I’m drinking my caffeinated Coke and gloating at the preggo twins and their fucking buffet. We settle in our seats to watch the game and I’m glaring at all these girls wearing #34 jerseys. My man’s number shouldn’t be front and center across their tits. The guys have had the same numbers since little league— Deacon is #44, Mason is #24, and Caden is #34. Saylor and Breck can outright claim their guy . . . me, I have to sit here knowing these ball bitches think they have a chance. Oh, when we’re outta the closet I’m gonna participate in lots of PDA . . . I may consider fucking him at home plate— in front of an audience.
Saylor and Emberlee are gloating how accommodating people are when you’re pregnant and hungry. They’re clueless. “Don’t forget hormonal and psychotic.” They blow me off discussing the ramifications of foregoing a table to place their smorgasbord.
“Oh shit, what’d you do to Mason?” Saylor giggles to Breck. Sure enough, he’s in front of our seats and demanding Brecklynn get down there. She props her feet up, ignoring him like the clueless girl she is. Ah, young grasshopper will learn soon enough.
“This is fucking hilarious. Lee Lee record it and we can upload it to the team site.” Saylor demands at the same time she shoves two chicken tenders in her mouth.
“You better go.” I try to direct her . . . she’s still new and doesn’t know how they work. She refuses, so I settle back and get ready for the show.
“BRECKLYNN!!!!” Mason shouts . . . and garners the attention of the entire stadium. I smirk and shoot her a look.
“How’s that working for you?” I chuckle. These people should start listening to me.
Lee Lee holds Breck back and I’m watching their argument. Mason isn’t riled up enough for Emberlee’s satisfaction. Sounds normal . . . for an insane asylum. I grab a chicken tender from Saylor and munch.
Sure enough . . . Deacon and Caden join Mason and amid the Coach and Brody trying to rein them in . . . Mason’s head pops over the railing. I’m amused . . . Mason goes all backwoods alpha, demanding Brecklynn join him.
In the middle of the diamond . . . consequences be damned.
See, Mason has separation anxiety; it isn’t surprising as he’s a toddler and goes through the stages. Hence, why he and Julie get along . . . they’re on an even playing field.
Brecklynn puckers up, appeases whatever asinine fit he was pitching and he runs to the dugout. Time to play ball.
“He’s fucking ridiculous.” Brecklynn is laughing.
“He’s fucking in love.” Saylor smiles.
“He’s fucking happy.” Avery sighs.
“He’s fucking whipped.” Lee Lee laughs.
This sums us up perfectly . . . we find Crazytown to be a place we like to visit . . . at least three times a day.
Happy Valentine’s Day to me. A naughty neighbor isn’t too shabby. Mason commanded the house for he and Breck to get down and dirty so Caden and I have a rare night to ourselves . . . after he dropped his car at the school and I picked him up. Bonnie and Clyde without the robbing and outlaw behavior. “We could skip college and become PI’s.” We’re good at sleuthing.
Caden grimaces. “Quit making light of it.”
“Would you rather I sit and throw a tantrum? That’s the point I’m at.” All the girls planning their Valentine’s surprises and dates this week . . . and me, silent over here.
“Fuck, Avery. What do you want me to do? March in their houses and declare you’re mine? Take a fucking billboard ad? Tell me and I’ll do it.” I start sobbing at his tone and have to pull over. “Shit.” He curses as he punches my dashboard.
I open my door, exit the car, and begin walking home— yes, it’s my fucking car but I need to escape him. “Avery!” His legs catch me easily and he grips my hand whirling me to face him. “I’m sorry. I hate this.”
“Then do something about it.” I demand, though I don’t mean it.
“Fine. Get in the car.” He leads me to the passenger side and takes the driver’s seat.
“Where are we going?” I sniffle.
“My house or Deacon’s first?” His jaw is ticking and his shoulders rigid.
“W-wh-what?” The tears are starting— again.
“You want me to fix it. I’m fucking fixing it, Avery. Who first?” We’re sitting idle at some random curb having this ridiculous argument.
