by L A Cotton
I stopped in my tracks, positioning myself between my car and Keefer’s truck. Surely, he wasn’t talking to the boys about dating?
“Hmm right, Coach. So where does Miss M fit in?”
He was talking about me? To the boys? My heart dropped into my stomach.
“She doesn’t. Believe me when I say there’s nothing and never will be anything going on between us.” He shrugged and started to turn toward me.
Panicked that he’d caught me listening, I composed myself and walked toward him.
“Hey, we’re all done here. Ready to get that drink?” He smiled, but I couldn’t get his words out of my head. All I managed to stutter out was, “Umm, something came up. I can’t…umm, something came up.”
There was a flash of disappointment in his eyes. But I must’ve misread it—why would he be disappointed that someone like me was turning him down?
“Oh, right. Maybe another time?”
My lips said, “Yeah, maybe.” But my head screamed not likely, and yet again, I was left running from Keefer Smith.
~
The whole ride home, I obsessed over the conversation I’d overheard. I couldn’t be sure that he was actually referring to me when he mentioned ‘the girl who’s slept with all your friends.’ But when Jared had asked him outright about me, Keefer had set them straight. He’d set me straight. I didn’t fit into his life. And the misreading signals award goes to...me. I was getting a serious case of whiplash from his mixed signals. First the flirting, then the kiss and the dismissal, followed by seeing him with the Barbie wannabe, then the text apology, and tonight’s suggestion of going for a drink—like he actually cared. It didn’t make any sense. He seemed genuine, but I’d heard him tell the boys with my own ears.
“AGHHH,” I screamed out into the empty kitchen.
Dad was out, Russ was still out of town, and Mom was gone—for good. It just left me a spoon and a tub of phish food ice cream.
As I licked the fifth dollop of iced goodness off the spoon, my phone chimed. One new message.
Deacon: ready to say yes yet?
He might have been totally into himself, but he sure was persistent. Feeling empowered on my sugar rush—and fed up with moping—I decided to take matters into my own hands.
Me: Maybe. Pick me up at seven?
He replied immediately.
Deacon: Can't wait
I knew I was playing a dangerous game—and falling back into old habits. Deacon was clearly used to getting what he wanted, but I just wanted to feel wanted. I wanted the rejection currently eating away at my sanity to evaporate. I could handle one date with Deacon. Six years ago, I would have eaten him alive. I just needed a killer outfit and my favorite heels and he'd be wrapped around my little finger in no time.
An hour later, the doorbell chimed and I checked my reflection one last time; tight black dress with a scoop neck and my pink skyscraper heels. Loose curls framed my face and subtle make-up highlighted my eyes and lips.
I tottered down the stairs, holding onto the rail for balance. “The last thing I need is to fall flat on my face,” I muttered under my breath, tucking my purse under one arm. I took a deep breath, plastered on my happy-to-see-you smile, and opened the door. Deacon’s eyes widened and roamed lazily down my body. A slow grin spread across his rugged face. “Wow.”
The glint in his eye made me shudder—and not in a good way—but I pushed down my reservations. He wanted me. He found me attractive. He was taking me out.
“Are you ready, babe?”
I cringed at the nickname. “Mmm-hmm. Let's go.”
I locked the door behind us and he led me to his convertible sports car, opening the door for me. It was one of those flashy, look-at-me types—the kind that would have impressed me.
“Thank you.”
“No, thank you, for agreeing to a second date.” He winked and I couldn't help but laugh.
I watched him stalk around the front of the car to the driver’s side. His slim fit jeans hung low on his hips and the tailored navy shirt hugged his defined chest. He might have been a self-assured dick, but there was no denying he was all man. His hair was styled into a faux hawk and there was a five o’clock shadow on his jaw. A total contrast to Keefer’s laid-back athletic look. Keefer. Damn. We hadn't even started moving and I was already thinking about him.
