Ahhh, right. Gracie is about to leave us to start student teaching. Her time at Mitchell’s is winding down and she starts teaching the week we’re headed back to campus. I’m going to miss her ass at work.
I’m going to miss her ass on the dock. Riding with her to the lake. Seeing her on campus. Hanging out with her and the rest of the gang. Not that she’s going to stop hanging out with us, but we’ve all been too damn busy lately to get together. Feels like we’re all growing up and moving on, and that kind of sucks.
“You want me to help you pick out some virginal teacher outfits? I can do that,” I say with a nod.
She scowls, but there’s no anger in it. That’s what’s changed too. I irritate her still with the dumbass shit I can’t help but say, but it doesn’t make her mad anymore. Most of the time I think she looks forward to hearing what dumb thing I’m about to say next. “Virginal teacher is not the look I’m going for.”
“Hot teacher then. I can work with that too,” I say.
She rolls her eyes. “No hot teacher either. More like, sweet, dependable teacher.”
“Boring, old lady teacher. We can do that. Long skirts. Turtlenecks. Gotta cover up all that hotness, G,” I say with a grin.
She laughs. Tries to appear annoyed but fails. She likes it when I call her hot. She likes it when I tease her. She pretty much likes it when I do anything…
“Where are we going?” I ask.
“We’re going to the mall,” she announces and I immediately start shaking my head. “What’s wrong with that?”
“That’s where I draw the line. The mall sucks ass,” I say. “Nope. No can do.”
“Come on, Caleb. Please? I need you to go with me,” she says, reaching for me, her hands settling on my arm as she grips me tightly.
Hmm. Something’s up. I’m not used to seeing needy Gracie. “You’ll owe me.”
“Okay,” she says way too quickly.
“Something big.” I rub my chin, contemplating her. “Like a…blow job.”
Don’t know if she’ll be down if you don’t ask, am I right? The worst she can say is no.
Her expression turns skeptical. “You’re negotiating for a blow job right now?”
“You’re damn right. You’ve left me with blue balls for weeks,” I tell her, which isn’t a lie. Every time I see her prancing around in her sleep shorts and a tank—or worse, the tiny shorts and a sports bra—I get a stiffy.
“So if you go to the mall with me, I have to give you a blow job as payback?” she asks, as if she needs the clarification.
I nod, feeling confident. “Yep. Those are my conditions.”
“Caleb.” She hesitates, and I lift my brows, waiting for her to continue. “I think I’m going to have to go to the mall alone.”
She exits the living room, leaving me high and dry as she goes into her bedroom. I can hear her grab her stuff, and next thing I know, she’s heading toward me once more, her purse slung over her shoulder, a pair of sunglasses covering her eyes. For some reason she looks extra sexy, the white crop top she’s wearing showing off the flat plane of her tanned stomach, and those denim shorts that show every bit of leg the girl has got, which is a lot.
“You’re leaving?” I ask her incredulously.
“I don’t negotiate sexual favors for friendships,” she says, lifting her chin. Looking and sounding haughty. “And that’s what we are, you know.”
“Friends?” My tone is full of disbelief but…
Maybe she’s right. We do hang out. Make conversation with each other. And it’s not small talk either. We have shared friends and experiences. Coworkers we gossip and speculate about on the long drive to and from work. We haven’t kissed since the Fourth, but that’s okay. I do miss the taste of her sweet lips, but then again, we’ve both been busy. And sometimes, it’s good enough to just hang out with her and spend time in her presence.
I frown. What the hell does this all mean?
“Yes, asshole. We’re friends,” she practically spits out.
“Friends don’t call each other assholes, Gracie,” I say, my tone solemn.
“Whatever. I’m out.” She starts to walk by me, but I grab hold of her arm, stopping her. She glances down where I’m touching her but I don’t let go. It’s like I can’t.
“I offended you with the blow job remark,” I state the obvious.
“I thought we were past that sort of thing,” she says.
