Igniting the Wild Sparks

by Alexander, Ren

  I pick out my long-sleeved dress with a drawstring around the waist. The dress is gray on top, but morphs into black at the skirt. I twist my hair up and pile it on top of my head because I can’t get it to look right any other way. As I’m putting on a pair of strappy black heels, Finn calls and tells me to meet him at Chimborazo before we go eat, given that he had to do some more last-minute Wild Side work from there.

  Parking next to his car in the lot and being careful not to fall, I smooth out my dress’ skirt and pick pieces of lint off. When I look up, Finn is right next to me.

  I jump. “Whoa! You’re fast!”

  His tie is gone and his light green shirt is unbuttoned at the collar. I see the chain for his key peeking out from underneath. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.” He bends and gives me a kiss. His lips make me forget where I am for the second time today. Even so, before I can become too carried away, he pulls back. “You look breathtaking as usual.” He nods to his car. “I brought something with me.”

  “Thanks. You did? What?”

  He opens the passenger door of his car and pulls out a big paper bag with handles and a cardboard tray holding drinks. “Dinner. I thought we could eat here, since the weather’s nice. Is that okay with you?”

  I smile and tuck loose hair, already falling from the top, behind my ear. “That sounds great.” I take the drinks from him. He locks his car and holds out his empty hand for me.

  We start walking and I diffidently ask, “So, did you really have work to do here?”

  He bites his lip and looks at me, chagrined. “Uh, no. We wrapped early and I thought of this. I had to think of some way to get you here.” He smiles and lifts the bag higher. “I ordered your usual lasagna. I hope you don’t mind.”

  I smile in return at his thoughtfulness and calculated strategy. “I don’t mind. How was work?”

  Finn chuckles. “It was okay. Reed kept ragging on me about you. He said my girlfriend is going to be pissed when she sees me kissing another woman on my show.”

  I laugh. “I imagine she will be pissed if you were kissing someone else.”

  He turns to look at me as we walk. “Just so you know, that’s not a dare I would ever take. You’re the only woman I plan on kissing from here on out, baby.” To prove his point, he stops walking and as I falter to a stop, he leans down to kiss me.

  I grin against his lips. “You’re so cute.”

  He mumbles against mine, “I know.”

  Pulling away, I teasingly scoff, “And self-possessed.”

  “Sometimes.” He laughs. “Are you calling me cocky?”

  I nod as he gently tugs my hand forward. “Yep. I have to mix it up to keep you guessing.”

  After the kite festival, Rod did say, “Multiplicity is the seasoning of existing.” This coming from a guy who thought I was nicknamed after a beer, and who once referred to quickie sex as a Jiffy Pop.

  Finn shakes his head and regards me pensively. “You always keep me guessing, Becks.” Is that a good thing or not?

  We reach the mini Statue of Liberty where he shot his recent promo and all is quiet. Leading us over to the base of the sculpture, he sets down the dinner bag, and sits, smoothly marshaling me down with him. I try to move off his leg, but he holds onto me tightly so I can’t go anywhere. Looking around us, he suspiciously asks, “What? No chaperone following you?”

  I giggle and again try to stand. “No. I’m a big girl.” I’m surprised I really wasn’t followed. Covertly, I shift my gaze around the area just in case I’m wrong and Rod or Morgan are lurking in the shadows.

  Finn sweeps my hair from the side of my neck and bends to run his nose along my skin. Every nerve ending in my body jumps right to attention. His hand on my thigh slowly trails down to the hem of my dress and he tucks his fingers beneath the material, warming my goose-bumped skin.

  “What’s wrong, Becks?” Sparks smoothly taunts me, pushing my dress up as his fingers perilously travel along my leg. The bastard knows exactly “what’s wrong.” He can probably even feel me getting wet through my dress. He pulls me closer, coercing me to feel how much he’s starting to enjoy this as well.

  He whispers against my neck as he edges to my jaw. “Do you know what you do to me?”

  I bite my lip so I don’t moan. I refuse to lose my willpower. “Finn, I think any woman sitting on your lap would do the same thing.”

