FALSE 9: Red Card Series

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FALSE 9: Red Card Series Page 10

by Erickson, Megan


  I mumbled, “Gotta take a piss,” and no one paid me any attention as I made my way to the front door.

  I slipped outside, and scanned the sidewalk for Bianca. She stood huddled under the far corner of the building, tapping away at her phone. Maybe I should just go back inside. Did she really need me following her everywhere like a fucking puppy? But then she glanced up, and a small smile split her face. She beckoned me over, and—like a fucking puppy—I listened.

  She stuck her phone in her pocket as I neared her, and when I leaned a shoulder against the wall, she mimicked my position facing me. “Hey,” I said.

  “Great goal.”

  “Well, I didn’t score it.”

  “You got the assist though.”

  “I did.”

  Her smile grew. “You played the second half like you loved the game. It was beautiful to watch. Made me happy.”

  “I’m glad it made you happy.”

  “Tell me why you started playing soccer.”

  I picked at a clump of dried mud on my arm. “Wow I’m gross. Anyway. Uh, well, my Pop loved soccer. He played it as a kid and in college, and he’s followed Tottenham his whole life. So when I was a kid, they put me in a class. I took to it, and just… kept playing.” I shrugged. “Kind of a boring story. I love the game is all.”

  “It’s not boring. That’s amazing you found something you love.”

  “What about you?” I asked. “What do you love?” Her smile began to fade, and at once my heart dropped. “Shit, I’m sorry—”

  “I did find something I loved. And then I fell out of love with it.” She nibbled on her lower lip and wouldn’t make eye contact with me. “So now I’m trying to find something else I love just as much.” Her voice fell to a whisper. “And panicking that I won’t.”

  Fuck, I was not good at this reassuring thing. “Hey, I’m sure you will. I mean, I don’t know what you loved before, but I’m sure you can find something else like it. Tons of people have successful second careers.”

  She didn’t look like she was going to cry anymore, as she raised an eyebrow at me. “Oh yeah?”

  “Yeah! Julia Child was a fucking spy before she was a famous chef. A spy! She went from doing cool shit to cooking cool shit.” I made a whisk motion with my hand.

  She pointed to my hand. “What was that?”

  “Uh, whisking?”

  “That’s the cooking cool shit hand motion?”

  I reached out and pinched her waist. “Quit making fun of me. I talk with my hands.”

  She twisted away from me with a squeal. “It was funny!” She mimicked my whisk movement with an exaggerated arm pinwheel.

  “I did not do that!” I grabbed her and tugged her to me, slipping my hand underneath her shirt to tickle her more. Because I was apparently nine years old and showed my affection for a cute girl by tickling. What I really wanted to do was kiss the crap out of her. So when she arched into me, laughing, and placed her hands on my chest, staring up at me with those big dark eyes, I gathered up the courage to kiss her.

  And I was about two seconds away from doing it too, when I heard Coach’s voice echo through the parking lot. “What the fuck is this?”

  I dropped my hands from Bianca’s waist like she was on fire and whirled around to see Coach stalking toward us, murder in his eyes. Maiming too. He was definitely going to rip my arm off, beat me with it, then strangle me with my own dismembered hand.

  I held my hands up and backed up, Bianca behind me. “Coach—”

  “I’ll deal with you later.” His gaze shifted as he reached behind me and grabbed Bianca’s arm, pulling her toward him while he stuck a finger in her face. He fired off angry words in Tagalog, and Bianca spit some back, switching to English halfway through. “… I am keeping a low profile.”

  “Oh yeah?” Coach flung an arm out to me. “Banging my starting midfielder isn’t my idea of a low profile.”

  I wanted to tell him that there’d been no banging. Zero banging of any kind. But I kept my mouth shut because this sounded like a family thing. I would have loved to sneak away, but supporting Bianca seemed like the right thing to do. So I stood my ground in my soccer uniform and Adidas slides, dirty socks scrunched down around my ankles, and thought that this was a pretty typical Lavin Saint situation.