I will never be past that sort of thing, but I don’t bother saying that. “I was only kidding, G.”
I wasn’t. I would’ve gladly accepted a blow job to go shopping with her, but clearly that was the wrong route to take. I still don’t know what the hell I’m doing when it comes to Gracie, but I’m starting to figure her out. She’s a good lesson for the future.
What to say to get a girl, and what not to say, too.
“The thing is, I don’t believe you really were kidding.” She shifts out of my grip and I let my hand drop. “You say things like that, and I know if I agreed, you’d be down. Am I right?”
She raises her brows and I know she’s on to me. Damn it. “Maybe,” I hedge.
“There’s no maybe about it,” she says firmly. “Caleb, I think it’s best if we keep each other firmly in the friend zone. Taking it any further will just end up being a huge mistake.”
I rub my chin, studying her. Noting the determined jut of her jaw, the way her eyes blaze as she watches me. Gold shot through with green, that’s what her eyes look like right now.
“You’re right,” I say easily, making her mouth drop open. “We don’t need to take things further. We’re good as friends. That’s all we should be.”
She snaps her mouth shut, nodding. “Exactly.”
“The kiss that night was just a one-off,” I continue. “Well, we had a couple of one-offs. The 4th was a really great kissing session, don’t get me wrong, but we can’t do that again. No matter how much I want to.”
Gracie nods, visibly swallowing. “Yes. I totally agree.”
I take a step closer and reach for her, tucking her hair behind her ear, letting my fingers linger. I’m doing this on purpose. Drives me crazy how she tries to pretend there’s nothing between us, when it feels like everything is between us. All of it. Every single thing. I can’t even describe exactly what I’m talking about, but if I mentioned it to her, I bet she’d know.
We just get each other.
“Friends only, G. That’s it for me and you.” I drop my voice to a low murmur. “Let’s go to the mall and find you some sexy sweaters.”
She frowns. “Sexy sweaters?”
“My science teacher in the seventh grade was fresh out of college. Young and beautiful. She wore these tight sweaters in the winter that showed off her tits to perfection.” I grin. “I fantasized about her coming into my room at night, wearing one of those sweaters and nothing else.”
“You know how to ruin a moment every single time,” Gracie mutters, stepping away from me as if she needs the distance. “Come on, you giant pervert. Let’s go to the mall.”
She drags my ass to the mall and we wander around, Gracie dashing in and out of stores, always with a look of disappointment on her face when she exits. I’m not sure what she’s looking for, but she must have something in mind, and nothing is meeting her needs.
I could come up with a cheesy line right now about meeting certain needs of hers, but I refrain—even mentally.
“I hate everything I’m looking at,” Gracie tells me as she walks out of yet another store with a frown on her pretty face. “All of it looks too…young. I want to be taken seriously, not look like one of the students.”
“G, you don’t look like you’re eight.” I rake my gaze down the length of her, lingering on all the best parts. “Trust me.”
“You know what I mean,” she says with an exasperated sigh.
“I think you’re looking in the wrong stores,” I tell her, spotting another familiar storefront that’s down the way from whe
re we’re standing. “My mom likes shopping there.” I point at the store I’m talking about.
Gracie frowns when I turn to look at her. “You want me to look like your mom?”
I shrug. “Hey, you said you wanted to look older. And my mom looks pretty good for being…older.”
“If she heard you say that right now, she’d probably smack you,” she says, her brows lifting.
“My mom is a little curvier than she used to be, but she still looks good,” I say defensively. I hook my arm through Gracie’s and steer her toward the store I’m talking about. “Let’s go in and check it out.”
I don’t want to go inside the store, but Gracie is reluctant, so I practically drag her in there. It’s definitely got a different atmosphere compared to the other stores she’s been to. No loud, currently popular music blasting from the speakers. No piles of T-shirts and shorts and whatever else stacked on tables. Everything in this place is on hangers on racks, and in one section, it’s nothing but suit jackets and pants.