  His fingers dig into my thigh, clutching me firmly as his thumbs skim over my skin. My underwear is nearly exposed. “No, Hadley. Just you. You don’t even have to sit on my lap. All you have to do is breathe.”

  Shit. He’s not doing this to me. I have to be strong and stand my ground.

  Then again, I unequivocally want to fuck him right here in front of Lady Liberty—well, a decent, miniature replica.

  Finn’s tongue slides along my throat. I’m positive he can feel my pulse pounding underneath me. When his hand reaches my hip underneath my dress, I jump up, surprising both of us.

  “Sparks,” I plead, pulling my dress down as I pace away from him. He’s well aware that he’s my weakness, which annoys me he’d even attempt this. When I spin around to look at him, his head is bowed. I knew we shouldn’t have tried being together tonight.

  Sighing, he raises his head, clasping his hands together between his knees. His glum, brown eyes flicker from the nearby park lights that have come on at dusk. “I wish I could be sorry, but I’m not.”

  Melting from his rapt stare, I give him my own sigh and slowly walk back to the statue. “Can we just eat?”

  His look is unrelenting, undecided maybe, for a few seconds before he reluctantly twists and reaches into the paper bag. My shoulders instinctively slump in relief and I take my seat next to him, but this time, more aware of the distance I put between us. He’s not making this time apart any easier for either of us.

  Finn hands me my plastic takeout bowl and I carefully peel off the lid, vigilant to not get tomato sauce on my dress. I take a bite of my lasagna and gaze out at the southern view of Richmond, overlooking the James River in the distance. Why is Finn acting so differently now than he did at practice after our kiss? He proceeded as if he’d rather lick home plate clean than to give me any more attention in front of the team.

  “What are you thinking about?” Sparks’ voice startles me and I nearly drop my food onto my shoes. I tilt my head to look at him, and see trepidation evident on his face.

  “Nothing really,” I lie, but not sure the reason. “Why?”

  His smile is slight and crooked. “I know that look on your face. You have a lot going on in that head. Do you want to tell me about it?”

  I unwillingly smirk and set down my lasagna. “You think you know me that well?”

  He nods, his eyes searching mine. “I’d like to think I do, but like you even said, you keep me guessing. I love that I don’t know what to expect, but then again, it worries me because I don’t know your next move.”

  I laugh and mindlessly twist my hair. “You make it sound like I’m a game.”

  He doesn’t laugh at my glib observation. “In a way, you are. I just don’t know the rules or how to win, or how to at least not lose. Do I need to answer a ton of questions to stay in the game? Collect enough pie pieces? Get the highest score? Make it to the last square first? Have the most money?” He angles his head at me and sighs. “You’re a riddle I can’t solve.”

  I look down at my lap, unsure of what to feel or say. The light breeze punctuates our silence as we sit contemplating and trying to decode each other’s thoughts.

  He finally whispers, “Becks?”

  I nod to the ground, acknowledging to him that I’m aware I need to give an answer. “Same with you, Sparks. Everything about you mystifies me.” Glancing up at him, he’s ardently watching me, as if he’s actually hanging onto every word I say, which astounds me. I don’t think I’ve ever had him staring at me like this before, not even when we first started dating. “You’re exactly like a jigsaw puzzle. I strive
to get the pieces to fit, but nothing works. I try doing the frame first, but I can’t seem to fill it in right. I take a crack at doing little sections of the picture, but there are a million leaves to the tree. There are so many possibilities. Countless ways to fit the puzzle ends together. It’s frustrating.”

  He studies me without blinking and I swear he’s looking into my soul. I veer away and he says, “I don’t want to do that to you. I want us to be open with each other.”

  I quietly reply, “I am open with you. You know everything about me.”

  As I look up, it’s his turn to avoid me. “Well, I suppose I never told you about what happened in high school. I wasn’t totally honest with you when I said my school didn’t have a soccer team. I’m sure you saw the soccer field when I took you there.” He lifts his head and skeptically asks, “Why didn’t you say anything?”

  I shrug. “I don’t know. I thought maybe it was new.” I’m lying to him again when he wants us to be totally honest. I’m such a jerk.

  “No. They did have soccer and I played, but I was kicked off the team for fighting.”

