by Teagan Kade
There is an element of truth in it, but I’m not giving him the satisfaction of feeling me out. “That’s not it at all, and frankly, I find the accusation offensive.”
Asher Slade takes a step closer. The dusty light beaming across the room catches the highlights in his eyes. He stops before me, all man, all muscle—a modern-day Adonis. “I bet you find a lot of things offensive. You’re the pretty, shy student that knows it all, who spends all day locked away in her dorm room studying and letting college life, the real college life, blow right on by.” He puffs into the air for emphasis, his Jolie-esque lips pressed together.
My mouth drops open in shock. I didn’t miss the compliment. It lights a small fire of arousal, but it’s fast extinguished by the rest of his diatribe, like he thinks I’m such a cliché, that he knows everything about me after, what? An hour? “You know nothing,” I tell him.
He shrugs, giant shoulders lifting and falling. “I know enough.”
Two can play at this game. I take a step closer. “You are an entitled, beefed-up jock with more muscle than brain who everyone knows is getting a free ride here.” My heart’s racing, my cheeks flushed. “And you know what?”
He’s smiling, the arrogant ass. “Please.”
“Once this all goes, once you graduate, you’ll be forgotten, ‘that guy’ who used to drink himself delirious and sleep with anything on two legs.”
I’m surprised how fiery I’m coming across, but I’ve had just about enough of this guy, even if he is pleasing to the eye.
He takes another small step forward until we’re breathing the same air, practically chest to chest. “Damn. Maybe I am wrong about you. How about lunch, back at campus, as an apology?”
The offer confuses me. I had been prepping to unleash hell. “Lunch?” I stammer.
“You do eat, don’t you?”
“Of course,” I say, dismissing him.
“So it’s settled. When do we leave?”
I look at my watch. “Lunch break is in half an hour.”
“Miss Willow?”
We both turn to find Emilie, one of the toddlers, holding the back of her pants. Her pudgy, pincushion face turns sheepish. “I had an accident.”
I look to Asher. “Perfect timing.”
*
I’m staring at one of the major causes of road fatalities in the United States. “There is no way I’m getting on that thing.”
Before me is a black and chrome death machine, handlebars high. It’s outrageous.
Asher looks from his motorcycle to himself. “The bike or me?”
I turn around. “I’m out of here.”
He takes hold of my arm, lightly pulling me back. “I’m joking. Come on. Live a little.”
I face him. He’s smiling, a half-face helmet in his hands. “I’ll walk.”
“It’s half an hour by foot back to campus from here.”
“It gives me time to think.”
He presses the helmet into my chest. “Thinking’s overrated. Put this on.”
It’s like I can’t say no, my lips are unable to form the word. I don’t like someone having that power over me, but still I put the helmet on and swing in behind Asher. His body’s warm as I press into it.
He switches on the ignition and turns, raising his voice. “Closer than that. I wouldn’t want you to fall off now.”
Rolling my eyes, I shift forward until my crotch is hard against his lower back, my arms wrapped around his torso.
“Hold on.”
And we’re off, my voice caught in my throat as the world curtains past us.
A half-hour walk becomes a drive of mere minutes.
Asher drives up onto the grass, cruising down the sidewalk, and parks right outside the same damn coffee shop we had our initial altercation at.
I get off the bike, legs surprisingly gelatin, the space between them hot and warm. It wasn’t… unpleasant. I take my helmet off and hand it over, gesturing to the café. “The Grind House? Really?”
He nods, pulling his own helmet off. “What better place than the scene of the crime to get better acquainted? Besides, Johnathan’s working today and he does a killer grilled onion and beef burger that’s not on the menu.”
“I’m vegetarian,” I announce.
I’m not, but I want to see Asher Slade squirm.
He doesn’t miss a beat. “Just an onion burger then.”
“I was wondering when your sorry ass would show up. Why have you been dodging my calls?”