“Not like this.” I inhale. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have blamed you. This is all my fault. I wanted us to hide. I just didn’t know it would turn into this.”
“This?” He’s terse and edgy.
“Everything.” I whisper. “You’re everything to me. Our life. Our future. Our love— it’s everything.”
He shuts the car off and opens his door. He rushes around the front of my vehicle and my door swings open. He hauls me into his arms, squeezing the air from my lungs. “Christ, Aves. You’re everything to me. Whatever you want, I’ll do it. Your happiness is what matters to me. I went along with this because I know their happiness is important to you and I won’t jeopardize you for anything. Just tell me what you want.”
“You. Anyway I can have you. I’m sorry.” I bury my face in his neck. “Let’s just go home.” His arms hold me close a few moments longer and he releases a sigh and me. I’m walking this tightrope and one false step is going to destroy something. Me. Caden. Our friends. Our relationship. I just can’t help feeling we need to hold off our announcement a bit longer. This premonition won’t leave my gut . . . my heart led me to Caden so I’ll trust my gut and continue this secret affair.
“I love you, Picasso.” He says before shutting the door. At my house he’s quiet but filled with passion. He takes me over and over, sweet, gentle . . . and it’s the first time it seems like something is missing. His love is there. His adoration is shining. But his trust . . . I’m losing it.
The girls decided we were having a Gilmore Girls marathon . . . the pregnant ones want ice cream and relaxation. Every activity we do revolves around food. If I manage to gain the freshman fifteen I didn’t my actual freshman year I’m taking their first-born. And letting Mason raise them.
Both their asses are having girls and they want to discuss sex . . . we’ll see how that works for them in sixteen years. “So, did anyone besides Brecklynn have a bow chicka bow wow Valentine’s?” I roll my eyes at Saylor’s question. She looks like she swallowed a medicine ball . . . not sure how freaky she can get.
“Hey. Mind your business.” Brecklynn grins and blushes.
“Speak for yourself. Brody and I . . .” Emberlee is gonna do her over sharing until Breck shuts her up.
“NO. Just fucking no. I saw what you and Brody do. I heard — for months — what you and Brody do.”
“All I was gonna say is pregnant or not . . . I’ve got moves.” Lee Lee continues to taunt her baby daddy’s sister.
“Oh, I’m not saying I didn’t get it . . . and quite well, but it isn’t like I can be pinned against a wall.” Saylor admits refusing to be outdone in sex aerobics. “Aves, you getting cobwebs? I haven’t seen or heard about a guy in over a year.” I roll my eyes . . . none of their fucking business. I’m still reeling from our fight.
“She sneaks out and sometimes she doesn’t come home after her last class.” Brecklynn declares with a smirk. I’m gonna put Nair in her shampoo.
“What?” Lee Lee’s voice forces my eardrums to pulse. “You’ve been holding out?”
“Everyone has had a lot happening the past two years.” Deflect. Distract. It’s become my mantra.
“Well we’re settled now, so spill.” Shortstop means business . . . she set her chocolate aside.
“No.” I won’t be drawn into this conversation when I’m still reeling and exposed. “Y’all,” I point to preggo one and two, “are fixing to have babies. You,” I turn my finger to Brecklynn, “are doing good and you and Mason are happy — so all of you — worry about yourselves.”
“But worrying about your vagina and the good lovin’ it’s getting is more fun.” Ember
lee’s like a dog with a bone . . . relentless.
“Read a fucking book. Watch a damn movie. Leave me and my vagina out of the equation.” I toss candy at her, which she catches mid-air. That’s talent and produces a free for all food fight. Mission accomplished. My sex life is no longer the topic of the hour.
“Our men would be proud. We have good aim.” I chuckle and clamp my mouth shut. I glance at them hoping they missed my faux pas. Breck is studying me but she keeps her lips sealed.
“Are you dating someone from the baseball team?” I choke, my coffee exiting my nose when Brecklynn corners me.
“W-what?” I sputter.
“You said something last night . . . our men and good aim. The Magic 8 ball says that leads to a baseball player.” She narrows her eyes at me . . . trying to see the truth.
