I do cardio and then wander around the free weights section, eavesdropping on the conversations around me. Two girls are doing sit-ups side by side.
“Wallace totally likes you. I think he’s just shy,” the girl on the right, a busty redhead with her hair in two long braids says as she pauses at the top of her exercise.
Her friend looks around before asking, “Do you think Madison is more his type? I overheard her talking about how he liked her last selfie.”
“Please. Madison is an Insta ho. If you posted pictures where the only thing covering your body was a strategically placed Anatomy textbook, he’d be liking your posts, too.”
Note to self, find this Madison’s profile. Even I’m intrigued, I can hardly blame poor Wallace.
I have my nicest ‘please friend me’ smile on as I continue to mosey through the gym. Look, I know other people have already coupled off and friended up, but can’t they see the “Friends Wanted” sign flashing above my head? Why is making friends so hard?
A group of girls in purple Tri Sigma shirts walk through the gym, making everyone turn and watch. They’ve got that, ‘we know we’re hot walk’ down pat. I wonder if they can teach me that walk or if it’s like a secret handshake only for members.
The girl in the front of the pack is bouncing with every step, her ponytail swinging from side to side. “Join us outside in fifteen minutes for our monthly fitness class. Don’t let spring break throw you off your fitness goals!” she shouts as they exit the room.
I check my reflection in the mirror above the weights and adjust my ponytail. Turning my face to the side, I pull a few wisps forward to help cover the scars. Head held high and with a confidence that is completely fake, I walk out of the weight room and head toward the student-athlete only section. I need to go to that fitness class. I’m certain I can find a new friend out there, but there’s only one way I’m going and that’s with backup.
My pulse is racing when I approach the basketball court and hear the faint sound of a ball echoing off the floor. Is it possible to feel someone’s presence? I’m certain I can even before I turn the corner. And there he is looking like the all-American athlete he is.
I stand on the edge of the sideline, watching him, totally captivated by the way he moves. He’s a different person when he has the basketball in his hands.
“Didn’t anyone tell you it’s spring break?” I ask as I walk onto the court.
Up close, I can see the sweat.
“That’s all anyone seems to be telling me this week.” He lifts his shirt to wipe his face and I don’t even pretend not to notice the way his abs are cut and practically goading me to reach out and trace the lines where individual muscles separate. “What are you doing here?”
“Recruiting a friend.”
One dark brow raises.
“There’s a fitness class outside and I want to go, but I don’t want to go alone.”
“What kind of fitness class?”
“I don’t know. Does it matter? I need a workout buddy and here you are.” I grab his hand and pull, but he stays rooted to the spot and I fling back like a bungee cord.
I drop his big paw so I can plant my hands on my hips. “If only Blair were here, I’m sure she’d go with me.” I pull on the hem of my tank top so the neckline falls below the scoop of my sports bra and the cleavage I’d been hiding on my friendship quest is front and center. I steal a glance down and the girls are as perked up as I am. I can hardly blame them after that ab display. “I guess I’ll just roam the halls until I find someone else who will go with me. Can you point me in the direction of the boy’s locker room?”
I know just mentioning Blair will do the trick. Zeke has proven time and again that he is annoyingly loyal. I threw the boob display in for dramatic flair, but holy smoke, batman, my ego is getting a nice boost as his heated gaze drops to my chest before he catches himself and looks away. Zeke is a boob guy. Interesting. I file that away in the very short list of things I know about him.
“Fine. Let’s go. I still need to do some flexibility training before I call it a day.”
I bounce beside him as we walk through the fieldhouse, backtracking the way I came to the general fitness room and out the way the Sigma girls went.
At the first sight of the purple shirts, Zeke’s steps slow. “Sweet baby…”
“Goats!” I squeal. “Oh my God, it’s goat yoga!” I read the sign and look at the girls sprawled out on their mats, goats roaming between them.