It’s Taylor Vaughn, head cheerleader and Asher’s off and on girlfriend. She’s in her full training garb complete with belly ring and pleated skirt so short it’s a wonder she doesn’t create a black hole when she does the splits.
She ignores me completely at first, tapping her foot at Asher.
Asher places his helmet on the seat of his bike, the engine pinging with strange metallic noises. “Yes. I’ve been dodging your calls. So what?”
Now she turns her attention to me. “Who the fuck is this?” She looks me up and down. “Bit of a downgrade, isn’t it? Or are you slumming it now?”
I should say something, slap her maybe, but I remain mute.
Asher starts to walk towards the café. “We’re working together.”
“Bullshit!” she screams, standing where she is. “And where the fuck were you Sunday morning again, because if you’re fucking that little carrot-top, it’s over between us, got it?”
“It was never on between us.” He flips her the bird and opens the door for me. I brush past his chest on the way through, catching the faintest scent of leather and resin, the barest hint of freshly cut grass.
I go to stand in the queue, but he turns me towards a table. “I’ve got this. It’s the least I can do.”
I take a seat and watch him. He doesn’t cut the queue this time, even though people are waving him to the front.
He’s only trying to impress you to weasel his way out of working at the home.
“Pretty,” that’s what he called me. God, I can’t remember the last time someone gave me a compliment like that.
Do not fall into his web.
Before I know it he’s before me again.
He places down a tray with burgers and milkshakes, handing over a burger with grilled onion, sauce, and little else. I look at his beef burger longingly.
That’s your own fault, bucko.
He picks up his burger one-handed and takes a bite, eyes closing in ecstasy.
That’s probably what he looks like when he comes, you know.
I picture him above me, deep inside me, face contorted like that, and almost choke.
He puts his burger down. “Shit, you okay?”
I put a hand up, trying to speak. “Yeah, it just… went down the wrong way.”
I bet he’d go down the right way…
I pinch my eyes together and try to concentrate, clearing my throat again. “All better.”
He smiles. “So, Willow Grant—vegetarian, philanthropist, tell me a bit about yourself.”
I take a bite of the burger. It’s pretty good.
But it would be better with something meaty inside it.
God, what is happening to me? I’m flustered, flushed. “What do you want to know?”
A tall guy I vaguely recognize as the pitcher of the Hellcats crouches down beside the table. He takes his cap off. “Well, lookie what we have here.”
Asher fist-bumps him. “Leon, my man.” Asher looks to me. “This is Willow, resident vegetarian.”
Leon takes my hand.
No. It can’t be.
I can’t speak, choked up. I know thig guy. We went to high school together.
I pull my hand back and stand, knocking my chair back in the process, that night and the horror of it returning to me in full-blown Technicolor. I can’t deal with this. Not now.
I point behind me. “I’ve got to go. Sorry.”
Asher looks at my burger. “You’ve barely eaten.”
Leon’s smil
ing. He knows.
I’m trying to think of an excuse, but nothing’s coming. I just want to get the hell out of here, away from my past.
“Sorry,” I stammer again, turning on my heel and almost taking out a girl coming through the door in my haste.
I run to the dorm, and only when the door is closed, when I’m seated on my bed and the world is once again quiet, can I relax.
CHAPTER FOUR
ASHER
Leon takes Willow’s seat and picks up her burger. “Where’s the patty?”
I’m still staring at the door trying to piece together what the fuck just happened. Why’d she run off like that? I snap back to Leon. “Like I said, she’s vegetarian, man.”
He stuffs the burger into his gob regardless. “Not that I recall. It must be new. She had no problem with meat at school.”
I give him a look. “What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”
His eyebrows jump. “Fuck. Not like that. Get your head out of the gutter. How’s the hard labor going?”
I spin my milkshake around on the table. “It’s not that bad, you know. The kids are kind of cute, were cute,” I correct. “Until one of them puked their PB&J all over the floor”.
Leon laughs, half the burger falling away. “Jesus, man. I do not pity you. And you’ve got a full fucking semester of this shit. At least willowy Willow hasn’t gone blabbing to the Dean yet.”
