Kicked: A Bad Boy Sports Romance

by C. M. Stunich

  I sighed and reached into my purse, pretending to get another pencil but checking my phone instead. Max had been great to me for our first few days back together, but already he was back to his old shit. Not calling, not coming over, making me wonder how I'd ever let this happen again. I sighed when, as was now the usual, there wasn't a single message on my phone. Addison, even though she wouldn't admit it, was still kind of pissed at me for what happened with Dorian. Flor hadn't spoken to me since that night … I felt weirdly alone in that classroom, surrounded by strangers, full of shame.

  I didn't want to feel that way anymore; it was killing me inside.

  I squeezed my pencil so hard that it snapped in two, drawing several sets of curious eyes over to me. I shoved the broken pieces into my purse and held my breath until the professor started up his lecture again.

  I was a smart, modern, powerful woman and I didn't need this, didn't need to obsess over any boy, much less my stepbrother. I had a brain and I had dreams and I knew how ridiculous this all seemed, but Flor had somehow managed to get under my skin and, like a drug, he'd gotten me addicted. Love is a drug, in a way, isn't it? I thought as I stared down at the empty notebook page and tried to come up with something, anything, to make myself feel better about this whole situation.

  The only thing I could reasonably come up with was the truth.

  Maybe, just maybe, if I told Flor how I felt, this would all go away. I didn't want to admit it, but deep down, where my darkest desires lived and breathed, I hoped that something else might happen, that maybe this wouldn't go away but actually become something. I told myself that was the addiction talking, slammed my notebook closed and, even though everyone in the class was once again staring at me, I marched out of there with my head held high.

  I could do this. I would do this, and something would change. No matter what it was, it was better than living with shame.

  My confidence only lasted so long as it took me to get to Flor's studio.

  I found a lucky parking space across the street and leaned on the wheel, watching men and women dressed in ink go in and out the doors. I waited for a good long while, but I didn't see either Florian or Max. Not surprising since a single tattoo could take all day and I knew that they took their smoke breaks out back, but I was starting to lose my gusto. Going into the shop and getting Flor – especially if Max or Rhonda was there – would be a hell of a lot harder. I had banked on him coming out at some point, to grab food or get something from his car, but after about an hour I realized that wasn't going to happen and sat up, putting the key into the ignition.

  A knock on the passenger side door made me jump and I glanced over to find Florian leaning down and staring at me with a frown on his face and a loose tank that gaped at the neck, revealing way, way more of his skin than I needed to see.

  Shit.

  “What the hell are you doing in there, stalker?” he asked me, reaching down and testing the door handle. I had the strongest urge to hit the lock button, like Flor was some sort of raptor from Jurassic Park, intent on destroying me both body and soul. I swallowed as the door swung open and he scooted inside, leaning back and giving me a look that I didn't know how to interpret.

  “Is it Mom and Dad?” he asked, causing me to roll my eyes.

  “Why do you always ask that?” I snapped, wishing he'd do something other than refer to my dad and his mom as our parents. “If something was wrong with them, you'd know it.” The words came out more sharply than I'd intended and I flushed, curling my fingers around the steering wheel.

  “How's Max?” Flor drawled, like he didn't give a shit. I knew he did, knew it bothered him more than he'd ever admit.

  “How's Rhonda?” I snapped back.

  More silence, but I didn't dare look over at him. I can't believe I left class early for this. What the hell am I doing here? I kept my hands on the wheel, my eyes forward. I knew my breath was coming in quick, staccato bursts, but I couldn't seem to stop; my nerves were on fire.

  “How are you?” Flor asked suddenly, his jeans squeaking on the leather seat of my Taurus. The car your dad bought for you. I felt another surge of guilt and anxiety, enough that it was almost crippling. This is what I'd come here to avoid, to surpass. Dad never had to know what I said to Flor. I could ask Flor to keep a secret and, considering he'd probably freak when I told him, he'd keep his word, if only to avoid the embarrassment of talking about it.

  “I'm … ” Just say fine and go, I thought to myself. Just say you were thinking of getting another tattoo or something. Make up an excuse like you've always done! I bit my lower lip, worried it between my teeth so hard that I tasted blood.

