so quiet that I have to strain to hear her over the sound of skates on ice.

  I chuckle. “That sounds like her, and yeah, she is cool. And I’m sure she doesn’t really hate you.”

  I smile at Becca before leaning back in the seat to watch Penny practice.

  I expect to see drills or something, but they’re slamming into each other like they do in games, only they punch one another for fun when they get hit. This is some serious shit, and I like her even more for it. That she’s not afraid to be out there giving as many hits as she takes.

  Though, that could really backfire when I tell her what a prick I am.

  Chapter Eighteen

  PENNY

  Damn, the boy can give a compliment. He sits four rows lower, way off to the side of Rebecca, and watches until we finish.

  “So, you and the renter, huh?” Mitch throws an arm over my shoulder as we head off the ice which feels nowhere near as good as it did before Bishop came along.

  “It’s Bishop, and he’s just giving me a ride home.” And hopefully more of last night when we get there.

  He cocks an eyebrow. “He’s been here for a long time for someone who’s only giving you a ride.”

  I raise my hands in the air with a grin. “‘Cause I’m awesome on the ice. Who wouldn’t want to see this?”

  Mitch leans in. “You’re not fooling me, Pen. Just admit you like the guy.”

  “I might.” I pull off my helmet to cool down.

  “Feels good, doesn’t it?” Mitch smiles. “That he came to watch.”

  “Screw off.” I grin as I push him. But yeah, it feels good. Now I get it. Why Mitch likes Rebecca here.

  I give Bishop a wave before heading to the locker room to shower and change. For the first time that I can remember, I know it’ll feel good to get out of my hockey gear and back into something that makes me feel like a girl—even if it’s wearing a guy’s clothes.

  …

  We drive home in silence, but Bishop looks twitchy. He keeps readjusting his hat and rubbing his hands together. It’s making me a little crazy.

  “You were amazing out there,” he says again.

  It’s obvious he has something he wants to say. “You said that already.”

  He shifts again.

  “Bishop. Just spit it out. You’re making me insane over here.” I give my knuckles a little rub. After hitting Bitty, and then wearing my hockey gloves, they’re all irritated again.

  He pushes out a breath of air. “So you know how you asked me who I am?”

  The edges of nerves are creeping in with how weird and tense his voice sounds. “Yeah…”

  “Shit.” He rubs his face. “Okay. My name’s not Ripe. It’s Bishop Riley. I’m the youngest member of Burn. I’m the drummer, and—”

  I laugh. Hard. And then our eyes catch, and his are so wide and serious that it makes me laugh harder. “Shut up. I call bullshit.” That band is hot. What is he trying to pull?

  He fingers his lip ring and stares.

  Is he serious?

  “No.” I shake my head, which is starting to feel light and floaty and strange with the possibility of who he is. “No way. I know that band.” There’s no way he’
s some rock star. No way. But even as I think that, it means that a lot of things about him make sense. How he’s always hiding under that hat. The name. The drumming that’s unreal. The babysitter. Freaking Pat who got all smiley when we came in, who should have called me when he knew. Maybe that whole anxiety crowd thing is a serious problem. I thought he was going lose it after my game.

  “Your iPhone in here?” he asks.

  I point to the front pocket of my pack, but I’m starting to tense up like he might not be bullshitting me. Was some rock star living next to me this whole time?

  Bishop pulls it out and scrolls for a minute. “Here.”

  It’s the label art for Burn. All five guys. It’s black and white and a bit grainy, but holy. Shit.

  “What the hell?” I mean, I knew he was keeping stuff to himself, but, “What the hell?” My heart feels like it’s beating too high up in my chest, making it hard to breathe or swallow. How did I end up sharing a hot tub and kissing some guy who’s part of a kick-ass band and not know?

