by Gia Riley
Kipton uses his remote entry to unlock a black Chevy Camero. The outside of the car screams vintage sexy while the interior is sleek and modern. Of course he would drive a hot car. I roll my eyes at his level of male perfection and manage to make myself laugh despite the circumstances.
“What’s so funny?” Instead of hopping in the driver’s seat, he walks around to the passenger side and opens the door for me. I stare at him for a moment too long, surprised by the chivalrous gesture. “You getting in?” he asks with a smirk while leaning against the doorframe. It should be illegal to look that good having just rolled out of bed.
“Oh. Yeah. Sorry.” I climb inside, immediately noticing the smell of new leather from the upholstery. When he starts the engine, the entire car powerfully purrs to life. The vibrations light a torch inside my body from my ass to my toes.
Despite how much I want to forget about last night, I still can’t stop harping on the fact that I may or may not have had sex with Kipton. He glances over at me from the driver’s side, his eyes inspecting my head for the millionth time this morning. Once he gets his fill, his gaze drops to my lips. I lick them instinctively and his eyes heat up to an even deeper shade of blue. It’s too personal for this early in the morning, so I stare out my window and try to block him out.
“You okay, Sophie?”
No I’m not. “Did you, I mean, did we, well you know. Did we?” I ask shyly, still unable to look at him.
He pulls out of his driveway, heading south onto Main Street. It’s only a short half mile drive back to the dorm and he remains silent until we pull into the parking lot at the top of the hill overlooking my dorm. The same hill I’ve had so much fun trekking up and falling down.
He still hasn’t responded once the car comes to a stop and as much as I want to know the truth, I’m too ashamed to stick around for the answer. As I open my door, he reaches over and grabs my free arm, preventing me from leaving. I glance at his large hand holding onto my small wrist. His fingers wrap the entire way around with room to spare. Slowly, my eyes travel from his fingertips back up to his eyes. The expression on his face surprises me and I know I’m getting an answer whether I like it or not.
“No, Sophie. We didn’t. I prefer my women conscious.”
I nod at his words, realizing my question was more of an insult. “I’m sorry, I assumed with being in your bed and all. I’ve never had this happen before, sorry.”
“You have nothing to apologize for, Sophie. Caleb’s the one who should be apologizing, and he will as soon as I remind him what a jackass he is.”
“Caleb? Did I—do it with him?” I cringe at the thought of what may have happened to me last night. I’m not even attracted to Caleb.
“No,” he says as he shifts uncomfortably in his seat. He stares blankly through the windshield. “But it might have happened if we didn’t find you when we did.” He sighs and rubs his thumb and index finger over his eyes, appearing frustrated. “Next time, please don’t accept drinks from guys you don’t know, no matter how safe they seem. Caleb isn’t a bad guy, but he’s always looking to score. I almost kicked his ass last night. He’s lucky I only punched him once.”
I turn to face him. “You were in a fight because of me?”
“Yeah, Sophie. I was.”
“Were you hurt?” I pray my stupid actions didn’t cause him any pain.
“No, he never touched me. He got his warning served to him though.”
“Did Caleb do this to me?” I ask as I brush my finger over my aching forehead.
“I didn’t see it happen, but you told Cara and I something about him running you into a wall. You also said you fell on the stairs. I’m not sure what all that means exactly, but I don’t like it either way.”
“Jesus. No more parties.” I hang my head, completely ashamed with myself. I knew better than to touch alcohol. Having my father’s DNA and watching him self-destruct over the years should have been more than enough to prevent me succumbing to peer pressure. But I failed anyway. Maybe I’m no better than he is.
“Was last night your first?” he asks.
“Yeah. Lame I know. First time I drank too. You see how well that went.”
“Shit. I had no idea, Sophie. I should have never pressured you into coming. I’m sorry all of this happened to you because of me.”
I put my hand back on the door handle. I can’t sit here any longer because I don’t want him to see me cry again. “I’m okay Kipton—none of what happened last night is your responsibility. It was my own stupid fault for wanting to have a fun night out like the average college girl.”