“Hello!” the bouncy leader from earlier greets us in front of the fenced-in area where the goats, and the yogis already in there petting my new furry friends, are hanging out. “Welcome. I’m Misty. We’re so happy you could join us.” Her head tips up, traveling the length of Zeke’s body until she reaches his face. I’m irrationally perturbed that she’s checking him out right in front of me. How does she not see that we’re together? I’m about to cross her off my future friend list when she flips her head to the side and brings her eyes back to me, giving me the same appraisal.
“I love that sports bra! Does it have back clasps too, or is the zipper the only thing keeping it on?” She steps closer to get a better look.
“Oh, uh.” I lift the scoop of my tank back up to cover myself. “Just the zipper. One swift pull and out they pop.” I laugh awkwardly and make the sound of a zipper and then an explosion like my boobs are the bomb.
Zeke makes a choked sound and then coughs. When Misty and I look over, he raises his hands and ducks his head. “Sorry. Swallowed wrong.”
Misty glances between us and then turns sideways, lifting a hand like Vanna White. “Go on in and find a mat. The class will start in just a few minutes.”
“Oh my God, Zeke, they have on horns and wings!”
There are five or six baby goats in total, most of them playing in the middle where a group has gathered to coo and pet them, but in the far corner a small black and brown goat is laying on an empty mat. I hustle in that direction, slip off my shoes and kneel in front of my new best friend.
“Look at him! Oh my goodness. He’s so cute.”
“She.” A woman wearing a Got Goats? t-shirt appears out of nowhere and hands me a piece of animal cracker. “That there is Trixie.”
“Hi, Trixie.” I run my hand down her back and place the other, palm out, just under her mouth. I glance at Zeke, hovering off to the side like he wants no part of this. “Get over here and meet Trixie.”
“I’m good,” he says. “Are you okay now? Can I head back?”
“What? No! We’re doing goat yoga.”
He shakes his head adamantly.
“Come on! It’s yoga with GOATS!” I lift Trixie and hold her out to Z who takes a step back. “No thanks.”
“Zeke Sweets, are you afraid of a baby goat?”
“Negative. I just don’t want to touch it.”
I’m two seconds from forcing Trixie into his arms when Misty claps her hands and moves to the center of the pen. “Grab a mat everyone, we’re going to get started.”
“Have fun.” Zeke backtracks, weaving in and out of mats.
“Oh, there you are, Zeke,” Misty calls and motions him over. She looks to the class and exclaims, “Everyone, we have Valley U basketball star Zeke Sweets here with us today.” Zeke smiles sheepishly and waves. He looks like he’s about to tell her he’s leaving, but Misty keeps laying it on thick. “Thank you so much for coming today. It really means a lot to have the support of the student-athlete population. Let’s give him a round of applause.”
Ever seen a seven-foot man try to disappear into the ground? That’s the look Zeke has on his face as thirty girls clap and cheer for him – like he wants the earth to swallow him whole.
I do my best to keep my face neutral as he walks back to the empty mat beside me and takes a seat, but when he leans over, pets Trixie, and says, “You so owe me.” I can’t help but laugh.
12
Zeke
“Thank you for coming with me,” Ga
bby says as we leave the goats and the weirdest hour of my life behind.
“You owe me. That was… I have no words.”
“When you post that photo of us with Trixie and her brother standing on our backs while we did the tabletop pose and get nine billion new followers, my debt will be paid in full.” She tries to say it with sass, but the usual Gabby spunk isn’t quite there.
“You alright?”
“Yeah, of course. That was amazing. Whoever thought up goat yoga is a genius.”
She goes silent again and I find myself in the unusual position of feeling like I need to make small talk.
“I didn’t know you worked out at the field house.”
She nods.
“I also had no idea they had fitness classes out on the yard. Let alone goat yoga. The guys are going to give me so much shit.”
“Mhmmm.”
We’re standing in the hall just outside of the workout room. She has no reason to follow me any farther and I’m not quite ready to leave her alone. Something is off. Call it Blair instincts or Gabby radar, but something is bugging her.