  “Oh. Did you start it?” I hope I look clueless enough.

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  He hunches over his legs and clasps his hands together, confessing to the city in front of us. “Because the guys from the opposing school were assholes. They were bragging and calling us names when we lost. We tried so hard, Becks. We really did, so when they did that, it set us off. Some of us got together and were going to confront the mouthiest ones. We saw they were alone on their bus and we stormed it; ready to call each other names and shit. We didn’t go to actually fistfight, but the one blonde got in my face. I warned him to back off or I was going to knock him on his ass. He laughed and shoved me, calling me a pussy, so I punched him in the mouth. The other guys jumped in and…” He stops and shakes his head. I lightly touch his shoulder and I feel his muscles tense beneath my fingers.

  “It didn’t sound like you really started it.”

  He mumbles like he’s that sullen teenager once more. “I shouldn’t have been there. I let them get to me.”

  “It’s okay. You weren’t totally in the wrong.” I mildly laugh. “You did warn him.” Just like he warned Rod at the club.

  “Well, I shouldn’t have done it anyway. Our coaches caught us. I couldn’t stop hitting the kid. It was like I was on autopilot. My coach had to haul me off, still trying to fight. I was kicked off the team, suspended for a week and banned from joining the soccer team for the rest of high school. That’s the only fight I got in, but I was still so screwed up at the time. That’s when my parents were divorcing. I guess I was acting out. My parents made me see a psychologist for a while so I could ‘talk out my angst.’ She said I was depressed and I was given antidepressants. I took them until I moved out, since my mother wasn’t refilling my prescription anymore.”

  I drop my hand to his knee, as does his gaze. “I’m glad you told me this. Why are you telling me this now, though?”

  He covers my hand with his and gives me a squeeze before looking up to my face. “Because I don’t want any walls between us. I didn’t think it was a big deal that you didn’t know about soccer and my past depression, but I don’t know. I felt that I probably should tell you. I want to be honest with you. I really do want us to be each other’s best friend.”

  I scratch my nails against his pants, moving his fingers above mine. “You are my best friend, Sparks. I always do try to be honest with you.” I guess not hard enough.

  Finn moves his hand from mine, suddenly standing and reaching into his pocket. I watch him intriguingly as he pulls out his phone. He smiles sheepishly and says, “In case of music emergencies.”

  Greg Rodwell has invaded all of our lives.

  I giggle as he puts the phone down next to me on the stone base. Holding out his hand, he warily smiles. “Dance with me?”

  Putting my hands on my hips, I dubiously scoff, “You’re asking me to dance?”

  He nods and his eyes are circumspect. “I am.”

  I shake my head with an unrestrained smile. “Finn Wilder doesn’t dance.”

  Finn wiggles his fingers to encourage me to grab his hand. “I know, but I need to dance with you.”

  I wave my hands to the empty area around us. “Do you now? And you’re picking me over all these other women here?”

  A small smile hints at his mouth. “I’ll always pick you, Becks.”

  Laughing, I take his hand and he yanks me up, crashing me to his chest. I squeal, which makes him laugh. Between giggles, I ask, “It’s not Milli Vanilli, is it?”

  Sparks laughs again and rolls his eyes before he becomes serious. “No. It’s my song for you.” Winding his arms around my waist and holding me close, he back steps to the railing, where he stood for his promo. The lights of Richmond are starting to twinkle below as the sun fades into the horizon.

  I look around and ask, “Doesn’t the park close soon?”

  “Yeah, but I know a guy who knows a guy.” His cocky grin makes a reappearance. My hands go to his shoulders and I embrace his stressed muscles.

  I notice the song playing is K-Ci & Jo-Jo’s “All My Life.” Delighted, yet surprised, I ask, “You picked this song?”

  He nods. “It’s pretty self-explanatory. I heard it a few times and thought about you. It says exactly what I want to say to you, baby. You’re everything I’ve ever wanted. I don’t know how I got so lucky.”

  My right hand moves to his left bicep and I trace my fingertips over his shirt. “It must be your shamrock tattoo.” We both chuckle. “I’m pretty lucky, too.” I anxiously clear my throat and peer up at him. “I have a question.”