His eyes take on the same searing declaration as earlier. “Nothing about you is average, Sophie, but what do you mean?”
“Nothing. Just rambling. Thanks for the ride. Coach Evans is going to kill me for being late.” I shut the car door and yank up my T-shirt dress, tying it in a knot at my waist with the hopes that my walk of shame will appear less shameful. Kipton waits until I’m safely down the hill before pulling away—his tires grinding up some loose gravel.
I walk inside to find Drew and a very flirty Cara sitting at the front desk. There’s no way she could have slept considering she’s still wearing last night’s outfit.
“There she is! Morning, love.”
Her perky ass is too much right now. “Here I am,” I mumble back.
“Is my brother coming in?” She looks behind me to the glass door, expecting him to follow me inside.
“No. He left.” I glance at Drew who looks very interested in hearing about my night. He crosses his arms over his chest and smirks at me. “What?” I say entirely too snippy.
Drew holds in hands up in mock defense. “I’m not saying a word. Glad to see you let loose a little although you look like hell. Cara told me you puked your guts up but what happened to your head?”
“Thanks, Drew. There will be no more parties or late nights for me. I can’t handle this shit. I’m also about to get my ass handed to me from my coach so if I’m not home by dinner, send a search party. As for my head, the hell if I know.” Drew busts up laughing at me, but Cara smacks him and warns him not to tease me.
“Don’t sweat it, Sophie. We’ve all had a night or two like that,” Drew admits.
“Ugh. I’d rather not experience another.” I press the elevator button, but change my mind when the doors don’t open. Instead, I take the stairs two by two. After the second flight I have to stop and rest. Suddenly dizzy, I take a minute to get my bearings before continuing back up the flights. Maybe this wasn’t the best idea.
I grab my shower caddy and rush to wash the remnants of last night from my body. I can’t show up to practice sporting this horrendous street walker makeover. Tilting my head back to wash my hair proves more of a challenge than it should. Gripping the wall so I don’t fall over, I do the best I can. It’s too painful for even the spray of water to hit my forehead. For once, I’m relieved when my shower is finished, not wanting to linger a second longer than necessary.
Although refreshed, I still look like hell. Grabbing the last granola bar in the box, it’ll have to suffice as breakfast. I also chug a Gatorade knowing I’m dehydrated from the combination of alcohol and getting sick.
Just as I’m about to leave, I remember the mark on my neck and hurry to find my foundation. Dotting a few dabs over the mark, I do my best to cover the hideous hickey. As long as the make-up doesn’t sweat off me before the end of practice, it should cover the evidence of my out of control behavior. Part of me wishes it was from Kipton so its existence wouldn’t be so shameful because the thought of Caleb sucking on my neck taints any thoughts of possible pleasure.
BY THE TIME I GET to the gym, I’m huffing and puffing. My hair, still wet from the shower, is painfully pulled into a ponytail on the top of my head while I fling my bag onto an empty bench inside the locker room. I don’t bother wasting the time it would take to stash it safely inside a locker. My body begs me to slow down, but I can’t.
Shedd
ing my warm ups, I pile them in a heap on top of the bag before rushing through another set of gym doors. Arriving to practice late and without an excuse is the equivalent of asking to be put on probation. Jeopardizing my spot on the team for a night out is not who I am, at all—ever. Allowing Kipton’s pleading coupled with his spectacular muscles to throw me off my game was immature. In fact, my one night of fun wasn’t everything it was cracked up to be. My conscious has a tight hold on my behavior for a reason. I need to start listening to it again.
“Nice of you to join us this morning, Sophie. In my office, now,” Coach yells from the other side of the gym.
If he cuts me from the team, I’ll lose everything. My hands shake as I nervously sit down on the small, white chair in his office. Running through my mind are ten excuses about why I was late, but none of them seem believable considering the lump on my head. Think, Sophie. I can’t lose my scholarship.