  Bianca growled at her uncle, and not gonna lie, it was pretty hot. “Don’t make this cheap. He’s my friend. After all I’ve been through, you can’t just let me have this? I’ve been surrounded by men all my life who have ulterior motives, and for once, I want to have a choice who I spend time with.”

  “You think he doesn’t have ulterior motives? He’s a twenty-year-old man who wants you naked.”

  Okay, that wasn’t cool. Sure, I wanted to see Bianca naked, but I also wanted to see her smile and hear her laugh. I opened my mouth to protest, but Bianca stepped in front of me. And honestly, I thought she was going to hulk smash something. Her face was a make of pure fury, and her hands were balled into fists. “Well maybe I want to get naked with him!”

  She was yelling. Oh fuck, she was yelling about me being naked. I was going to fucking die right there in the parking lot. Coach’s eyes were huge, and his face was crimson. I wasn’t sure how to diffuse this. “Bianca—”

  She ignored me. “Why can’t I ever have anything for myself? He makes me laugh and he’s nice to me. How sad is it that at twenty-one, I’m this starved for someone to just be nice to me in a way that isn’t shady?”

  Fuck, she was breaking my heart. What the hell had she gone through? Her body shook, so I slipped my hand into hers. She stepped back until her hip brushed the front of my shorts. She took a couple of deep breaths and spoke more calmly now. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, but it just kinda happened. We met on campus before I realized he was your player.” She glanced back at me, then again at her uncle. “I like him.”

  Coach was shooting me dagger-eyes. I swallowed. “I like her too. I’m sorry, Coach.”

  He didn’t waver, and switched to Tagalog, speaking low and with conviction. There was something he said that caused Bianca to drop my hand like I was poison. He cupped her face, her eyes immediately welling with tears, before she blinked them away. She whispered something back, and with one glance at me, I knew Coach’s words were as sharp as a knife, severing whatever had been between us.

  With a heavy sigh and a sad nod, Coach patted her back and kissed her head. “You have a couple of minutes.” Then he turned and walked back into Pizzaz.

  I stared at Bianca, unsure what the fuck to say, because she was backing away from me now. “I’m sorry, Lavin.”

  “I-it’s okay, but…” Fuck, I was so confused. “Did I do something? What did Coach say?”

  She shook her head. “No, it’s not you. Not you at all. It’s me and…it’s me. I’m so sorry, but I can’t see you anymore.”

  I’d expected this moment from the first time she talked to me, but goddamn that didn’t make it hurt any less. I wondered if it’d be better if I knew she was walking away from me smiling. Happy with someone else. I honestly thought that might be better, way better than this, when she was near tears and trembling and I couldn’t do anything about it.

  “You’ll find someone else,” she said. “Someone with way more beau-sence than me.” She tried for a smile and it wasn’t happening.

  She was slipping away from me, like sand through my fingers. “Bianca, I just want you to be happy. I wish I knew how to do that.”

  “You did.” She pressed her fingers to her lips once, before dropping her hand back to her side. “Take care, Lavin.”

  She turned and walked slowly back into Pizzaz. And I… well I wanted to punch something. Hard. I could still play soccer with a hand cast if I punched this brick wall, right?

  This impotent feeling was frustrating as fuck. I couldn’t fix what was making Bianca upset, and now she’d cut me out completely. She hadn’t looked happy about it, but that didn’t change the fact that she’d done it.

&nb
sp; I didn’t want any more shitty pizza. I didn’t want to have to face my roommates and pretend to make stupid fucking conversation. The walk back to my apartment was two miles. Fuck it. I needed to clear my head.

  And mourn what I never had in the first place.

  Nine

  Sheltered Little Hetero

  Dad leaned forward into the camera, narrowing his eyes. “Honey, I don’t like the look of your face. Have you been using the oil diffuser I sent?”

  No, Dre had stolen it. “Yes, Dad.”

  “I’ll text you a list of ingredients for the blend I’ve been using for stress.”

  I didn’t want a fucking essential oil recipe. But blowing Dad off about his oils was not wise. “Yes, Dad.”

