Walk of Shame

by ANDREA SMITH

  A loud buzzer signals that time has run out on the clock. The game is over. Hardwick wins and Weston falls to the ice, disappearing beneath his elated teammates.

  I look at Eva for the first time since the game began.

  “Wasn’t that amazing?” she exclaims. “Isn’t Weston the best?”

  It certainly was.

  He certainly is.

  “Totally amazing,” I reply, trying to not let my enthusiasm for this display of testosterone overdose show my true fascination.

  Thankfully, she didn’t notice me. I’m positive my obsession over Weston is showing on my face as it probably had throughout the entire game. Fighting to keep my features arranged in something not too betraying, I smile and stand up. “What now?” I ask.

  “We chill until they come out of the locker room. It’s usually about thirty minutes or so. Want a Coke while we wait?”

  “I’m good,” I reply.

  “Well, I’m parched. I’ll be back in a few.” And with that, she leaves our section to beat a path to the concessions before they close. Spectators are filing out of the arena in hordes. Some ecstatic, some not so much.

  As my eyes scan the crowd that is staying behind, they lock on familiar faces across the ice.

  Oh no.

  I recognize Darcy, Easton, and Carson Matthews sitting in the VIP area right behind the bench. I shift in my seat, but then I quickly remember that they have no clue who I am. They have only seen me as Penny.

  I quickly get up from my seat and head towards the restroom since I need to use it. As I walk down the wide hallway, I pass Eva on her way back.

  “Is there a fire?” she asks, giving me a quizzical look. “You’re acting like it, girlfriend.”

  “Oh crap, Eva. Weston’s family is here!”

  “Well, what’s wrong with that? This is the…”

  “I know, I know---the All Ivy title.”

  “Yeah, so of course they’d be here. What’s the problem?”

  What is the problem?

  I laugh. “You’re absolutely right,” I say, exhaling a nervous breath. “They only saw me as Penny. They won’t recognize me.”

  “Duh,” she replies, giving me a quick hug. “The players will be coming out in a bit.”

  “I’m just going to use the bathroom. I won’t be long.”

  “You’re not going to chicken out now are you?”

  “Of course not,” I reply, just a little offended. “I really do need to pee. I won’t be long.”

  “Okay then,” she says, eyeing me suspiciously. “I’ll be waiting for you at our seats.”

  I hurry off down the hallway to find the restroom. What Eva doesn’t know is that I’ve tucked away my letter of apology to Weston, just in case I don’t have the opportunity to speak to him at length in person. It makes sense, right? I came here for the purpose of apologizing first and foremost, so if the opportunity doesn’t present itself whereby I can pull him aside for two minutes, then the letter of apology is my back-up plan.

  I finally locate the restroom and take care of business. I brush my hair and apply some lip gloss before leaving. Just as I open the door to exit, I damn near mow over someone entering.

  “Sorry, my bad,” I mumble and then I see who it is and my breath hitches in my throat.

  It’s Carson. And she’s peering up at me, her eyebrows knitted in confusion. I flee the scene before she can make the connection.

  Whew. That was close.

  Once back at our seats, Eva rushes me down the steps into the main hallway. “They’ll be coming out that door,” she says, pointing further on down the hall to where family and friends are clustered.

  “I think I’m going to wait outside, Eva.”

  “Why?” she asks, as if it isn’t obvious.

  “Because,” I reply. “He needs to get through the crowd before I try to talk to him. This really isn’t the time or place.”

  “Make it the time and place,” she snaps. “You need to do this.”

  “I know, I know,” I grumble. “I’m not trying to get out of it. I’m simply going to wait outside until the crowd clears a bit.”

  She nods as I turn to leave.

  I can finally take a deep breath as I take my place near a tree outside. There are clusters of people standing around, smoking cigarettes, and waiting for the team to emerge.

  I look towards the double doors as I hear the sounds of loud shouting and screaming and thunderous applause as Hardwick’s hockey team evidently presents themselves in the hallway of the arena.

