Kick

by Dean, Ali

  He smiles. “I’m hot as hell. Wanna cool off somewhere?”

  I raise an eyebrow at the question, remembering asking him that same question the night we met. “What did you have in mind?” I can’t recall exactly how the conversation went outside the Happy Hollow, but I’ll do my best to play along.

  “Water.”

  Less than an hour later, I’m trying to work out how Jack managed to get access to one of the largest outdoor Olympic-sized pools in the country in the middle of the night. This time when I walk up the high dive in front of him in my underwear, I’m actually more self-conscious than I was that night we met. Something about being outside makes me feel more exposed, even though it’s nearly pitch black, and no one can see past the giant stadium surrounding the pool.

  When we reach the top, we stand on the platform and gaze out at the city lights, the hype and glamour from the evening seeming distant now. Aside from the noise of cars on the highway, it’s quiet up here.

  Jack takes my hand. “Fireball.”

  I turn to look at him, and he leans forward, tucking in a loose strand from my updo that’s now beginning to unravel. “You know, you stole a piece of me from the second I laid eyes on you. It wasn’t even falling in love exactly. You just took me, body and soul, and I couldn’t fight it.”

  I let his words sink in, going deep. He’s seen all of me now, and that gives the words power. They’re true for me too.

  As my eyes drift over his bare chest and back up to his face, I echo the words, “Body and soul,” not even realizing I’ve said them aloud until he squeezes my hand.

  It takes a moment to process what’s happening when he gets down on a knee. “I can’t imagine this journey without you and I don’t want to. We’ve both got big dreams, and I want to go after them together, as a team. For the rest of our lives.”

  He must have been clutching a ring in his other hand because he’s holding one out in front of us now. Lowering his voice, he looks at me with pleading eyes. “Please, Lydia Kick Spark, marry me, be my wife.”

  My jaw hangs open as I stare at him, his bright blue eyes filled with such adoration I’m lost to them. I blink a few times, so caught off guard I can’t quite process this is real.

  “Fireball,” he says.

  A million thoughts cross my mind. But he’s a rock star. He can’t get married. We haven’t been together that long. He’s my first real boyfriend! The first guy I’ve truly fallen in love with. Or, like he said, given pieces of myself to until he’s got all of me, body and soul.

  None of these fears override what I know I want more than anything. “Yes, Jack.” I get down on my knees so I’m closer to his level.

  Jack gives me the grin that shows both dimples as he slips the ring on my finger, and then leans in for a long, burning kiss.

  We sit up there, legs dangling, just like we did that first night. This time, I’m floating higher than ever before. I don’t know how long we sit there, alternating between grinning at each other like idiots, and kissing each other with such intensity it’s a wonder we still have our underwear on.

  “My mom’s going to flip her shit,” I confess to him as we finally decide to take a dive.

  Jack’s grin gets bigger. “I know. You were starting to get restless that she was too happy with you lately and you hadn’t done anything to make her flip. I was just trying to make things right between you guys again.”

  My heart swells impossibly bigger at his words. How does this guy know me so well and understand my relationship with my mom better than I do?

  I’m giddy with happiness, amazed that I’m not terrified. This doesn’t solve all the unknowns; it doesn’t mean there aren’t a million scary things ahead of us as we both chase our dreams. But I know that Jack Kingston isn’t an addiction I’ll need to quit. He’s a constant source of love, like Shay. A source of reliability, like swimming. And especially a source of the adrenaline rush and unpredictability I crave, when he’s on stage, taking me in a tour bus, or proposing to me on a high dive in the middle of the night. Riding through it all with Jack is exactly right. I get the sensation of floating weightlessness, buzzing anticipation, along with the steady, unconditional stability, everything I need, with this guy at my side.

  About the Author

  I hope you enjoyed Kick!

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  Find Me Online:

  www.alideanfiction.com

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  Books By Ali Dean

  Pepper Jones Series

  Pepped Up (Pepper Jones #1)

  All Pepped Up (Pepper Jones #2)

  Pepped Up & Ready (Pepper Jones #3)

  Pep Talks (Pepper Jones #4)

  Pepped Up Forever (Pepper Jones #5)

  Stark Springs Academy Series

  Black Diamond

  Double Black

  Black Ice

  Spark Sisters Series

  The Line Below

  Kick

  Standalones

  Elusive

  Doubles Love

  Acknowledgments

  Kick took me in a different direction than I expected with this book, and I was a little nervous about letting her tell her story the way she wanted me to. I so appreciate my beta readers (Kristen, Connie, Angela, Jessica, and Nora) who gave me the confidence to keep Kick just the way she was.

  A special shout out to Kristen, who also wrote the lyrics to Fireball!

  Neely, thank you for taking the time to speak openly with me about what it’s like to be a professional athlete! Your insight was so helpful in making certain aspects of this book more authentic.

  Brittany, thank you for helping me with the hardest part of being an indie author: writing the blurb! Summing up my work in a few short sentences in a way that will entice people to read it is so hard, and you sprinkle some magic on it to make it work.

  I’d be lost without my editor, Leanne, who has been working with me now for FIVE years. Wow. Thank you, Leanne for being flexible with me, working hard to edit quickly when I get behind, being totally thorough with your edits, and, probably most importantly, making me laugh hard with your comments and feedback. You rock, lady!

  Sneak Peek

  Have you read the Pepper Jones series yet? Here’s a sneak peek into the first chapter of the first book in the series, Pepped Up.

  Pepped Up

  This right here is what I live for. The steady rhythm of my feet landing softly on dirt. Colorado sunshine heating the fresh morning air. Birds singing as they swoop in and out of trees. And Dave frolicking beside me with his tongue lolling out to the side.