  His smile suddenly vanishes. “What?” Why does he always anticipate the worst with me?

  Trying not to sound like a whiny child, I calmly ask, “Why am I out in left field? I mean, literally out in left field.”

  Moving his hands from around my back to my hips, Finn is suddenly fidgety and evasive, which immediately raises flags in my head. He cautiously asks, “Why? You don’t want to be there?”

  “I played shortstop. I thought maybe you’d put me there. Left field is boring, Sparks.”

  He tightens his fingers on my hips. “It’s safer.” Shit. Now he sounds like Rod. Why do I need to be so overprotected? It’s softball. I’m not hitting the front lines of a battlefield.

  “Safer? You think I’d drop balls or run into someone trying to catch them?”

  He rubs his thumbs around my stomach. “No. It’s better that you’re in the outfield instead of the infield. Less risk of you getting hurt.”

  “So, it’s okay if anybody else can get hurt? I don’t want you giving me special treatment because I’m your girlfriend. That’s what I was afraid of you doing.”

  Finn shakes his head and glances down. “That’s not why I’m doing it, Becks.”

  “Then why? Did I really suck that much in practice? I guess I didn’t think of that.”

  Still looking down, he replies, “No. You were great. In fact, Ricky wanted to put you at first.” Even if he isn’t looking directly at me, he grins like he’s passing on the torch to his bright-eyed protégé. “He thought you and Rod had a lot of chemistry and worked well as a team. That irked me, but I saw it, too. You and Rodwell would be unstoppable at getting the outs.”

  I wrinkle my forehead. “Oh. I’m still lost. Why are we not working together like that then?”

  He impatiently sighs, raising his head. “Becks, if you’re…” He licks his lips and looks out to the city lights, yet his eyes close. “If you’re…pregnant, I don’t want you getting hurt because of it.” He barely could spit out that dirty word. So, being pregnant is just a side note to me maybe tripping over my shoes because of my big stomach and blowing our win.

  “How am I going to get hurt because of it? It won’t change anything for a while if I am.”

  Decisively looking at me, he argues, “You could feel sick and n
ot be on top of your game, in a manner of speaking.”

  “I’d tell you if I didn’t feel right.”

  He doesn’t believe me from the glower on his face. “Would you really? I don’t want to take that risk and you get beamed in the head. You could get seriously hurt, Becks. I’ve heard of people even being killed by softballs to the head.” Oh. He’s not worried about me losing our baby, if there even is one.

  Leaning close, he kisses beneath my ear, his deep voice husking, “Baby, I’m trying to protect you. It would kill me if you got hurt because of what I did to you.” Something as horrible as impregnating me? Wow. He really doesn’t want a baby.

  Upholding my side of the debate, no matter what the topic is with him, I counter, “It’s not all your fault. I was there, too.”

  He straightens, boring his dark eyes into my skull. “Becks, will you please stop arguing with me? You’re in the outfield until further notice. You’re lucky I’m letting you play at all.” Coach Wilder isn’t much fun.

  “Okay. Damn,” I mutter against his chest. I relent because I know I can’t win this argument. He’s the boss on the diamond and does have the authority to boot me, which leaves him in Shasta’s and Cara’s clutches.

  Finn kisses my forehead as I sulk. “I don’t want to fight with you.” His nose burrows into my hair and he keenly inhales. “You smell so good.” I feel the heat of his breath bathing the top of my head. Unexpectedly, he puts his hand beneath my chin, lifting my face to his zealous lips. Our dancing slowly comes to a halt as our kiss deepens. His hands leave my hips and catch my face, his fingers burying into my hair. Vaguely, I notice he has the song on repeat. I also realize I’m being drawn in and I won’t be able to resist him, yet again. He fervently licks his tongue against mine and I feel my resolve crumbling. I will definitely fuck him in front of that statue, and a quarter of Richmond.

  I jerk away from him, breathing hard and so close to tearing the buttons off his shirt like he did to mine at Bethany’s. “Finn, you said you’d give me a couple weeks to think about things. You’re making this more challenging than it should be. This isn’t one of your dares.”