  “Part of me being up here is not letting on who I am. I want you to know, but I don’t want you to know, because cool people turn into weird people when they learn who I am.” He sounds so defeated. “They look at me different. Treat me different. I don’t want—”

  Usually, no one knows who the drummer of a band is, but when they’re young—and hot—people notice. I can’t believe I didn’t see it before. I mean, maybe if I spent as much time in front of the TV or reading stupid magazines as some people I know, I would have recognized him. So, I’m freaking out. Honestly. But no way am I going to let him see that. “Wait. You think I’m not going to give you crap just because you’re some drummer in a band?” I cock a brow. “Like I won’t demand a rematch of your total fluke win on the snowmachine? Or double check all your work on my car to make sure you didn’t screw anything up?”

  I laugh, but it’s a little forced because I’m sitting in the truck with a drummer from a band that I know.

  “Are you actually pissed, freaking out, and trying to hide it?” He pulls off his hat and runs his hand over his hair.

  “No.” Yes. Totally yes.

  He sighs. I look at him and he looks nervous. Upset. Like this is a really big deal to him.

  “You answered too fast. I know you hate it when people lie to you… Fuck, this is such a screwed-up situation. I didn’t expect to…” He shrugs, looking more somber than I’ve ever seen him look. “To fall for someone up here. Especially since—” He shakes his head.

  Fall for someone. Something decidedly girly flutters in my chest. I clear my throat. “I do hate it when people lie to me. But I knew you weren’t telling me everything. It’s not like you kept that a secret. You even asked me not to dig, which is admitting something’s up. I don’t know. I guess that makes it feel different. Or at least, I want it to feel different.” I stop Bitty in my driveway. I’m trying not to think about how totally freaking out I am, because a rock star drummer—Bishop Riley—is in my car. I’m wearing his clothes. And we slept together last night.

  He sighs. “There’s more, Penny.”

  Nothing could be bigger than what he’s just told me, so it can wait. “Follow me.” Mom’s car is thankfully not here. “I need to hide for a while.”

  Bishop follows me in silence up to my top story room. I lock the hatch behind us, hoping Mom won’t be back for a while.

  I slide my arms around his waist, and enjoy feeling the warmth of him so close. I try not to do any kind of internal squealing at who he is.

  His fingers slide across the back of his pants. The ones I’m wearing. “I like you in my clothes.”

  I gently bite his bottom lip. “You also might like me out of them…a little.”

  He moves his head when I try to kiss him. “Pen. I… Shit. I have a problem with—”

  “Freaking out in large crowds.” I chuckle, even though I’m still wound up tight. It all makes sense now: his reaction at my hockey game, why he didn’t share, and why he’s here alone. “I know. You picked a good spot if you don’t like people but don’t think that gets you out of watching me play. They have pills for that stuff, and I want you at my next game.” I poke him in the chest and then stare for a moment at where my finger just was, because after last night, I want another shot at being that close to him. But now I’m wondering what happens when he leaves. When he goes back to his real life. Or maybe I need to be just thinking about now. What I want now. How I’m finally the girl a guy likes enough to be with and not just flirt with. Not just any guy, either. Bishop. The only guy who gets me.

  He opens his mouth like he’s got more to say, so I smile, hoping he’ll smile. It’s strange to see him like this—so uncertain. I want to ask him more about being famous, playing the drums, his band, but I don’t want him to feel like I’m going to get weird on him over it, either. It’s obvious this is embarrassing for him. Or awkward or something, which sort of makes him sweeter. Nicer. Like he could have come up here and been an asshole and demanded something different or special because of who he is, but instead he tried to blend. Or hide. “Come?”

  “‘Course I’ll come.” He sighs again and pulls in a deep breath. “That’s not the only reason I—”

  I cut him off. “Later.” Or I’ll lose my nerve.

  “But—”

  I grab the bottom of his hoodie and pull it over my head followed quickly by the tank I slept in last night. The move leaves me in my black bra and the pants he loaned me.

  His fingers trace the top of my pants, and then slide up, fingering the bottom edge of my bra sending my whole body into a frenzy of wanting his weight on me again.