  The sounds of the celebration grow louder as it spills out of the building, and onto the pavement of the parking lot. I quickly duck behind the tree so that I can watch without being seen because this is all new to me.

  I am still in awe at just how much I enjoyed the game, of watching the physical agility and, at times, near brutality of it. And always, my eyes were locked on Weston, almost feeling some lusty pride in the fact that I had known that man’s body, if only briefly, but in the most intimate of ways.

  My cheeks warm as I locate him in the crowd. His parents and sister right by his side, as others that have been waiting out in the December chill come forward to shake his hand and slap him heartily on the back.

  As much as I regret the whole charade thing I had going, regardless of my defense that it was in the line of academic duty, what I don’t regret is pulling my feminist blinders off where Weston was concerned. He was not at all the person I had presumed him to be. Sadness creeps over me at the realization that we will never banter again as Penny and Weston; nor will I ever feel the exquisite fullness of him being inside of me as---well, technically I was in costume as Peyton.

  Now I spot Marcus, his arm wrapped tightly around Eva, as he is greeted and fangirled like the rest of them.

  I chuckle inwardly wondering how long it will take for Eva to bare her fangs if just one of those fangirls takes the congratulatory embrace too far.

  The crowd huddles around the players and coach, and I wait as they slowly dissipate toward their cars. No doubt the festivities of the after party will be drawing them all together again soon.

  Eva is looking around and I know she’s trying to see if I bailed. I take a deep breath and head down the small slope towards the lighted parking lot, where the players and their companions linger. Eva spots me and nods, pulling on Marcus to move away. He leans down and she whispers something to him.

  Oh, God! Seriously, Eva?

  They move away and, as they do, some of the lingering crowd moves with them.

  Thank fuck as Eva would say.

  I’m just several feet away when Weston spots me as he’s saying something to his mother. I’m glad I don’t hear what was said. It can’t possibly be good.

  His eyes, along with his parents’ and sister’s eyes are on me as I approach.

  “Hey Weston,” I greet. “Great game. Congratulations.”

  Lame. So freaking lame.

  “Thanks,” he mutters, his face like granite. “You all remember, Penny, right?”

  Kill me now, Lord.

  There is a soft gasp from Darcy, but other than that no reaction from Easton or Carson.

  “Weston, can I have a minute, please? This won’t take long, I promise.”

  He hesitates, and finally I see Darcy give him a nudge.

  “Sure,” he says, “be back in a second.”

  He walks behind me as I lead him away from all remnants of people and out of hearing distance. “Listen,” I say, my eyes downcast, “I owe you an apology. I’m really sorry for what I did, and I know you’re in a hurry to get to the party, so I won’t take up your time with explanations right now. But maybe sometime down the road, if you have a few minutes, I can at least try to explain my reasons behind what I did. It might help you to understand…”

  He cuts me off right then; his gunmetal eyes are blazing into me so deeply that I swear he can see my soul. “Apology not accepted. And I can’t even waste one more minute of my time listeni
ng to any pathetic excuses you may have.”

  He is going to say more, only he’s interrupted by the shrill voice of Leanne Knox as she approaches us. “Weston, come on! We’ve got to get over to the amphitheater for the party. You’re going to be the guest of honor,” she says, putting her arms through his. “No telling what’s in store for you tonight, sugar,” she coos.

  I don’t wait for him to dismiss me again. This has been a horrible mistake. I turn and run from the parking lot, wetness blurring my vision as I try to recall where exactly I parked my car earlier.

  I hear Eva’s voice, yelling for me, but I don’t dare look back. I’ve never known such humiliation, and my inner voice, the one that calms me, is telling me if I get through this, then I’ll be a much stronger person for it.

  Fuck you I answer back mentally flipping the voice off.

  I’m running like I’ve never run before; the brisk chill of the December wind is blessedly drying my tears as they fall. I cross Walston Street and I know my car is parked somewhere in this next block.

  I finally spot it just as someone from behind grabs my arm, stopping my progress and making me whirl around to face them.

  It’s Carson.

  “Dude,” she says. “Didn’t you hear me calling your name?”