I lean back. Someone yells ‘Go Hellcats’ outside the window. “You’re assuming I’ve done something wrong already.”
He knows me, the prick. “Haven’t you?”
“Fine. I was late, but no, she didn’t call the Dean. Not yet, at least.”
“So she wants your dick then.”
“I doubt it.” I rock forward. “Do you know why she freaked out like that?”
Leon shrugs, continuing to eat, reaching for her milkshake. He makes a show of sipping it, places it down with an ‘ah,’ wiping his mouth. “Look, brother. Let me give you some advice here, Hellcat to Hellcat. Don’t get involved with her.”
“Who said anything about getting involved with her?”
Leon tilts the milkshake at me. “I know you, bro. If it walks, you will fuck it, and Willow, under all that shit, is hotter than most. I bet that wood of yours is poking a hole in the table right now.”
He’s got my attention. “Why? What’s wrong with her?”
Leon puts his hands up. “Hey. There’s no need to be defensive.”
“I wasn’t,” I snap.
“Look.” He leans in, lowering his voice. “You’re not going to believe this, but that girl? That is not the girl I remember from school.”
The plot thickens. “So,” I push. “What was she like in school?”
Leon thinks it over. “She was like Taylor.”
“Like Taylor?” I scoff. “As in Taylor Vaughn?”
Leon looks around. “Yeah, just like your Taylor,” he mocks. “I’m talking Miss Popularity, always skipping class, in trouble, shitty grades, life of the party—the whole Easy A package.”
I laugh. “I think you’re mistaken.”
His head moves side to side. “No, I’m most definitely not mistaken.”
“You’re full of shit.”
“There was this big party,” he continues. “This kid’s parents went away for the weekend. They had this mansion out in the woods. Your girl was there, but she was out of control, drinking and popping pills like they were Pez, just fucking wild, you know? Her friends even tried to rein her in, but she wouldn’t have it. Come midnight she’s beyond wasted, spouting nonsense, and then next thing she’s standing on the fucking roof of this two-story house wavering like a fucking flag in the wind.”
“And?”
He shakes his head again, glancing to the side. “It got really fucking real, real fast. Everyone was trying to get her to calm down, but she wouldn’t listen. She slipped, fell, fucking cracked her head on the pool gate, just lying there bleeding and twitching and shit. As you can imagine, everyone was fucking petrified. We didn’t know what to do. There were no adults for miles.”
My chest tightens. “But clearly she survived, right?”
“Barely. Eventually, the kid who organized the party called 911. They came and shipped her off. The cops came. It was fucked up. After that, her parents pulled her out of school.”
I exhale. “Fuck me, and you’re not making this up?”
He places his hand on his heart. “Scout’s honor. I’m telling you.” He raises his fingers for air quotes. “This ‘Willow,’ she’s done a complete one-eighty. I mean, hell, I wasn’t even sure it was the same girl at first, but it is, and trust me, you don’t want to fuck with that kind of crazy, no matter how much she’s trying to repress it now.”
Again, I find myself coming to her defense. “She seems fine.”
Leon tucks the last piece of burger into his mouth and stands, holding my shoulder. “Bro, appearances can be deceiving. You should know that better than anyone.”
*
Coach takes me aside after training. The sky is big and blue above, weather at its Texan best. “How’d it go?” he asks.
“At the home?”
He takes off his cap, slaps me in the chest with it. “No, the fucking farm. Yes, the home. You did everything this girl asked?”
I nod. “I did, though she bailed after lunch.
Coach’s eyebrows knit together. “Bailed? What the fuck did you do?”
“Nothing. She was sick or something.”
“Sick of your shit, most likely. Don’t fuck this up, son.”
“I told you, I won’t.”
Hands on his hips, Coach breathes out. “Good, because the last thing I need is my star slugger out of action. Keep it together, okay? The Major League is calling, and god knows I could do with a Yankee or a Dodger on my resume.”