  Flor's fingers found my chin and brushed across my jumping pulse.

  “You're hurting yourself, Abigail,” he said, and his voice was unusually soft. I turned my head slowly, so very slowly, to look at him and found those ridiculously green eyes staring back at me, like two perfect emeralds. He adjusted himself, crossing his arms over his chest. I watched the swell of his muscles, drank in the set of his strong shoulders, the tattoos that danced in a colorful collage from the edge of his tank top all the way down to his hands, ending in fingers fit for the God of Ink himself. They were long and strong and I felt if I could just feel them on my skin once, just once, that my body would know the ultimate reaches of pleasure.

  “The truth is, Flor,” I began, sucking in a massive breath, “I'm not okay.”

  He frowned and my resolve faltered just a little.

  “Drive,” Flor said suddenly, and I blinked at him. When I didn't immediately start the car, he nodded his chin at the windshield and repeated himself, voice low and rough, like there was something stuck in his throat. “Drive. Go.” When I hesitated again, his eyes locked onto mine and cut straight through me.

  I turned the damn key.

  I pulled the car out of the space and took off through three green lights and a red before I remembered that I had no idea where I was going. I decided to keep heading straight and go back to my apartment. If this went the way I wanted, the way I was hoping, then we'd be having a long talk, best kept out of the curious reaches of other ears. Addi would be in class right now, so we'd have the apartment to ourselves. I could've gone to Flor's place since it was much closer, but I didn't know if Rhonda would be there. What if she'd moved in already or something? I shivered.

  Silence descended, digging its deadly claws into my shoulders, making me even more tense than I already was. For ten long, agonizing minutes, neither of us spoke. It wasn't until we'd left Springfield and entered downtown Eugene that I finally got the courage to keep talking.

  Flor beat me to it.

  “Is it Max?” Flor asked, and the anger in his voice made me acutely aware that I better fess up and quick or Flor's best friend was likely to suffer for my sudden indecision. “Did he hurt you?”

  “No,” I said quickly and then, just because I felt like this was the time for honesty, “not anything other than my feelings.” I lifted my right hand to stop Flor before he could speak, keeping my eyes on the street and the shops that lined either side. The downtown Eugene area was going through a serious revitalization, too, getting proper street lamps for the first time in a long time. Most of the shop fronts were full and the crowd looked vibrant. I was happy to see the area coming to life; it was the only place in the world I'd want to live anyway. Well, at least for now. Maybe if this tactic of mine worked, I could pry myself away from the one landmark I couldn't seem to live without: my stepbrother. “He and I … we dated for a while after I turned eighteen.”

  I hazarded a quick glance at Flor and noticed that his lips were pursed.

  “I know,” he said, and his voice had dropped to a gruff whisper. “I practically beat the truth out of him after you called.” He gave me another look and shook his head, dark hair falling onto his forehead. I wanted to reach out and brush it back, run my fingers across his skin and see if, maybe, just maybe, his pulse would jump in response to my touch. “So it was
him, wasn't it?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “That took your virginity. It was Max.” That part wasn't a question, so I didn't bother to answer. “He's bad news,” Flor said, getting out a cigarette and putting it between his lips. He rolled the window down and leaned his arm on the door, but he didn't light up. “I mean, he's my best friend and I love the bastard and all, but he's a whore, Abi.”

  “Flor,” I began, but he wasn't done.

  “He's no good for you. He won't admit it, and he keeps it pretty well hidden, but I know he cheats on you.” My heart skipped a beat. I'd thought about that, of course, but I could never prove it, so I didn't even bother to bring it up. “Max isn't the right guy for you, Abigail.”

  Then who is? Certainly not you.

  I kept the words to myself.

  “Flor,” I said, feeling a small shiver work its way up my spine. This was going to hurt, bad. I could already tell. I circled around the block and pulled up in front of my apartment, grabbing the last space on the street. “I didn't come to the shop today to talk to, or even about, Max.”

  “Then what did you come to talk about?” he asked, and I felt my breath hitch. Do it, Abigail. Do it before you think better of it.

  I spun in my seat and I knew I looked desperate, that I'd lost all of my earlier confidence.

  “Flor.” His name fell from my lips like a promise.