  “Which one?” I ask, immediately sinking to the cold concrete of the sidewalk and burying my face into my hands. I let loose with my sobs, but I don’t give a rat’s ass. These tears are my coping mechanism and fuck anyone who objects to them.

  Chapter 45

  Carson is sitting beside me in my car. I’ve composed myself to the point the tears have dried up and I appreciate the fact she refused to leave me alone as I requested several times.

  “Better?” she asks.

  I nod, and remain silent. But I know our eyes have adjusted enough to the dark so that we can see one another. “I’ve never figured out why exactly we’re taught not to cry. I’ve cried more in the last six months than I think I have in my whole lifetime leading up to it,” I say with a bitter laugh. “And for some odd reason, it feels really good.”

  “It’s supposed to,” she replies. “I mean, that’s the whole point of it, right?”

  I nod. “I guess. But it makes me feel weak.”

  “Don’t let it.”

  “I’m okay now. You don’t need to stay with me. I’m sure your family wants to head over to the party.”

  She snickers softly. “I’m not sure how soon they’ll be able to leave. Weston has been unexpectedly delayed.”

  “Leanne,” I scoff.

  “No, I think her name is actually Eva. She was ripping him a new one when I started after you, and I’m pretty sure that Mom is next on his agenda.”

  “Oh no,” I moan. “I can’t believe Eva got in his face.”

  “Yeah, well she isn’t alone, trust me.”

  “But you don’t understand the circumstances, Carson. Weston has every right to be furious with me.”

  “Maybe, maybe not. I don’t know the particulars, but what I do know is that everyone, including my brother, makes mistakes, bad choices, whatever. And owning up to it deserves more than what you got tonight. That’s all I’m saying.”

  I turn to look over at her. She is so beautiful---on the inside as well as the outside. “I don’t know what it is about you, but you have a way of making me feel that everything is going to be alright. I thank you for that.”

  She laughs softly. “It’s my gift. If only I could apply it to myself,” she finishes wryly. “Now, if you’re sure you are okay to drive, we could ride over to the party together.”

  I gasp audibly. “Oh Carson, no. I’m headed home. I’ve tortured myself enough today.”

  “Chicken shit. You’re a lightweight with self-torture, that’s for sure.”

  She leans over and gives me a hug. “Take care, Penny. You too, Peyton.”

  “Thanks Carson.”

  And she’s gone.

  I’ve taken my shower, dressed in my plaid flannel footie jammies and have just poured myself a cup of hot chocolate. I’m on my knees on the counter, rooting around in one of the top cupboards for some marshmallows for my cocoa. My plan is to totally do the whole self-soothing thing.

  Cozy PJ’s, hot cocoa, lit Christmas tree, and some scented cinnamon candles. Now, if I can just find those darn marshmallows I will at least have done my best to push the misery out of my mind and body, and done everything possible to ensure a restful night of sleep.

  I locate them and pull the bag out just as someone pounds on our apartment door.

  Shit!

  Eva must have forgotten her key again. I jump down off the counter, and check the clock on the stove. It’s only midnight. Surely she wouldn’t be home this early---unless Marcus is with her and they’re planning a fuckfest over here.

  Great.

  So much for my self-soothing agenda.

  I walk through the living room and check the peephole before I open the door.

  Oh. God!

  It’s Weston!

  “Who is it?” I call out, and I curse inwardly because the nervous lilt in my voice totally gives away the fact that I know who it is and I’m stalling for whatever reason.

  “It’s Weston,” I hear from the other side. “And I already saw your eyeball in the peep hole, Peyton.”

  “Well, what is it you want?” I ask tersely.

  “Can you please let me in? I want to apologize to you for tonight.”

  “Not necessary, Weston. I don’t blame you. You have every right to be pissed and I understand. So, we’re good then?”

  “No, Peyton, we’re not even close to being good. Open the fucking door. We are going to talk.”

  God, look at me? I quickly debate whether I have time to change into something less cozy and childish, but quickly decide that he’s the one on my turf so screw it. I’m comfortable and that’s all that matters.