“I will.”
I hear something whistling through the air.
I look and catch a ball about a foot from my head.
In the distance Leon’s smiling, waving.
Fucker.
I toss the ball back. It moves in a white arc, dropping perfectly back into Leon’s mitt as he stands on the dugout.
Coach nods in his direction. “Why don’t you go give your boyfriend something to do?”
*
I sit in the bleachers after training and stare down at the empty field. Baseball was the old man’s life and blood. I think he loved the game more than he loved me at times. Would he have been proud? Probably not. His motto was always ‘you can do better.’ Nothing I did was good enough for him. I could be Babe Ruth and he’d still find something to criticize.
My cell buzzes in my pocket. I pull it free and switch it off. The last thing I need is Taylor whining and carrying on. I don’t even know why I give her the time of day. Even I know she’s nothing but a token girlfriend, the kind of girl the world dictates I should be dating, but she’s cruel and vapid—nothing but air underneath all that carefully placed concealer. She’s here for the college experience, to get it all out of her system before she settles down with a wealthy husband and plays Desperate Housewives. I’ve got no doubt I’m part of her masterplan. After all, I’m on a trajectory for the majors… Provided I don’t fuck it up.
My thoughts turn from Taylor to Willow, from one extreme to the other. Taylor dresses to impress. She doesn’t leave her dorm room without an hour of prep. Willow? I doubt she even brushes her hair. But it’s still perfect. She is perfect. I didn’t want to let on at first, playing the role of the arrogant sport star, but when I turned around in that line and saw her, those mulberry eyes swallowing me whole, I knew I’d found what I was looking for. Here was a girl of substance in a world of pretentiousness.
Like you can talk.
It’s a fair point. The funny thing is, I used to be just like her. I studied hard, spent my free time in the library, and happily handed over my lunch money when it was called for. I am the complete antithesis today of who I used to be, a
nd for good fucking reason.
It’s worked, too. Everyone’s bought the ruse. It’s not like they’re going to find out anything about my past given I was born and raised in the middle of nowhere, a town so small it had a single gas pump.
And it’s addictive, being popular, having that power. I wouldn’t go back. I doubt I could even if I wanted.
Still, I can’t stop thinking about what Leon said.
He wasn’t playing. He knows her alright. I just cannot believe that Willow was a wild child. It doesn’t compute, like the Queen dancing to dub step. I suppose people can change, but that’s a big fucking turnaround. Maybe the supposed accident woke her up, snapped her into a new life like it did me?
We’re actually more alike than she knows.
But it runs deeper than simple attraction. Yes, she’s hot. I mean, fuck, the things I would do to her body, that ass, but I want to hold her, too, lose myself in her. I’ve never felt that way about anyone. I see a girl and I see a quick release. Nothing more.
Until now.
Just thinking about my hand running up the pale inside of her leg, my fingers trapped in her heat and wetness, has my cock bucking in my pants.
I make a promise to myself as the stadium lights flicker to life, the setting sun turning the bleachers golden.
By the end of the semester, Willow Grant’s will be crying my name, sheets bunched up in her hands, her entire body begging for the kind of release only I can provide.
*
Willow’s sitting on a tiny kiddie chair. She braids one of the smaller girl’s hair with ribbons while the other kids busy themselves with Play-Doh. One of them, a cute little tyke by the name of Kyle, refuses to let go of my leg. It’s like walking around with the world’s most adorable ball-and-chain.
I’m trying to make a Play-Doh dinosaur. I hold it up. Looks more like a dildo.
I still don’t know why Willow left so suddenly yesterday at the Grind House. She says she felt sick, but I’m certain there’s more to it. But I don’t push the subject for now, content to sit and watch her. I think she was surprised I showed up here at all yesterday afternoon.
“What’s the story with you and Taylor?” she asks. She says it nonchalantly, but I can tell she’s been thinking about how to broach the subject. It’s good. It means she’s interested.