Coach walks in the room and starts his speech before he even makes it to his desk chair. “So, tell me, Sophie, what was more important than showing up on time this morning? For someone new to the team, you’re not making a great first impression. Your teammates have to trust you as much as I do to get the job done. Right now, they’re not convinced you should even be in the gym let alone the line-up.”
“I can explain, Coach. Last night, I went out to dinner with my roommate and we were in an accident. I had a bad headache so I had trouble falling asleep. I slept right through my alarm this morning by mistake.” It’s not a total lie. I did go out with Cara, and I did have an accident. It may not have happened in a car, but I still hit something.
I’m an awful person. I hate liars. My dad used to lie to my mom about every single thing he did. She caught him in his own lies more times than I can even count.
“You do have a significant bruise on your head. Did you see a doctor last night?”
“Um. No. It didn’t start to bruise right away and I can’t afford the cost of the ER. All of my family physicians are back home.”
“I wish you would have gone anyway, Sophie. I can’t let you practice until you’re cleared by a doctor. Since you don’t have one of your own, you can see the team physician when you finish up here. I can’t let you practice until a head injury is ruled out. You could do more damage if you fall.”
“Thank you for understanding, Coach. I’ll see the doctor right away. I’m anxious to get back into the gym and work-out. I’ve been sticking to my amped up conditioning program as you asked.” He doesn’t need to know I haven’t eaten a decent meal in over twenty-four hours all while getting drunk and injured in the process.
“I’m glad to hear that, Sophie. Let me know what the doctor says. Hopefully it’s nothing too serious; you can’t afford to miss any gym time.”
“I will, Coach, thank you. I’ll be back to practice as soon as I can.”
“Hold onto this.” He reaches out his arm and hands me a business card with his information printed on it. “Everyone on the team has one. I know I’m your Coach, but I’m also here as a mentor. You can reach me anytime. Okay?”
Out of the corner of his eye, he inspects my head again. Part of me knows I didn’t completely sell him on my excuse. Regardless, I accept the offered card and thank my lucky stars he’s letting me off the hook. Maybe my injury is punishment enough for him. “Sure. Thank you, Coach.”
I leave his office before he has a chance to change his mind about probation. If any of my teammates were at the party last night, I’ll get kicked off the team for lying and drinking. I didn’t cross paths with any of them, but considering I don’t remember a large portion of the night, I can’t be sure one way or the other. I have to get my shit together, and fast. My life’s complicated enough without all this added bullshit.
THE DOCTOR’S EXPECTING ME WHEN I arrive to his office. I fidget in the waiting room chair praying he buys my line of bullshit about the accident. My palms are sweating from going over the story in my head enough times to keep my facts straight which is tough at the moment. My thoughts keep getting jumbled together in a mix of fiction and reality.
“Sophie. Come on back.”
I stand up to follow him, but get a little dizzy. He’s watching me intently so I play it off as best I can.
“How long has that been happening?” His brow is furrowed and he looks to be studying my every move. The tap, tap, tap of his pen on my file folder is enough to make it hard to concentrate on his words.
“My bruise?” I question.
“No. The dizziness. You lost your balance when you stood up.” He’s already writing things down on my chart. That can’t be good.
“Oh. Since this morning. I hit my head last night, but I’m fine.” I refuse to tell him how much pain I’m in. There’s only one place I need to be and it’s at practice.
“I’ll be the judge of that.” Inside exam room number one, he shines a light in my eyes, measures my pupils along with my reflexes all before firing off a few mental exercises. I stumble over my numbers when I’m asked to count backwards from twenty, but I blame it on my nerves. I’m then asked about our presidents and a slew of other random trivia. Other than drawing a blank on the former presidents, I breeze through the questions—or so I think. The physical tests do me in completely. I can’t walk in a straight line let alone backwards. My balance is shot to shit no matter how hard I try to concentrate on my movements.