  Instead of collapsing into the puddle of goo my body wants me to, I hold out my hand. “So, can I have your shirt, or are you going to let me be the only one half-naked?” I ask.

  “Um…” His fingers are still tracing, and his gaze hasn’t left my stomach. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about—”

  “Stop. Bishop. I get it. You didn’t want to be recognized. Can we talk later? I don’t know my mom’s schedule, only that she’s not here now.” I don’t want being around him to be about apologizing for something that really is just a part of him. “This doesn’t change who you are to me. Okay? So, do I get your shirt or not?”

  He groans, but slides his shirt over his head. Our bodies come together at the same time as our mouths. The heat from his skin on mine tingles its way through my body, fueling my need to be closer, to have more. His hands dig into my back as he pulls us together, and I’m matching him pressure for pressure, touch for touch, kiss for kiss, as deep as we can go. I stumble backward as he slowly leads us toward my blanket and pillow pile. No matter how much of him I feel, it’s not enough. In seconds I’m on the floor while he hovers over me, almost like I wanted.

  He pauses and searches my face, and then his gaze floats over my body, looking at me so much the same as Mitch looks at Rebecca. My stomach tightens with anticipation and the feeling of being wanted. His eyes come back to mine, and something’s different. Slower. Like he wants every touch to count. Every movement to count. He teases me with his lips a few times before I wrap my arms around him and pull him down.

  So this is why people say they “melt together.” I’ve always wondered. Like melting candle wax, and blending colors—the more we’re together and kissing, the less I can tell where I stop and he starts. His weight’s on me again. I want him. Seriously want him. And it has nothing to do with who he is in the world. It has to do with who he is here. The guy who dishes it out, but can take it, and doesn’t just put up with me, but seems to like it.

  My hands go up and down his sides, on his back, across his shoulders, in his hair, and I’m running out of places to touch that won’t lead me way into new territory.

  He rolls onto his side bringing me with him, and I sit up gasping for air. I’m afraid, but not afraid. Mostly, I don’t feel in control of what my body wants, and that’s a first for me.

  “Your tattoo.
I’m sorry,” he says. “I didn’t—”

  “My tattoo’s fine. I just want to look at you.”

  I sit on my knees and gently push on his chest. It takes him a while to relax enough lay down on his back the way I want him. “So weird. You don’t act like a famous guy.”

  “I’m just me.”

  I keep staring at his bare chest and abs and arms, loving the newness of it all and amazed that I’m not more nervous or afraid. It’s that I believe he wants to be here. Wants to see me, touch me, and have me do all those same things to him. My body warms up again, but it’s not from the need to feel him closer like it was before. It’s the closeness and the trust and the way I’m falling for a guy I’m still discovering.

  He pulls in a long breath. “This takes a serious amount of trust.”

  “Chicken?” I tease.

  “Afraid of you,” he teases back.

  “Close your eyes.” My heartbeat’s flooding my ears, and my breathing still isn’t normal.

  I sit next to where he lies on the floor and wait. And wait. I don’t blink, don’t move, just stare into the dark eyes that pull me in, hoping he’ll cave.

  “Fuck,” he whispers but does it. He closes his eyes, but his body’s still tense.

  I want to take in everything about him. I run my fingers across his forehead and down the sides of his face. I touch his cheekbones, and smooth my finger over his lips and lip ring. Instead of tensing up, he relaxes. The few pictures I’ve seen of him in magazines sort of float through my head, but they feel disconnected from the guy lying in front of me. Like that guy is one person, and this Bishop is someone else entirely. I start to think about the girl who came up here, and how many other girls there might have been, but I start to feel edgy and self-conscious, so I concentrate again on what’s happening now. What I know about him. Who he is to me.

  My thigh is pressed against his side, and I move my fingers down his neck and across his collarbone. And even though I don’t want it to, it hits me again—this is Bishop Riley. I’m touching Bishop Riley. The guy who lets me be real, and likes me anyway. The guy who risked Mom’s wrath this morning, and thought to get my cream and clothes for school today.