“Well that ball needs a good shake and rerouted to another answer.” I add sugar to my coffee and ignore her penetrating glare.
“This conversation isn’t over.” She announces . . . and Mason walks in distracting her train of thought.
Looks like it is. I make my escape and text Caden from my class.
Me: 9-1-1. We have a problem.
Ruthian: What’s wrong?
Me: The girls are worried about my vagina and Breck suspects I’m dating someone from the team.
Ruthian: I’m concerned about your vagina as well. I haven’t been up close and personal with it in 48 hours. Help me out . . .
Me: Ass. I’m serious.
Ruthian: Me, too. Gotta go. Work out starting.
Fucking baseball. And his concern for my vagina is endearing. I’ve gotta hatch a plan . . . I know they’ll be all over this. And they’ll tag team me.
“You what?” He roars. Breck is at work so Caden is sitting here staring like I’ve been abducted and anal probed by aliens.
“It’s perfect. I’m brilliant.” I beam at him.
“I don’t think we heard the same fucked up scheme . . . you telling me you’re gonna pretend date someone from my team . . . go to parties, fake dates, spend time with him.” See, perfect. The girls will back off and we can continue this until the babies are here.
“Yes. My beard. David would be perfect. He isn’t close with us.” I grab his hand and he stands denying me contact with him. I study his rigid posture and think maybe he isn’t keen on this. “I won’t let him touch me. I’ll explain as much as I can to him.”
“He won’t touch you? Your beard?” His voice is low and scary. The throbbing vein in his forehead is in jeopardy of bursting. I open my mouth and he cuts me off. “A beard— doesn’t fucking work. You aren’t gay. He isn’t gay. That’s what a beard is. A shield.”
“No. Look it up on Wikipedia. It’s more common in the gay community but it’s perfectly fine.” I shrug my shoulders.
“And why’d you clarify he wouldn’t touch you?” The vein is still pulsing.
“Trying to calm you down.” I thought I had this problem solved. In my head it was brilliant . . . he isn’t following along. “You seem a bit upset.” I try a soothing voice.
Wrong choice. His eyebrows arch, his lips purse . . . I’d say he’s quite pissy. “Aves, I’d say I bypassed upset and went to fucking pissed the second you opened your mouth.” He inhales. His lips move counting to ten. Repeat. Repeat. Clearly, this coping mechanism isn’t working. “I’d like to know how you thought any of this would be okay. You fake dating—”
“I said pretending.” His fisted hands are clear indications the semantics of my words don’t mean shit.
“Fine.” He doesn’t sound fine. “Pretending to date that asshole is supposed to make me warm and fuzzy— is that your solution?”
“Uh, his name is David. I don’t know why he’s gotta be an asshole in your mind.” I stand so I can go toe to toe with him . . . but because of my stature it’s better referenced as toe to toe and forehead to chest . . . but I’m pissed, so whatever. “You don’t have to worry about Mason and Deacon asking who you’re fucking. You give some flippant answer or disappear for a few hours and all is fine for you— all because you have a dick. I have three girls— two are pregnant and hormonal— asking if I have cobwebs in my vagina. My vagina. I deflect. I ignore. And it’s coming to a head. So, if you’d like me to put them in pre-term labor by admitting the truth . . . by all means I will.” I’m panting in anger as he stares down at me.
“This was your choice. From the beginning. I offered the other night to come clean.” I roll my eyes. Fucking Emberlee’s influence. “Don’t they have enough to worry about without considering your pussy?”
“I don’t know. I’ll ask that. Oh wait, I did. Multiple times. The correct answer— in their pea sized brain— is no. They have nothing else to do but concern themselves with my sex life . . . or lack thereof.” I inhale and my lungs feel like I’m breathing fire.
“I don’t know why girls have to get in each other’s business.” He mumbles.
“I know. Us silly things. The world doesn’t revolve around us . . . how dare we.” I narrow my eyes and scope the easiest and weakest part of his body to inflict damage.
He holds his hands in front of him and takes a step back. Ah, he got the message— he fucked up. “Picasso, calm down.” If he pets my head like a petulant child I’ll murder him. “Don’t be like this.”
