He kissed both of my hands. Effortless, lovely, even—beautiful—that's how I felt and when his fingers touched me. It was as if some bit of sunshine flowed from my neck, to my shoulders and down my spine.
“Do you understand now?" he whispered. "Can you feel my body holding back?" Feel you, understand, look at you in a way I never have. "What management wants me to do tonight is thank you for all your help and take you on the dance floor just like Kevin did. But do you know why I won’t do that?”
He locked his fingers in mine.
Oh, his big hands . . . I love them.
“I don’t know.” Embarrassed, I looked up at the glass ceiling. I’m going to pass out. “Because I’m not petite or small, and you need to look good.” Just tell me the reason and leave. My knees are shaking.
“You’re strong physically and mentally, and you’re a hell of a dancer. I know you’ve taken classes for your routines, because it was in your business plan. Stop trying to downplay the things you’ve accomplished. You don’t wear false humility well.”
“I know. I told you I don’t know how to take compliments.” You don't have to rub it in.
“You’re just the right size for me to take in my arms, so whether you wear a size one, or your curvy woman’s body wears a twenty-one means nothing to me. Why won’t I ask you to the dance floor, Nicky? Tell me. Be bold for me. Please don't hide.”
What did he say? I’m just the right size for his arms?
“Just tell me. Please, just . . . tell me.” My throat just closed. "I don't want to guess."
My shoulders tightened and my fingers were still woven in his.
He wouldn’t look away.
“What would you think if I took your hand, we walked on the dance floor, chatted, and then I escorted you back to your seat?”
“That would be rude. We have a relationship that’s more than a token dance—well, I thought so.” I dared to speak honestly.
“What kind of relationship do we have?” He seemed ready to lay himself bare at my feet. “You’re mad at me, so what are we?”
“Friends.”
“Mm-hmm. If we were just friends I’d still take you out on the dance floor. What's the difference with us?”
“We respect each other.” I hope that’s all he needs me to say.
“You’re unique, Ms. Young. I’ve witnessed your beauty inside and out. Your strength, compassion and love for people—you're completely stunning. Your tender heart and your intelligence . . . you have it all and I want it.”
“You're telling me . . . I've never heard . . . please stop. I . . . I need to catch my breath." I gasped. "I don’t know what to say.”
I froze.
I couldn’t think fast enough.
He was coming too fast.
It's all a joke. Rehearsed, designed to have you spinning.
“As much as I’d love to visit you during the offseason, I can't. I don’t want to blow this chance. I can barely resist you right now. When you turn eighteen? It'll be different. I'll want to go everywhere with you. For now, I’ll force myself to be strong until next spring. I'll miss your sweet face.”
When he stood up, he lifted my body with his. He held our hands in front of our hearts.
Our elbows were bent.
Our eyes locked on each other.
“I’m so desperate for you to see me."
"I see you, Ryan."
"Not the way I need you to see me, but you will." When he took a deep breath I was sure his chest might touch mine. "Save your heart for me, sweet Nicky. Don’t fall for a high school boy who tells you how much he wants you. It’s not the same as the way that I want you.”
He kissed my hands, lowered them slowly, and let go. When he disappeared into the crowd, he never looked back.
Speechless, I literally bounced into my chair. I was weak, amazed, and I hardly believed the things he’d said.
The thought of him in my life shook me.
All the little nests I’d made in the branches of my body began to fall down.
Chapter 14
Deepening Friendships
In January, two months after the end-of-the-year-party, Jose Vasquez, the Entertainment Manager for the Goliaths, called to let me know our team was invited back for the next season.
“Colleen!” I’d phoned her immediately. “The Goliaths invited us back to cheer for them!”
“So what?” Her voice was dull and had no enthusiasm. “I’ve had enough of the cheer team and all that goes with it.”
“What about the references we need for college?” A rock sunk into my stomach. Crap! She's not interested!
“Yeah. Stanford. We know, Nicky. It’s all we’ve heard about for three years. But the truth is, you’ll be the only one with the reference since it was your idea. Where does that leave the rest of us? Following in your footsteps? Besides, we have too much to do the next few months—packing, getting ready for college, saying goodbye to friends . . . ya know what? We should already have our reference letters. We put in one season. That’s all we signed up for. I wanna party this summer, not volunteer.”
“I'll make sure you guys get reference letters, but I can't imagine a classy organization like the Goliaths not giving one to each of us. What’s the matter, Coll? I thought you enjoyed it.”
“You’re getting the glory for all of this." Her words were clipped. "I worked hard on the routines and I want some damn recognition. What about my spotlight?”
“I had no idea you felt like that." I sure missed that one. "Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I don’t know.” She struggled to find the words. “I love you, but . . . sometimes I really don’t like you. You make me so mad with your high and mighty values. Being around you makes me feel like I’m not good enough.”
Really? I wonder if all my friends feel the same?
"I'm sorry, Colleen. I didn't know." I took a deep breath, and once again tried to be the peacemaker. “I was only focused on”—I didn’t want to say the word Stanford because of how she’d previously reacted—"How about we switch it up? You can be the one to coordinate with Jose. Plus, I'll make sure I talk with management so everyone on the team gets a letter."