I had no idea where Deacon was taking me, so when we pulled into the parking lot outside Perfetto Mangiere I was impressed. It was the best restaurant in town and very upscale. He opened the passenger door and extended his arm for me to take. On our first date, Deacon had been totally one-dimensional, but he’d perfected the gentleman act. He held doors, pulled out chairs, and even ordered the wine, and I suspected he was pulling out the big guns. This time I had his undivided attention. But instead of making me feel wanted, it was a little suffocating.
“How's the wine?”
“It’s great, thanks.” I fiddled with the stem of my glass as Deacon eyed me with interest.
“So, how come you changed your mind?” I heard the smirk in his voice—he thought he had me right where he wanted me.
I met his stare, narrowing my eyes. “Everyone deserves a second chance.”
He laughed. “Was I really that bad?”
Well, he asked, so cocking a brow, I said, “Deacon, you spent the entire evening watching yourself in the mirror and talking about investments.”
He choked on his wine but quickly recovered. “You sure say what's on your mind, don't you.”
“No use sugar coating things.”
“So, how are things at the school? I still don’t see you as a teacher.”
My defenses sprang into action. “And what would you see me as?”
Deacon ran a hand through his perfectly styled hair and inhaled as if considering his answer. “A pretty face like yours is wasted locked away all day trying to teach a bunch of high schoolers.”
I didn’t know whether to be offended or flattered. My gut told me the latter. Before I could react to his statement, the server placed my chicken parmesan down in front of me. It smelled amazing and my stomach let out a low growl.
“Someone hungry?” Deacon’s eyes flared and I got the feeling he wasn’t referring to the food.
“Mmm,” I mumbled, stuffing my face with a huge fork full of chicken.
As we ate, he asked the odd question and I replied. The food was delicious, and for a moment, I forgot all of the crap going on in my life. But as I savored the last bite of chicken and spaghetti, Deacon’s eyes burned into me. I looked up at him through my lashes and asked, “What?”
“Nothing.” He tipped his head to the side slightly, not breaking eye contact. “Just enjoying the view.”
We opened another bottle of wine and Deacon told me about his family while I managed to deflect most of his questions—I didn’t want to get into my family drama.
“Shall we move this into the bar?”
The gold framed clock on the wall indicated that it was only just after ten, and my head reasoned that a couple more drinks wouldn’t hurt. “Sure.”
We nestled into one of the leather booths and I watched the other couples enjoying a night out. My heart ached as I observed a couple unable to keep their hands off each other—love literally emanated from them. The color drained from my face as I realized that I might never get another chance at that.
“Hey, is everything okay?” Deacon squeezed my knee, and I flinched. “Hmm, what? Yeah, everything’s fine. Just tired. Long day.”
He shuffled closer and his hand lingering on my bare skin. I felt nothing; no tremor of anticipation, lust, desire—nothing. If anything, it just made me feel uncomfortable. He was gorgeous and had been the perfect gent, but he did nothing for me.
“I can take you back whenever you’re ready. No pressure.” He seemed genuine and I relaxed a little, forcing a half smile. “Let’s finish these drinks first.”
~
The ride home was quiet. I was too locked in my o
wn thoughts to engage in conversation. My plan to feel better about myself—to forget, just for a while—backfired and I felt worse. Deacon had definitely upped his game, but it hadn’t worked.
“Sharn? We’re here.”
“Yeah.” I smiled at him. “Thank you, Deacon. I had a nice time.”
The glint in his eye from the beginning of the evening returned, and I shuddered as he raked down my body, moving forward, closing the distance between us. “When can I see you again?”
I didn’t want to seem rude, but I didn’t want to lead him on either. “Umm- listen, I don’t-”
His lips cut me off dead, as they came down on mine. I couldn’t breathe as he cupped my face in his hands, holding me in place. I gasped and his tongue invaded my mouth, panic surging through me as I tried to use my hands to push against his hard chest. He ignored me and forced his body further into me, causing my head to bang against the car window in the process. His hands roamed freely along my bare thighs as I sat immobilized.
Eventually, he pulled back ever so slightly to graze my lips with his teeth. “God, I fucking want you.” His breath had tickled my ear before he started trailed kisses along my jawline.