“That’s…too much,” Gracie says, wrinkling her nose when I grab a hanger with a black blazer and show it to her.
I return the blazer to the rack and keep cruising. “There’s a bunch of dresses in the back.”
She sifts through all the dresses, her nose still wrinkled, her brows drawing together every time she studies a price tag. “They’re a little expensive.”
I spot a sales rack and head for it. “Follow me.”
I’m no expert when it comes to shopping—especially for women—but she’s doing everything I ask, which is surprising. I think she’s defeated. And when you’re feeling defeated, of course you’re not going to be on top of your game. I should know, since I deal with the feeling of defeat quite frequently during football season.
And sometimes, not so much. Like my freshman season, when we were kicking ass and taking names thanks to Ash Davis leading us to a bowl win—not that I played much that season. Sophomore year was rough only because it was a growing year, as the coach called it, but at least I was on the field. Plus, there was a struggle between the quarterbacks—specifically the first-string guy and Eli, who was second-string. We lost a lot of excellent players since they were all seniors and that hurt. Jackson eventually left us too before the season was barely over, and he had the potential to become something great, though he never believed in himself when it came to the game.
Music though? He had his biggest fan encouraging him to go for it, and look where he’s at now. Lucky fucker.
“Ah, these are much better,” Gracie says as she searches through the racks, already grabbing a couple of dresses and slinging them over her arm.
“And they’re an additional twenty-five percent off,” says a perky voice from behind us. “Want me to start a dressing room for you?”
I go stiff, hating how familiar that voice sounds. But then again, I’ve met a lot of women over the last few years. Maybe this chick just sounds like someone I’ve been with before.
And when I think ‘been with,’ I mean actually been with. Intimately. Naked. Sexually.
“Twenty-five percent off? That’s awesome, thank you,” Gracie says with a smile. I watch out of the corner of my eye as she hands over the dresses she wants to try on. “And I’d love a dressing room.”
“Great, I’ll take care of it for you.” The sales associate takes off, and once she’s at a safe distance, I glance over my shoulder, checking her out.
Yep. Totally did that chick at a frat party a few months ago. Can’t remember her name though. Kaylie, Kylie? Katie? Shit.
“Oh, I like this skirt too,” Gracie says, her expression determined as she whips through all the clothes on the sales rack. “You know, Caleb, I have to give it to you.”
“Give what to me?” I ask, rubbing the back of my neck. I hate how nervous I feel, but if that chick recognizes me—and she will, I can guarantee it—Gracie is going to be disgusted with me.
I just know it.
“This was a good idea, coming in here,” she explains, flashing me a quick smile. “Maybe I should listen to my friend more often.”
“Are you referring to me?”
“You’re the only friend of mine I’m currently with,” she says, her gaze returning to the rack, though I can see the smile still on her face. She’s probably pleased with putting me in the friend zone, and that sort of pisses me off. She knows what I want from her, but she refuses to give it to me.
So why should I worry what she thinks about me running into the girl I fucked in a frat house bathroom a few months ago? I shouldn’t care at all.
We’re just friends, right?
Shaking my hair out of my face, I start to wander around the store, trying to get this chick’s attention. She’s currently at the register, ringing a customer up, while Gracie is still searching through the sales racks, gathering up a giant pile of clothes to try on. Which sucks, because this means I’m here for the long haul, and I’m going to get bored quick.
Too bad I’m in the friend zone with Gracie. I’d try and mess around with her in the dressing room if we were more than that.
“Okay.” I turn to find Gracie approaching me with that giant smile still on her face. “I think I found more than enough stuff to try on. And it’s all on sale, so that’s a bonus.”
“Great,” I say, my voice flat, causing her smile to fade. “How long is this going to take?”
“You can go wait outside if you want,” she says, sounding defensive. “You knew it would take a while, shopping with me.”
True. I did know this. “It’s cool. I’ll find something to do.”
My gaze goes to the sales associate—Kylie?—and realize she’s headed in our direction, smiling as she sees the giant pile of clothes in Gracie’s arms.