  I open the door, and stand back allowing him to cross the threshold into our apartment.

  He’s wearing jeans, a leather jacket, and some kick-ass boots. He looks sexy and a bit disheveled and I wonder if he’s buzzed from the party.

  “Smells good in here,” he comments, brushing past me. “Got something in the oven?”

  “No. It’s the scented candles.”

  “Ah, I see,” he says, taking off his jacket. He’s rocking a black sweater underneath. He tosses his jacket over onto the sofa. It’s then that he turns to me, his eyes flickering over my nighttime garb. “Were you in bed?” he asks, arching one of his perfect brows.

  “Oh…no, I---I just made some hot chocolate. Would you like some?” I ask, looking up into his eyes that are no longer angry, but softer and searching.

  “Sure,” he replies.

  He follows me into the kitchen and I fill two coffee cups with the steaming cocoa.

  “Marshmallows?” I offer.

  “Wouldn’t be hot chocolate without them,” he replies, smiling.

  I hand him his cocoa and marshmallows, and we both take a sip at the same time.

  “Tastes good,” he says, licking his marshmallow moustache.

  I take another sip and then set my cup on the counter. “So, what did you come to say, Weston? I thought you’d be too busy celebrating to give me a second thought.”

  He sets his cup next to mine on the counter. “I didn’t go,” he replies flatly. “Wasn’t much in the mood after Eva reamed my ass. And definitely decided against it after my mother and sister did an encore presentation.”

  “Well, I’m sorry, but I can’t control what other people do. I can only control what I do, which is why I tried to apologize.”

  “Please,” he interjects softly, “I know enough of the details. Eva filled me in and, well, I was an ass. It doesn’t matter who did what and why, Peyton. I’m just so fucking tired of being angry about it. I’m definitely tired of being at odds with my witch,” he finishes, coming to stand before me, his eyes searching mine.

  I become lost in his gaz
e, and when I look into the depths of his gray eyes, I can see the truth. I also see a spark of something---probably the same thing I feel inside when I reflect on my clown. “West…” I start, but never finish, because Weston’s fingers have tilted my chin upward, and his lips have lowered very closely to mine.

  “Hmmm, you’ve got some marshmallow right above your lip,” he croons, the words caressing my mouth. “Let me get that for you.”

  And then he kisses me with the most gentle and soft lips. My mouth responds to his the same way it did the night of the Halloween Ball---only it’s Weston and Peyton now. It’s us speaking the silent language of need with our tongues in perfect sync. I melt into him, and his arms wrap around me pulling me in so tightly against him that I can feel his hardness; his need for me. And I know beneath the flannel jammies, I’ve grown wet for him.

  Our kissing grows more eager, more explosive and his lips move from mine and blaze a path to my cheekbone, peppering my skin with warm kisses, and then lower, moving slowly along my jawline. His hands are now fisted in my hair, tilting my head back so that he can continue his path down the column of my throat, nipping at my earlobe, and his warm breath curls into my skin making me shiver.

  “I don’t see how you can be cold in that getup,” he teases, his lips coming back to mine, his tongue probing like he just can’t get enough.

  “I was self-soothing,” I whisper against his lips, playfully nipping at the bottom one.

  “I see,” he replies, giving me a lopsided grin. “I think I might have just the thing to soothe you, but first I need to know if those pajamas have a built-in chastity belt because it seems they have every single vital part of you covered, babe.”

  Once again, I have a déjà vu moment when I take his hand and lead him into my bedroom, kicking the door closed with my flannel-covered foot.

  He turns to face me in the soft light of my bedside lamp and I can’t help but admire everything about him as his eyes lock with mine and he brings his sweater up over his head, tossing it aside.

  For the first time, I’m going to see every inch of the man who is fucking me, and I can feel myself getting even wetter in hot anticipation. His body is perfection. Corded muscles ripple with every move of his arms and shoulders; his strong, agile fingers work the button open on his jeans, and he quirks a brow when he sees that I’ve done nothing but stare at him since I closed the door.