“Deacon.” It came out breathier than intended. “Too fast. You’re moving too fast.”
He stilled and his face hardened. “What? I thought this was what you wanted?”
What the?
“It’s our second date, Deacon. I don’t know what you thought, but you have it wrong.”
He put his hands up in surrender and his face softened a fraction. “My bad. Sorry. It’s just you look so fuckable in that dress.”
I smoothed my hair down and forced a smile, trying to ignore the pit in my stomach. “Things just got a little out of control. It happens. Right, this is me. Bye.” I climbed out of the car and hurried to my front door.
Before I turned the key, I heard the electric window, followed by, “Sharn, I’ll call you.”
Crap. I smiled as I pushed the door open, turned, and escaped through it.
Embarrassed and a little bit shook up, I made my way to my room. I didn’t want Dad to see me like this. Flopping down on my bed, I cursed. What in the hell had I been thinking? You never play with fire unless you want to get burned.
~
Since Tuesday night, Deacon’s efforts had been relentless. His barrage of text apologies was smothering me, and by the weekend, I was ready to tell him where to go. I knew I was partly to blame for leading him on, but when I’d sent him more than one reply hinting at my disinterest in seeing him again; it hadn’t deterred him—at all. It was like the more I resisted, the more he persisted. By Friday night, he’d cooled off a little and I finally felt like I could breathe. Dad was going to be out of town on business and Russ had a gig, so it just left me, again. But I had a ton of grading to do, and I wanted to start downsizing the contents of the house to get ready for the sale. Dad hadn’t put it on the market yet, but it was imminent.
I woke up Saturday morning feeling energized. After a rushed bowl of Lucky Charms and two glasses of orange juice, I changed into my tatty gym shorts and a tank and headed into the garage. Dad—unlike Mom—was the sentimental type. He'd kept mine and Russ's childhood mementos in boxes stacked on racks lining one wall.
The five boxes marked 'Sharn' stared at me. Five boxes—the contents of my life. It felt a little sad. Most parents have a house filled with their children’s achievements and photographs of special moments. Not in Cindy Macer's house. There was no evidence it'd been home to two children. A couple of family photos and that was it.
I lifted the lid off the box marked '2003-2006'; freshman year through senior year. On top of the pile of report cards, photos, and my yearbook lay a photo that made my heart smile, laugh, cry, and scream all at the same time.
In the middle stood my seventeen-year-old self, arms wrapped around Devon Price—my first love, and first heartbreak—who stood next to Brandon and Trey, my old friends. Next to me were Livy and Amber. Eloise was sitting on the ground in front of us and Mia was behind the camera, taking the picture. I could remember the day as if it were yesterday. I was happy. I was in love. I was loved. It didn’t last, though. Three weeks after the picture was taken, Devon decided the monogamous lifestyle wasn’t for him after all. He loved me, but it wasn’t enough. Maybe that was my destiny—to never quite be enough for anyone.
~
My stomach flipped, reminding me of the looming bell. It was almost the end of sixth period and time to face Keefer. Having seven days to dwell on what he’d said to the boys left me feeling stuck somewhere between pissed and hurt. And the weekend hadn’t helped my mood any. Dad came home early Sunday and we spent all evening laughing and crying over the contents of the boxes, and then he’d told me the realtor would be coming by this week to value the house. Sure, I wanted to move out eventually, and downsizing would be good for Dad, but I couldn’t imagine losing the house I grew up in. It might not have been the happy family home most children treasured, but it was still my home.
The bell rang and chairs shuffled and scraped. It was like the kids couldn’t wait to be rid of the place. I didn’t share their enthusiasm today. In fact, I’d spent most of the day trying to dream up plausible excuses to get out of babysitting Keefer’s session. How was I going to look him in the eye after last week?
“Yo, Miss M.” A head curved around the open door.
“Hi, Reece.”
“Are you heading out to the field? I’m running late, too.”
“Yes, just coming. Let me grab my bag.”