She was breathing regularly, evenly, as if still deciding.
I'll entice her.
Don’t forget," I lightened my voice. "Every time you go up to his office, you’ll see Sy! Think of all the flirting! You can dance more than a year-end party dance with him.” I know how to dangle a carrot. “I know you like him, so come on Missy,” I taunted her. “How does that sound? You might never get another chance before you leave!”
As long as admissions at Stanford knew the Goliaths accepted the business plan I wrote and presented, my ego was satisfied. I didn’t need to be in any kind of spotlight.
Colleen had put in an application to UCLA’s choreography and design school, wanting to specialize in dance routines and costume design. Getting credit for our performances and uniforms would definitely help her get noticed.
"Okay," she gave in with a smile in her voice. "You owe me."
"Deal. Name the price," I told her.
"I'll think of something wicked." When she agreed to take the lead, our conversation turned a corner.
Dedicating myself to my studies and extracurricular activities was rewarded when in late February my acceptance letter from Stanford arrived. I had the choice of going there in either the fall or spring semester. After discussing it with my parents, I reluctantly agreed with them that it made financial sense to take my general education requirements at junior college in the fall.
Stanford would be mine in the spring.
During the winter, I went to Children’s Hospital and worked in The Mayor’s homeless program with Tara and Alex. Our friendship had reached a deeper level. Sometimes I stayed over their houses when the Goliaths were away and Alex invited me to several of her modeling assignments.
In early April, one of those was modeling a new swimsuit line for Macy’s. I adm
ired how she was comfortable in a bikini or a one piece, and hoped that one day I’d be as confident.
“You know, you could probably get work modeling,” Alex said after they'd wrapped up the shoot.
“I doubt it.” No way, my butt, boobs, hips . . . forget it.
“Don’t be so dismissive. You might make enough so you can go to Stanford in the fall, honey.” She laughed when she saw my eyes light up. “Maybe it would give you some added prestige. I can just see you applying to a corporation, ready to present your stack of accomplishments and you pull out a modeling photo. Ha! That’d blow away those stodgy fools. Can’t you just see it? Ben, don’t you think Nicky would make a great model?”
Ben, her photographer, turned his attention to me.
I know I shrunk to about two feet tall when I saw him analyzing my body. “Hmm, let’s see. Turn around, honey.”
“No, thanks.” I have no intention of posing.
“What do you mean, no thanks?” Alex mocked.
"I don't—"
“Let me look at you through the camera for a few minutes,” Ben interrupted. Out of respect for Alex, I did as he asked. “Stand against the green backdrop, please.” He turned on a bright light and looked through his camera. “I think Alex is right. I can hook you up with an agency that specializes in plus size models. You’re what, twenty-one?” The lens closed and opened in rapid succession.
“Almost eighteen.” I was embarrassed.
The old comments I'd received from men since I turned sixteen, those who thought I was older, resonated in my head and the shame I felt about my body became fresh again.
“Eighteen? Damn girl. You have such uh, you um, look older.”
“Thanks, Ben. You’re saying . . . what are you saying?”
“You look older, but don’t sweat it." He began reviewing the photos he'd taken in the digital screen of his camera. "It'll come in handy when you go to college—automatic bar admittance.”
“I don’t drink.” I knew he was joking, but always self-conscious and awkward, I didn’t take it well—I didn't know how to handle any conversations involving alcohol, whether a person was joking or completely serious.
“Yeah, well you’re not in college yet,” he winked at Alex.
“What a character you are.” She giggled and put her arm around me as we walked to her dressing room.
“That was uncomfortable.” I'm glad that's over.
“It’s good to push your boundaries sometimes and you, young lady, need to do it more.” She closed and locked the door after we went in. "Thanks for coming with me. Shall we have a girls' night tonight?"
"Yes!" Say no more; anything to get out of my house.
The Goliaths were on a road trip and because of her work Alex couldn’t go with Darrell. She never said so, but I assumed since they were barely twenty-two, she was the one who made most of the money. Generally first and second year players like Darrell didn’t make enough to buy the roomy two-bedroom condominium they owned in the Cow Hollow district of San Francisco.
She loved that it had bay views. We often sat near the picture windows. A little garden area was decorated with a table and chairs, camellias and rhododendrons, and the entire place was updated with crown moldings and hardwood floors. Why she bragged about her modern kitchen I didn't know . . . she always ordered delivery or bought premade, but it made her happy. Her bathrooms had granite countertops and marble-tiled floors with a big walk-in shower and sunken tub in the master.
We finished our dinner of two big salads with crusty rolls and settled in her large and fluffy bed. As we put on our pajamas, Alex began a conversation I never imagined coming from her.
“So . . . Ryan Tilton." She raised her eyebrows.
"Yeah?" I choked on my water and coughed a few times.
"Has he approached you this year?”
“No.” I kept secret what Ryan revealed to me at the end-of-the-year party in November. I wasn't ready to talk about it because I was sure he was joking. “I volunteered with him last year. He thought I’d be a good match for the Veterans' Hospital in Yountville where he volunteers.”