  That made him pause. “Oh, so now you’re just yes’ing me.” He placed a hand dramatically on his chest and turned to Pop. “Do you hear our son casually yes’ing me like he thinks I don’t know he’s blowing me off?” He turned back to the camera. “I don’t appreciate the patronizing when I’m trying to help center your energy.”

  I slumped against the headboard of my bed, cell phone held out in front of me. “I’m sorry. I’m listening and I’ll try the blend you sent me. Honest.” I was not being honest. Dre really loved that diffuser.

  Pop nudged Dad out of the camera with a small eye roll. “Lav.”

  “Yeah.”

  “You doing okay?”

  I shrugged.

  “Your first game in the new position went well, you said. How about practice?”

  After everything with Bianca, I’d thrown myself into practice like a man on a mission. I ran longer, played harder, and tried to forget about her. It’d been two weeks and I hadn’t been successful. “Practice is good.”

  Pop sighed. “Did something happen? Don’t make me call your roommates.”

  I speared my fingers through my hair. “I met a girl.”

  I had Dad’s attention again. All of it. “Tell us more.”

  “There’s not much to say.” Actually there was. I’d dated girls. I’d made out with them. I’d had girlfriends. But yet Bianca was a defining line in my romantic history. Everything before her was lovesick teenage crap. My short time with Bianca had been… real. I couldn’t go back, but yet here I was, left in the aftermath of her beau-sence.

  The whole time I’d been with her I’d told myself it was temporary. I’d known that. She hadn’t made promises, and neither had I. Yet now that it was over, I knew that a huge part of me had been hoping I could somehow pull this off and get to keep her. It wasn’t about just getting to touch something so beautiful. I missed making her laugh. I missed the crazy shit she got me into, how she’d show up and drag me along on a new adventure. She was so fucking full of life. Bianca was like a brand new color that hadn’t been invented yet—it was bright, beautiful, and I wanted to paint an entire house with it.

  My parents were waiting expectantly for me to keep talking. “We hung out for a little, and it was incredible, but she’s got shit going on and had to end it. So that’s that.”

  Pops opened his mouth, but Dad smacked him on the chest to keep him quiet. Then he covered his mouth and let out a shaky breath. “Oh Lavin.”

  Oh Jesus, I did not need fucking tears. “Dad—”

  “There’s something different about this girl, I can tell.” He waved a finger at me. “I knew this would happen. You’re a late bloomer, but I told Michael that you just needed to meet the right person. That she was out there for you—”

  “Dad, please. It’s done, so I’d rather not dwell.”

  He pressed his lips shut and mumbled something.

  “What?”

  “I don’t think it’s done.”

  “Uh, yeah it is.”

  “You have the condoms I sent?”

  Oh my God. “Dad.”

  “Theo,” Pop said. “Ease up.”

  Dad crossed his arms over his chest, but thankfully he eased up.

  “Hang in there, Pelé,” Pop said. “I know it’s tough.”

  “It’s just like…” shit, here I was spilling my guts. “Your first love is hard, but no one ever tells you there’s a difference between that and your first love. The adult kind. The real kind. Not the hormonal teenager kind.” And then here I was talking about love after knowing Bianca for like a week. What was wrong with me?

  Dad’s smile was sad. “No, I guess no one talks about that.”

  “This was different. She was different, and the way I was… the way we were together was different. I wanted to protect her and make her happy.”

  “Your father was my first adult love,” Pop said. “So when I thought I lost him,” he glanced at Dad, “I remember the loss I felt.”

  I tugged my hair. “Thanks Dad.”

  “You’ll be okay.”

  “I think so.”

  “Love you.”

  “Love you too.”

  When I hung up the call, I dropped my phone between my legs and slid down so I could lay on my back and stare at the ceiling.

  Coach had been extra hard on me, but I could take that. What bothered me the most was that he hadn’t brought up Bianca. I had wanted him to, just so I had a way of asking if she was okay. She hadn’t shown up to class at all, but I took diligent notes in case she needed them. I was fucking crazy. She’d made her decision though, and I needed to respect that, no matter how much I wanted to call her up.

  I rolled over and listened to the chatter of my roommates as they watched TV downstairs. I needed to get my ass up and quit moping. Fucking ridiculous.