We walked down the corridor in comfortable chatter. Reece was excited about the surprise Keefer was dangling in front of them in exchange for their cooperation for the last few sessions. I was still in the dark about it, too.
“Reece, dude. Hey, Miss M.” Jai fell in step next to Reece, and they started trading the latest school gossip. I dropped back to give them space—and to compose myself.
My heart beat furiously in my chest as I followed them out of the exit. I hated myself for feeling this way—hated him for making me feel this way. Why was nothing ever simple?
“About time, guys.” Keefer’s voice cut over to us, and I dropped my gaze.
“Sorry, Coach.”
I walked over to my usual seat, never once making eye contact, but Keefer’s eyes followed me. I could feel him watching. Damn him. Why did he have to be so confusing?
It was hard to take my eyes off him as he guided the boys through a game; stopping to correct stances, direct pitching positions, and talk tactics. His passion for baseball and for the boys was obvious as I watched him. His blue and white jersey hugged his chest as he twisted and turned, demonstrating pitching and fielding positions. His biceps flexed with each movement and I swallowed down the breath I held more than once. He did all kinds of things to me, but most of all he just made my heart ache.
Before I realized what was happening, Keefer was towering over me. “Hey, you didn’t want to join in today?”
Catching my bottom lip in my teeth, I said, “Hmm, not today.”
“Well, we’re about done. The boys are just finishing up. Keylon did well, he seems happier. Listen, about-”
I spotted a familiar-looking car rolling into the parking lot—just like the black sports car Deacon drove—and I straightened off the seat. “I’ll be right back.”
How dare he show up to my place of work! Anger coursed through me as I stormed in Deacon’s direction. He was just getting out of his car as I reached him.
“There you-”
“What in the hell, Deacon? What are you doing here?” My voice came out shriller than I had intended.
“Babe, chill. I’m here to surprise you.” He leaned down in my direction, attempting to graze my cheek with his lips, but I stepped out of his reach, and a smirk played on his lips. “Why are you playing so hard to get?”
“What the hell are you doing here? At the place I work. Work, Deacon.” I enunciated each word to hammer
home my point.
“You told me that you worked here, remember? I wanted to apologize…in person.” He closed the space between us again, and I instinctively stepped back.
We were locked in some kind of showdown. The predatory glint in his eye returned and I didn’t like how he was checking me out. Scanning the field for the boys, I breathed a sigh of relief when I saw that most of them were heading in the opposite direction. Keefer watched us from his spot centerfield. I couldn’t make out his expression, but his body seemed frozen—rigid.
“You’ve apologized already, and I’ve told you I’m not interested in more. It’s not okay, you being here. You have no damn right.”
He smirked, again. “Come on, don’t tell me you didn’t want it as much as I did last week after dinner. You don’t have to play this game with me. I know you want it, Sharn.”
I gagged at his words, staring at him incredulously.
“You expect me to believe that you weren’t hot for me? I saw the way you looked at me, eye-fucking me over dinner.”
Clearly, playing nice didn’t get you anywhere with someone like Deacon, and I stepped forward, daring him to look away with my glare narrowing. Before I got a chance to set him straight, I noticed him look over my head and his eyes widen. And then I sensed him—Keefer. He didn’t stand so close that I could feel him, but I knew he was there.
Deacon raised an eyebrow before speaking. “Wait, aren’t you-”
Keefer cut him straight off. “Sharn, everything okay?”
I answered, but didn’t turn around—still focused only on Deacon. “Everything’s fine. You were just leaving, weren’t you, Deacon?”
His eyes returned to me and I struggled to decipher the strange look on his face. Confusion, anger, revenge? It made no sense. “Yeah, everything’s good here. See you around, Sharn.” I heard the veiled threat in his words, but it was relief—not fear—that flooded me as Deacon climbed into his car and drove out of the lot.
Taking a deep breath, I turned to face Keefer, aware of the blush staining my cheeks and the tears pooling behind my eyes. He watched me, as if weighing up how to approach me—like I was a wounded puppy. “Do you want to talk about it?”