“Oh yeah?” She wasn’t convinced.
“Yeah, of course,” I reassured her. “He’s nice, easy to talk to, and we—" I stopped myself.
“Easy to talk to, huh?” Her voice was laced with suspicion.
“Very easy.”
“He hasn’t been inappropriate?”
“Nope, perfect gentleman,” I replied.
“Huh.” She seemed to go into some quiet thought.
“Just spit it out, Alex. What’s on your mind?”
“He’s wild and I don’t trust him.”
“I know his reputation. You and Tara already told me. All the single guys are wild." Oh hell. Darrell is single. "You know . . . except Darrell.”
“Yeah, well.” She smiled at my correction. “Good save there, Nick. Anyway, I think that one, the man you defend as a perfect gentleman, leaves a trail of broken hearts. It’s rumored his college girlfriend tried to kill herself.”
“Oh, my God! Do you know what happened?” That changes things. I wonder why?
“I heard he knocked her up, but didn’t want to be exclusive."
"Really?" I should have known.
"I guess she was totally hung up on him and the jerk couldn’t end it properly." She popped a piece of ice in her mouth. "Sometimes I see her around the ballpark.”
“You see his child?” Whoa!
“No, the woman he hangs with—Jesse.” Alex's voice was alive with the melody of a rumor. “She must’ve had an abortion or she gave it up." Jesse! He said she wasn’t his girlfriend. I'm confused. “Once in a while, Darrell and I run into them at social events around town. Her family is rich, but she does pretty well for herself. I hear she owns a few art galleries in the SOMA area. The dude sure knows how to butter his bread, doesn’t he?”
“I bet that’s just gossip." That doesn’t make sense. From what I've seen volunteering . . . but on the other hand, with Kevin in the outfield he was different.
“Why not?” She sat with her arms crossed.
“He’s a good person. I don’t believe he'd do that.”
“Are you enamored with him?” She turned her body to look me squarely in the eyes.
“What? No!” Well . . . kind of. "I saw a good man when I was volunteering with him, that's all."
“He’s been with too many women, doll. At least that’s what Darrell told me. You’re just a baby, and you don’t need him to be your first.”
“My first? Oh hell no. I don't have anyone in mind for that. Anyway, he’s a young man, who’d expect him to be a hermit?”
“That hermit isn't your business, understand?" Alex waited until I nodded my head. "Anyway, enough about Tilton. Just do your own thing and volunteer in Yountville by yourself. Tara or I will go with you if you want company.”
“Okay.” I didn’t want to continue the discussion and agreed so we could move on.
“I'm glad we're alone. You’ve opened up to me about your father and I have addiction in my family, too. Instead of a dad and alcohol, it was my mom and pills. Oxy was her drug of choice. I know how much your dad's stuff bothers you, but I think families like ours are the norm.
"I’ve hardly met anyone who hasn’t been through some kind of family trauma," she continued. "When Mom was out of it, which was pretty much always, I searched for love with my friend’s family. I know you understand what that’s like.”
I nodded.
“The thing is, all those times I only wanted to be part of her ‘Norman Rockwell’ life? I thought her parents were so wonderful? When I got older and knew better, in my gut I felt something was off. My girlfriend actually became more insistent on me staying over her house. So this will blow your mind . . . she told me her father made her give him head."
"Oh . . ." I shook my head and looked away.
"Yeah, from the age of eleven until she moved out at eighteen. Think about dealing with that.”
“Oh, damn, Alex. That’s terrible.”
“Yeah, that's what I'm saying—there's always someone who has it worse. Staying frozen and fearful isn't the way because everyone has something to fix.”
She paused.
“We’re all a little fucked up.”
“I guess so,” I answered evenly.
“Nick, you know . . .” She looked away. Her eyes became teary.
“What is it?” I reached for her hand and caressed it.
“I’m jealous of you going to Stanford."
She looked so sweet and docile I couldn't resist kissing her. "Don't be. You have a fabulous life and Darrell as your sweetheart."
"And you're my sweetheart, too," she sniffled. "The thing is, I modeled through high school and full time after graduation. I love my work, but the things you’re planning to do at college . . . Don’t lose sight of your goals and plans.”
“No chance; eight more months, I am out of here!” I threw my arms up. “I’m marking off each day on my calendar.” I’ve been marking off the day I leave home for years.
“I’m going to miss you so,” Alex lamented. “I don’t even want to think about it.”
“I’ll miss you too. But I have a feeling we’ll be close forever. You and Tara are my loves.”
“Oh, you sweetheart! You just make sure you stop and enjoy all this, honey. Your prom, special fella—these days go by really fast. By the way, who is your boyfriend? No one has seen him.”
“I don’t have one,” I informed her. "I've told you that."
“Yeah, last year, but . . . still? That’s hard to believe!" She looked stunned. "Why not?”
“I’m afraid I’ll lose my focus if I get one. I know what my friends do—taking hours to make sure they look good, keeping track of their birth control, fussing and waxing down there—forget it. Noooo thank you.”
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