“Sophie, I’ll be frank with you. You need to go have a scan. I can’t clear you until you have it. Your dizziness and hesitation with the mental exercises has me concerned. I’m ninety percent positive you’ve received a concussion from your injury. No matter how large or small, it’s still the same process for recovery. I’ll go over the scan results when I receive them, but for now, I’m pulling you from practice until further notice.”
“But I’m okay. Honestly, I’m fine.” I protest.
“Have you had a concussion in the past?”
“Yes.”
“All the more reason to be extra cautious. Gymnastics is a risky sport as it is, Sophie. I’m not willing to allow permanent damage to your body and you shouldn’t either. You’ll get back to the gym faster if you listen to what I’m saying and follow my instructions.”
“Can I at least do cardio?”
“Walking is fine, everything else can wait. Your body needs to heal. You can’t run while you’re dizzy, Sophie.”
I hang my head knowing that walking won’t help me with conditioning at all. I hop off the examination table and accept the order form for the test. While all of this seems ridiculous, I’m wise enough to know it’s necessary. Whether I like it or not, I messed up and have to play by their rules now.
“Believe it or not, I do understand your frustrations, but we have to be smart about this. With your prior concussion history, it takes less and less each time to produce a more severe result. Come back and see me in a week, Sophie. It’s not up for debate. We’ll reevaluate your condition and see what we can add to your workout regimen. If you have any trouble in class, please tell your professors to give me a call. I’ll confirm your condition.”
“Okay,” I whisper, knowing I don’t want to accept the words he’s telling me. “Can I go now?”
“Yes, take this card. This is where you need to go for your test this evening. It’s also on the top of the order form. Please have someone take you. No driving until next week either.”
“Okay. I’ll find a ride.”
Lost in a daze of stupidity and anger, I leave the doctor’s office. I spend the entire walk back to my room going over every reason why I deserve to fail. Moving to Alabama has made me doubt ever leaving home. I’ve made more poor choices in four days than I have since I was a rebellious toddler.
Replaying over and over in my mind, I hear my mom warning me not to let her down. Having been a gymnast herself, she knows how big of an accomplishment it is to be on this team. In fact, she talked about it from the moment the letter of interest arrived until the moment I walke
d out the door on moving day. It’s obvious she’s trying to live out her dream through me. Maybe that should bother me, but it doesn’t. Because in my crazy mind, it means she sees I’m worth something—that I have value.
Completely defeated, I sigh when I open the door to my room and find Cara curling her hair, as usual. Evening classes begin tonight, with the rest starting in the morning. I remember she has a class, but I can’t remember which one. Damn concussion. “You have class tonight, right?”
“Yeah, an art elective. This should be interesting. I can’t even draw stick people, but how bad can pottery be, right? They made it look sexy and fun in the movie Ghost. Plus Drew’s in the class. So I’m looking forward to it.”
“Maybe they’ll let you act out the scene for extra credit if your pottery sucks.”
“Girl, I wish!”
I sit down at my desk and fire up my computer. I have to figure out how far and in which direction the imaging center is so I can get on the right bus. My tired brain doesn’t want to handle all the logistics, but I don’t have a choice. I jot the directions down on a notepad, certain I’ll never be able to recall each and every turn if I don’t.
Cara sprays her hair and gags a little before walking over to my bed. She sits down and faces me at my desk. “So what happened? No practice?”
“Nope. Off for the week thanks to my Girls Gone Wild audition last night. Apparently I have a concussion and he’s sending me for a scan tonight. I was hoping you could take me, but I’ll figure something else out. I can’t drive on top of all the other shitty news.”
“Ohmigod! Sit down, put your feet up. I’ll get whatever you need.”
“Cara, I’m fine.” I laugh at her dramatics.
“I’ll call Kippy, he can take you.” She takes her cell phone off the charger and starts pushing buttons. I spring up from my bed and yank the phone out of her hands. “No!” Grabbing my head in pain, I sit back down until the pressure in my skull subsides.