“Let me take some of that for you,” she says, taking a few hangers from Gracie, her gaze sliding over to me briefly, just before she does a double take.
“Oh. Hey,” she says weakly.
“Hey.” I give her a chin nod, trying to keep it cool. Did I piss her off the last time I saw her? Can’t remember. I’m sure I bailed on her quick. Or convinced her to leave. That’s my usual mode of operation after I finish doing whatever I’ve been doing with a girl. “How are you?”
“Great.” Her smile grows. “How are you? Haven’t seen you around much lately.”
“Not partying as much,” I answer, glancing quickly over at Gracie. Her head goes back and forth as we speak, as if she’s watching a tennis match. “Been busy with work.”
“Still playing football?” the girl asks.
“You know it.” My gaze drops to her tits, looking for a nametag pinned to it, but she’s got nothing.
Damn it.
“My friends and I will have to come watch you play. Like last season,” she says, her tone turning flirtatious.
“Uhhh, excuse me, but could you get that dressing room going for me, please?” Gracie thrusts her armful of clothes toward the sales associate—damn it, I wish I could remember her name—and a couple of hangers fall out of the clothes, landing on the floor.
“Of course,” the store employee says, seemingly flustered as she dips down to gather up the hangers. “Are you still looking around?”
“Yes, but I’ll be ready to try it all on in a few minutes.” Gracie’s smile and tone is syrupy sweet.
“My name is Skylee. Call me if you need me,” she says, her gaze shooting to mine quickly before she turns and heads for the dressing room section.
The moment she’s gone, Gracie is on me. “Please tell me you’ve never hooked up with that girl.”
“Okay,” I say slowly. “I won’t tell you anything then.”
A frustrated sigh leaves her. “Can we not go anywhere without running into someone you’ve been with?”
“I didn’t see anyone I knew in any of those other stores you went into,” I point out. “And I thought her name was Kylie.”
“No, it’s worse than that. It’s Skylee.” Gracie rolls her
eyes. “That’s awful.”
“Wait until you start teaching. I’m sure you’ll come across some crazy names,” I tell her.
Gracie contemplates me for a long, quiet moment before she starts to slowly shake her head. “You’re something else, you know that?”
Before I can ask her what she means, she’s gone, calling out Skylee’s name, gushing over all the good deals as Skylee lets her into a dressing room. I watch them, my hands in my pockets, worry eating at me over what those two might discuss about me while they’re hanging out or whatever.
The moment Gracie is in the dressing room, Skylee heads straight for me, her expression hopeful.
“What are you up to tonight?” she asks.
“Uh…” What the fuck? That’s a pretty ballsy question. I could be with Gracie—as in she could be my girlfriend. Skylee doesn’t know who she is to me. “I’m hanging out with her.”
I wave a hand toward the closed door of Gracie’s dressing room.
“Oh.” Skylee’s expression falls. “Are you two together?”
“Yes. Yes, we are,” I say firmly, nodding my head again and again. I’m filled with the realization that I don’t want to talk to this chick. “In fact, I should go check on my girlfriend. See if she needs help with anything.”
I leave Skylee where she’s standing and head for the dressing room, rapping my knuckles loudly on the sleek door before I try the handle. Unfortunately, it’s locked. “Hey babe, let me in there.”
The door quickly swings open, startling me. “Hey babe?” Gracie’s frowning so hard I’m worried she’s giving herself permanent wrinkles. “What the hell are you—”
I crowd her back into the dressing room, slamming the door behind me. “Shhh.” I rest my finger against her lips when she opens them, ready to blast me. “I had to tell her we were together.”
Gracie frowns. “Why?”
“Because she’s trying to ask me out.”
“Oh my God.” She bats my finger away from her lips. “Of course she is.”
I take a step back, checking her out, offering a low whistle. She’s wearing a black dress with little white flowers scattered all over it. “Damn girl, you look fine.”
The Junior (College Years Book 3) Page 11