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
“I’m fine. Really. It’s stupid.”
“Did I do something wrong?”
She expels a heavy breath. “No. It’s just… I came here today hoping to find some new friends and I just realized I failed spectacularly. Those goats were so adorable I forgot my mission.”
I’m processing the words, trying to understand why she’d be looking for friends when she already has a whole bunch of them when she adds, “Blair and her friends are great, but they’re her friends. I don’t really have any of my own friends yet and I have no idea how to make them.” She looks up and groans. “Oh God. Saying it out loud made me realize just how pitiful it sounds.” She smiles the biggest, fakest smile. “I’ve gotta get going. Thanks, Zeke.”
I can’t think of what to say to stop her, so I head back to the gym. I lay on the floor; head resting on the cool wood and pull out my phone. I scan through the photos and find the one she mentioned. Misty perfectly captured the two seconds both goats stayed still on our backs. Gabby is turned toward me with a real smile on her face – the only kind that belongs there.
Without Gabby to help me, I’m a little slower, but I manage to upload the photo and caption it myself: When your friends trick you into hanging out with goats. The hashtags are impossible, but I go with the obvious #goats #yoga #goatyoga #valleyu and hoping it’ll bring a smile to her face #yogawithfriends
* * *
The next day, I’ve got an ice pack on my ankle and a massage pillow on my back as I flip through the channels. I went hard today and pushed myself more than even I thought possible. I’m starving, but according to my nutrition plan, I’ve blown through my calories for the day after this protein drink in my hand.
When I finish it off, I head out to the pool. Gabby lounges in a chair, my earbuds hanging from her ears. I kinda like that she keeps wearing them even though she’s been home plenty of times to get her own.
I take the chair next to hers. “Hey.”
“Hey, yourself. I was looking for you earlier. Where’ve you been?”
“Gym.”
Nathan speaks from the giant unicorn he’s floating on in the pool. “Told you. You owe me ten bucks.”
She looks to me with a pout. “Your dedication cost me ten dollars.”
“Why were you looking for me?” A rush of energy that I thought was completely depleted after my workout, shoots to the surface and I bounce my leg.
She sits up and holds out an earbud in silent invitation. Her hair’s wet and skin red from the hours she spent out by the pool. “I had a question,” she says as I listen to the music currently playing on Gabby’s playlist.
“What’s up?”
“I want to get a tattoo and I was wondering if you’d go with me?”
“When are you going?”
She shrugs. “Tomorrow maybe. I work the day shift so I could go afterward.”
“Alright, sure. What are you going to get and where?”
She drags a finger down the side of her ribcage and my eyes are entranced with the movement. Even covered by the white one-piece swimsuit, the curve of that soft space is enticing. “I’m still toying around with the words, but I want it here.”
I clear my throat and nod. “Yeah. I’ve been meaning to get some new ink done. I’ll call my guy and see if he can get us in.”
She shifts so she can better see the tattoos that cover the entirety of my left arm and hand.
“Do you have tattoos anywhere else?” As she speaks, her index finger reaches out and traces the clock on my left forearm. She follows the long hand to the six and then the short hand to the three.
I shake my head and try not to think about how good it feels to have her eyes and hands on me.
“Why not?”
“I promised my mom I wouldn’t end up with tattoos all over my body.”
She giggles and the smile on my face gets bigger in response. I love being the reason she laughs.
“Why a clock?” Her hand falls away and she sits back, smiling at me while she waits for a response I don’t give her.
“I should get a shower.” I hand her back the earbud and as our fingers graze my eyes lock on the touch, on the unseen current that I feel as the tips of her soft fingers meet mine. That feeling is dangerous to everything I’ve worked for, so I tell myself it isn’t real. “I’ll text you about tomorrow.”