  With a groan, I rolled out of bed and stretched my arms over my head. I’d been killing it in practice more than normal, and my muscles were letting me know I’d worked them the fuck out.

  With a glance at my phone—no messages, of course—I jogged down the stairs. Zac was at class, and Dre was doing pull-ups in the doorway of the kitchen while Shane made notes from a textbook on the coffee table.

  He glanced up at me with a pencil stuck behind his ear. “Yo.”

  “Hey.” I snagged a chip from his plate. “What’re you studying?”

  “Genetics.”

  I grimaced. Shane’s workload was crazy. He was studying biology because he wanted to go to grad school to be a physical therapist. “Sounds exciting.”

  “I want to burn this fucking book.”

  “That might hurt the resale price.”

  He snorted as he focused back on his book.

  I turned to the TV. “What’re you watching?”

  “I was watching the local news but now it’s like, some entertainment news show.”

  “Oh.” I snagged the remote and sat down on the other couch. Pointing the remote at the TV, I was about to change the channel, when they showed a clip of the Kardashians sitting along the runway where women were strutting their asses off in lingerie. Lighted words on the back of the runway spelled out Angelo Vara Intimates. “Since when are you into this, Castle?”

  Shane didn’t even look up.

  Ok, so I was talking to myself. Dre had disappeared into the kitchen. I sighed, and focused back on the TV, when the sight of a girl wearing a teal bra and thong and caught my eye.

  Her dark hair was nearly down to her waist, and she had on a shit-ton of makeup but that girl… that girl in lingerie on a catwalk… looked like… Bianca.

  My breath stopped and white noise rushed in my ears as I fell to the floor on my knees and scrambled toward the TV. Somewhere, I heard Shane ask what the fuck I was doing, but I wasn’t coherent. With my face inches from the screen, I blinked at the girl who was now walking back down the runway, away from the Kardashians, away from me.

  I had to be wrong. She was just a gorgeous girl, right? Another Filipino supermodel.

  But then she turned and glanced over her shoulder, and I knew.

  I fucking knew.

  “Holy shit balls of fire.” My limbs weren’t working, my muscles liquefied now that I was faced with the fact that I’d made out with a goddamn li
ngerie runway model. I fell back on my ass and pointed at the screen. “Holy shit.”

  “Uh, dude,” Shane said. “I know you’re a sheltered little hetero, but those are women, and they have boobies, and you need to get a hold of yourself.”

  I sat up and slammed my hands down on the coffee table. “Shut up and let me talk!”

  He leaned back on the couch with his mouth in the shape of an O. “Dre?” He called. “Can you come in here, please? Saint is losing it because he saw some tits.”

  Dre walked into the living room. “What’s going on?”

  I waved frantically at the TV, which was now showing something about the next Mission Impossible movie. “That girl. In the teal, did you see that fucking girl?”

  “I did not,” Shane said.

  I blinked at him, then at Dre. They were both looking at me like I’d lost my mind which was okay because I had actually lost my mind. “That was Bianca!” I screeched. We were reaching hysteria level here. “That. Was. Bianca. Santos. In her underwear. On the Angelo Vara runway show. With the Kardashians.”

  Nobody moved. Nobody breathed. Then we all went into flight mode. “Get a laptop!” Dre yelled.

  “On it!” Shane hollered back, producing one from the side of the couch like a fucking ninja.

  “YouTube.” Dre sat down beside Shane, rubbing his hands together, then nodded his head at me. “Sit on the couch, Saint.”

  Glad for the direction on what to do with my numb body, I plopped down beside Shane as he tapped away at the laptop. He quickly pulled up a video of the runway show from a year ago. Fuck, I was sweating and the hair on the back of my neck was standing up, and I had no idea how to process this.

  Shane pressed play and we didn’t have to wait long. About forty-five seconds into the performance, a brunette in teal made her way down the runway. When she filled the frame, Shane hit pause with a jab of his finger.

  We all stared.

  The eyes, the way she walked, hell even the fucking way her hair moved was all Bianca Santos.

  “Holy shit,” Dre said. “Coach’s niece is a fucking supermodel.”

 

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