  The second that syllable slid over my tongue, I saw his eyes widen. His unlit cigarette fell from his mouth and hit the seat, bouncing off to land on the floor.

  “Flor,” I said again, forcing myself to clear my throat. If I was going to do this, to say this, I had to sound strong.

  “No,” he said suddenly, his voice little more than a whisper.

  I paused and my hesitation cost me everything.

  “No,” he said again, opening up his door.

  “Flor, wait!” I said, confused, hurt, not understanding what was going on.

  “No, Abigail, no,” he said suddenly, spinning back to me and reaching out with those beautiful fingers, taking hold of my chin. “Don't say it. Don't.”

  “You don't even know what I'm going to say,” I whispered back, tears stinging the corners of my eyes. Shock took over, temporarily replacing my pain, when Florian leaned over and kissed the drops from the corners of my eyelids.

  “I know what you're going to say, but the answer is no, and I can't, and I have to go.” He pulled his hand back and stepped out onto the sidewalk, pausing again to lean down and look me straight in the face. His expression was unreadable. “Don't ever say it, Abigail, because if you do … if you do … ”

  “Hey, you!”

  It was Addison, a cloth shopping bag in one hand and a smile on her face. She raised her other hand to wave at us from across the street. I should've known she'd rather play hooky and go shopping than go to class. Glancing over at her gave Flor enough time to shut the door and take a step back before I spun towards him again, ripping off my seatbelt and scooting over towards the passenger seat, curling my fingers around the open window.

  “Flor,” I called out, but he was already moving away, down the street and towards the bus station. “Flor!” He didn't stop, didn't turn around and look at me. I watched him walk away, watched him slump down on the bench and stay there. I could've gone after him, physically anyway, but emotionally? I felt liquid on my cheeks and reached up to touch my tears.

  I couldn't even tell him how I felt, couldn't get this off my chest; he wouldn't let me. This pain, this shame I had inside of me, it was starting to look like I'd be stuck with it forever.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  My heart felt like it was in the middle of an emotional apocalypse, like I was looking at a world suddenly stripped of color. If I'd thought harboring these feelings for so long had been difficult, knowing that Flor had purposely denied me the chance to admit to them was even worse. But why, Flor? Why? Why look at me so tenderly, touch me so sweetly, and then run off like that? Nobody's ever kissed my eyelids before. It was that gentle touch that had really undone me.

  Don't ever say it, Abigail, because if you do …

  If I did, then what could possibly happen? And did he even know what I was going to say? Was that it? Or was there some sort of cosmic misunderstanding here that was shooting us both in the foot?

  I rolled over and grabbed my Pepsi off the nightstand, twisting off the cap and bringing it to my lips. This is what my heart feels like, like a bottle of soda. It was a stupid analogy, not very poetic or Shakespearean, but it was true. You could shake the bottle as much as you wanted and as long as you didn't open the top, all the fizz would stay inside. Well, too late. I'd been shaken and stirred and dipped and dropped all my life, tossed around by my emotions for Flor like debris in a tornado, and now, I'd popped the top. And Flor, that know-it-all asshole, had tried to shove the cap back on.

  Too late.

  I was already bubbling over with hurt and confusion and regret. I should've kept my big mouth shut.

  “Are you being contemplative again?” Addi asked, pausing in the doorway to my bedroom. She was all dolled up, eyes traced with gold and black and lips lined in red, making me feel even less like a human and more like a mop. A saggy, dirty, droopy, wet mop. “Because we don't have time for that. I haven't even done your makeup yet. Here, I brought you some goodies to make you feel better.”

  I eyed these supposed presents suspiciously. Sometimes, I thought Addison just bought me clothes because she liked to dress me up, like I was her own personal doll or something. Or maybe it had to do with the whole 'motherless vacuum' thing. Granted, River and I had never had that sort of relationship, the kind where you go shopping together and hang out. Maybe I needed this? “Come on, get up, get dressed, and forget about Satan's Spawn for a little while. Stop playing these games with him.”