13
Gabby
The tattoo parlor is on the main street of downtown Valley. It’s quiet, as all of Valley is, with everyone having fled for spring break. The shop itself is big and clean and Zeke is greeted by the entire place as we enter.
“Couldn’t resist one last piece of art before you leave, eh?” an older guy with leathery tanned skin, a grey braid tossed over each shoulder, and ink peeking out from every inch of skin that isn’t covered, speaks up first. The others offer some of the same sentiments as each one takes turns shaking the hand of the man next to me.
Zeke takes their admiration and friendliness in stride and doesn’t even look like he wants to hide in the corner.
“Brought a friend.” Zeke turns to me and I step forward with the bravest face I can muster. “This is Gabby. She’s looking to get something done too.”
The older man extends a hand to me. “Van. Nice to meet you.”
“You too.”
He waves us back and Zeke and I follow him to a room in the back of the shop. The setup reminds me of a doctor’s office. A large black leather chair sits in the middle, a desk on one side with a black stool, but there’s no cotton balls or throat swabs in place and the pictures on the wall are framed drawings. Everything from a cross to skulls has been beautifully drawn and colored.
“What did you have in mind?” he asks as he motions for me to have a seat. Zeke hangs back, his large frame blocking the entryway. He hovers like he isn’t sure if he should stay or go.
I reach into my back pocket before sitting and hand Van the paper. He takes it, has a seat on the stool and smooths out the paper, looking over it for a long moment before speaking. “Did you do the lettering on this?” His grey eyes meet mine and there’s a mix of intrigue and admiration there.
I nod.
“It’s beautiful. You’re very talented.”
I manage to mumble my thanks, all too aware of Zeke creeping forward.
“Do you know where you want it?” Van asks.
“On my left side.” I point to the spot.
“Hold tight. It’ll just take me a few minutes to prep.”
As he leaves the room, Zeke comes closer. “Nervous?” he asks.
“Yeah. It hurts, doesn’t it?” An anxious laugh escapes.
Zeke cracks a smile. “A little. Want me to go first and show you how it’s done?”
“Yes, please.” My body relaxes a bit, thankful to have a few more minutes to mentally prepare.
Wh
en Van returns, we tell him the change of plans and Zeke gets into the hot seat. Standing on the right side of Zeke, I watch as Van freehands a replica of the red headphones that often are around Z’s neck. The placement is on his inner bicep just below a small roadrunner like the Valley mascot. After that piece is done, Van adds a trail of music notes that creeps up to Zeke’s shoulder in between the rest of his tattoos. The new ink blends in against Zeke’s other artwork creating a beautiful scene of images like a picture book. The story of Zeke Sweets.
“It’s perfect,” I say as Van finishes and starts to cover the new ink with ointment.
Z stands and both guys look to me.
“Ready?” Van asks.
I can only nod as I get into the chair. Van reclines it until I’m lying flat on my back and then has me turn onto my right side.
“You want me to wait out front?” Zeke asks, taking a step to the door.
I shake my head and with unsteady hands lift the hem of my shirt slowly. I can feel Van behind me, but it’s Zeke’s heated gaze I avoid.
Van doesn’t miss a beat as the scars that cover the left side of my stomach and back are exposed. “How about right here?” he asks and lines up the tracing just below the ugliest red scar that refuses to fade with the others.
“That’s good.” The emotion and vulnerability in my voice makes it small and high pitched.
I turn my head back to face straight ahead. Zeke steps forward, pulls a chair from the corner of the room and sits beside me. Most people would describe Zeke as quiet, but the way he observes, listens, takes in everything around him is loud and right now, the silence screams.
“You good?”
“A little nervous,” I admit.
Van shifts the stencil around. The design touches my scars in two different places and Van lightly runs his fingertip over each of them, causing my body to go still. “Are they sensitive to touch?”
I nod.
“I’ll be as gentle as I can, but I won’t sugar coat it – tattooing over scars can be pretty painful. You’re sure about this?”
The Tip-Off: A Smart Jocks Novel Page 7