“Get out.” I seethe. “And the pretend dating is happening.”
He freezes and pierces me with a glare causing me to shiver. “I can’t date you like normal. I can’t touch you when I want. I can’t claim you . . . but he can?”
What part of pretending doesn’t he understand? I pause a few moments and stomp to my room, slamming my door and locking it. I try to calm my breathing and after a few minutes of silence my front door slams.
Grabbing my phone I pull up the Internet, copy what I need and pull up my texts. After applying the text, I modify it to make my point.
ME: pre-tend
verb
speak and act so as to make it appear that something is the case when in fact it is NOT.
EX: “I pretend to date David even though I’m NOT.”
synonyms: sham, fake it
EX: “She pretended David was her boyfriend so the girls would get off her ass.”
adjective
not really what it is represented as being; used in game or deception.
synonyms: make believe, fictitious.
EX: “Avery pretended David was her boyfriend to deceive her closest friends. Caden knew the truth . . . Avery loves Caden.”
I send it with the middle finger emoji and head to the basement to paint . . . and he isn’t my subject of choice. I need reds . . . lots of red to simulate the blood he’s gonna shed if he comes at me with his nonsense again.
My phone rings as I climb in bed . . . it’s him. I hit ignore and pull the covers to my shoulders. I’m calmer but still peeved. Tossing and turning, replaying his attitude ignites my ire. I’ll be exhausted during class in the morning but I grab my iPad and start a new book.
He calls to wake me up. Ignore. I’m choosing silence over words. I’ll say something I regret and he needs to apologize.
I’m changing his ring tone. It’s annoyed the shit outta me the last two days. He’s persistent, I’ll give him that. I silence it and look to see Saylor entering the kitchen.
“Who was that?” Nosy asses.
“My phone.” I snip. She sniffles and I sigh. Shit. “I’m sorry. Someone I don’t want to talk to or discuss. Can we leave it at that?”
“Yes.” She wipes her eyes. “Don’t be nice if you’re tired of us asking. Hormones. Tell me to mind my business.”
“You’ll cry. Deacon will be crazy. I don’t need additional drama filling my time.” I slam my hand over my phone when it starts ringing . . . again.
“Lovers quarrel?” She grins. I hesitate and decide this a good time to test the waters.
“Sorta. We’re casual.” I shrug like it’s no big deal.
“Who?” She’s g
iddy and I know she’ll flaunt to Breck and Lee Lee she got the scoop first.
“I need to tell the guys first because he’s a player with them. David Sparrow. He graduated a year earlier than us but he transferred here.” I bite my lip trying to be coy. I haven’t mentioned this to David. “Please don’t say anything.”
“I promise. But when you give me the okay I’m gonna rub this in Breck and Lee Lee’s face.” She’s giddy with that information.
“I know.” Deciding I need to catch David before class, I make excuses to leave. She’s starry eyed with her newfound knowledge so I sneak by. “Lock up when you leave.”
“Hey,” I manage, winded from jogging to catch up to David’s long legs.
“Hey yourself.” He chuckles as I hold up a finger and hunch over, panting.
My phone rings and it’s him . . . ignore.
“I have a huge favor.” I don’t pussyfoot with sensitive subjects . . . okay, that’s a lie. This is the new me— direct, brazen— still a lie. I’m fidgeting and feel like I’m gonna vomit.
“You need a human sacrifice?” He teases. “You look kinda green, Aves. You okay?” I shake my head. “Sit here.” He leads me to a bench. God, I know why Caden was mad. It seems like cheating, but I’m not . . . I’m handling business.
I sit with a stiff spine and dive in. “I need a beard.”
He studies me for a minute. “You sure you’re okay? I can’t help you with facial hair and that seems random.”
Shit. Does the entire male race need Wikipedia? “A beard. Non-facial hair. Fake boyfriend. A shield. My wing man that everyone thinks is getting in my panties.”
He chuckles and shifts his stance. “I thought your parents were cool.”
“What?” My parents have nothing to do with this.
Fighting Fate (Endgame #4) Page 14