  Addi moved over to stand next to me, giving the homework spread across my bed a dirty look. Draped over her right arm was a sultry little party dress in burnished bronze. It had a high neckline, but was scandalously short; it was also way too fancy for a night at the movies. Which I should never have agreed to in the first place. I felt tired just thinking about it, especially considering there was a shoe box in the crook of her other arm. The shoes inside were probably fabulous, but also potentially deadly; I wasn't used to walking on stilts. Addison was a notorious shopaholic, but she'd already modeled the new outfit she'd bought for the evening. This could only mean one thing.

  “Just Satan, remember? Not Satan's Spawn. And the dress better be the only goody you have for me tonight,” I said, closing my chemistry textbook and sitting up on my bed. I'd also agreed – reluctantly – to a double date with Addi and Patrick. One, because I was sick and tired of sulking around the apartment and two, because Max had suddenly upped his game. He'd brought me flowers, stayed in and pigged out on ice cream during girls' night with Addi, even taken me on a romantic dinner date. I still wasn't much in the mood for going out, but I was making an effort. “There is no way I'm going to squeeze into that thing.” The fabric shimmered as Addi thrust it out at me, her skintight zebra patterned dress only emphasizing how skinny she really was. Yesterday, she'd locked herself in the bathroom and dyed her ecstatic curls a white-blonde color. At first I wasn't sure about it, but it was growing on me. Or maybe she was just too hip for me. I fingered my brunette curls and sighed.

  “Oh, stop that,” Addi said, dropping her arms by her sides and tilting her head to glare at me. “So Flor freaked out and acted like the weirdo we always knew he was. It's been a week, bitch. Get up and let's go.” She marched over to me and dropped the dress and shoes on the white bedspread. “I spent good money on that stuff, so don't say a word. You are wearing it.”

  I sighed and groaned, leaning back into the pillows and pressing the heels of my hands against my eyes. Addi's favorite perfume, some sort of cinnamon-vanilla mixture, wafted around me as she leaned over and whispered into my ear.

  “Oh, and we're not seeing a
movie tonight. There's a concert at the WOW Hall. We're going.”

  I pulled my hands away from my eyes.

  “The WOW Hall?” I asked, pushing myself up onto my elbows. The WOW Hall was a little concert venue a few blocks from our apartment. I'd frequented it with my friends in high school, getting drunk on whatever we could find before we even hit the front door, and then watching bands whose names I'd already forgotten.

  I wrinkled my nose.

  Those were not my fondest memories, foggy and forgettable evenings drinking Everclear and trying to show Flor that I was just as boss and badass as he was (which was actually so not true). Only, at that point he'd already moved out, so he wasn't even around to see me make a fool of myself. To me, a concert at the WOW Hall meant a tightly packed venue, sweaty bodies, ear splitting bass beats, and probably a mosh pit or two or three. I already had a pulsing headache from trying to deal with the follow-up questions to my spectroscopy lab in forensic chemistry; those were the last things I needed, and I told Addison so.

  “Get up, get dressed,” she repeated, fluffing her hair and checking her makeup briefly in my vanity mirror, yet another gift from my stepmom, another random, insignificant reminder that Flor and me equaled impossible. “I invited Theo and his new boyfriend, Yuu, to go with us. Actually, it was kind of his idea in the first place.” She paused and had the decency to look at least a little guilty when she added, “I may or may not have told him everything. By the way, he says Flor throws more shade than a beach umbrella, whatever that means.” Addi smoothed her hands over the sequins on her dress in a nervous gesture. “You're not upset, are you? I know the wound's still raw.”

  “You mean, did I know you guys shared everything? Because that's kind of a no-brainer. My only question would be if you and Theo shared gossip about me via old fashioned post or through a series of cryptic tweets? And by the way, does Patrick know the full extent of your platonic love affair with Miss Theo MacFabulous?” I asked with a slight smile, referring to Addison's sinfully beautiful drag queen friend by his stage name. Unlike Rhonda, Addi's elementary school pen pal really was a dude in a dress. We'd all sat together at the same table in second grade, but by the end of the year, Theo's parents were already making plans to move to Portland. I hadn't seen him since, but he and Addi had this weird, pseudo romantic relationship with one another where they actually scribbled out handwritten letters and mailed them back and forth. Of course, they also used FaceTime, Instagram, and Twitter, but I think the handwritten stuff was their favorite form of communication. “He's in town?”