  I want to capture the exhilaration and peace flowing through my veins, pulsing through my soul. Who needs a vice when you can attain an utter sense of being alive with such simple ingredients? Blue sky, fresh air, and, of course, man’s best friend. Dave’s feeling it, too - runner’s high. Endorphin rush. Call it what you will.

  We turn off the single track and cross the footbridge separating the foothills from Brockton’s residential neighborhoods. I could easily run for another hour or two, but my training schedule calls for a forty-five-minute easy jog, and I’m already pushing an hour.

  I used to think that being a disciplined athlete was all about pushing hard. But I was wrong. It’s really about knowing when to hold back, being patient enough to do it, and then pushing hard when the time comes.

  I got into running on my first day of high school, almost by accident. Having never played sports when I was younger, I was pretty clueless about how they worked, but it turned out I was fast – really fast – and immediately made varsity and even qualified for the State meet. But since I had no idea of strategy, starting every run with a full-on sprint was all I knew to do, so “crash and burn” became my motto for the first few races.

  I now have two cross country seasons and two track seasons under my belt, and I’ve learned how to pace myself at rac
es and in workouts. But this season presents a new challenge. I need to pace myself over the course of the whole season. Not just for twenty minutes or so, but for three and a half months, or fourteen weeks.

  I’m usually beat, mentally and physically, after the State meet, but if all goes well, I’ll be racing for a month longer than past seasons. First I have to qualify for Regionals at the State meet, and then I have to qualify for Nationals at Regionals. Until then, I’ve got to hold back. Easier said than done.

  I wind through the familiar streets, my empty stomach coming to attention when the smell of bacon from someone’s kitchen floats by. When I turn onto Shadow Lane, slowing to a walk for my cool-down, I see a silver Mercedes Benz pulling up in front of the Wilders’ house. I narrow my eyes at it, watching Jace Wilder get out from the passenger side. His biceps flex as he holds the top of the door to lean in the open window and say something to the driver. Reaching in the car window, he retrieves a box of donuts before walking towards his house.

  The car drives away from the Wilders’ house in my direction and slows as it passes me on the sidewalk. I recognize Madeline Brescoll when she rolls down her window. “Hi, Pepper.” Her voice is filled with self-satisfaction. Through the window, I can see she looks gorgeous as usual.

  I raise my hand in an unenthusiastic wave. “Morning.”

  She flashes me an insincere smile, turns up the radio and drives away. I glance down at Dave, who’s licking sweat off my shin. He’s unimpressed. He might be the first male of any species to snub her like that.

  Dave’s a multi-colored, short-haired mutt I adopted pretty much by accident last year – I simply wasn’t capable of ignoring the “free puppies” sign. Clearly, despite his lack of pedigree, he’s far too good for the Madeline Brescolls of this world.

  Madeline’s family owns one of the largest breweries in the nation. She goes to Lincoln Academy, the private school in town. And along with the rest of the female population in Brockton, she wants Jace Wilder.

  Admittedly, Madeline has actually succeeded to some degree in her efforts to get him. Jace sleeps with her more regularly than any other girl and, according to the gossip, she’s the only girl he’s been with in his grade. Apparently Jace only hooks up with older girls these days; I imagine that will change now that he’s a senior, unless he moves on to college girls.

  I shake off my thoughts as I stretch my hamstrings. I’m determined not to let boys, or one boy in particular, ruin the buzz from my morning run. High school drama isn’t something I’ve let invade my life in the past two years, and junior year won’t be any different.

  It doesn’t matter to me who our class officers are, or who won Homecoming Queen - my life revolves around running, and all my friends are runners except for Jace. It’s the one thing I have where I can stand out. I’m not an amazing student. I’m not popular. I’m not in band, on debate team, or dating anyone, let alone the starting quarterback (that would be Jace, by the way). Running is my thing. And this season is going to be epic.

  I jog up the stairs to the second-floor apartment I share with my Gran. She’s singing along to Aretha in her bedroom, meaning she’ll be out soon and looking for her coffee, so I hit the kitchen before the bathroom. I don’t drink the stuff myself, but Gran’s an addict and I know she’ll want some any minute.

  Ten minutes later I’m out of the shower and tugging a brush through my wet hair when I hear the unmistakable sound of Jace’s voice in the kitchen with Gran. I quickly clasp my favorite purple bra behind my back and pull on a pair of red cutoff jean shorts from my closet floor. I’m pushing my arms through the holes of a snug grey tee shirt when I hear Gran in the doorway to my bedroom.

  “Nice bra, Pep. You got matching undies?” She grins and wiggles her eyebrows.

  “I’m going commando today, Gran,” I tease.

  “Not in those short little shorts you ain’t. I can practically see your butt cheeks hangin’ out.” She waves her index finger in mock disapproval. “Not that you got much in the way of butt cheeks, but if you did, they’d be hangin’ out of those little scraps of fabric.”

  I make a face in response. “Whatever, Gran, I have to race for twenty minutes in front of hundreds of people in a uniform that covers less skin than these, and it’s required by the school. And I am wearing underwear.” I pull down the shorts a bit and pull up my polka-dotted panties. “But they don’t match the bra. Sorry to disappoint.”

  “Can I see?” Jace peeks over Gran’s shoulder into my bedroom.

  “Young man!” Gran elbows him away and we follow her down the hallway. Her piglet slippers oink with each step as she patters towards the kitchen. Gran’s looking her usual snazzy self in a butterfly-patterned pajama set, her wiry grey hair sticking out in all directions.

  “Happy birthday, old lady.” I wrap my arms around her soft little body and rock her back and forth. “Love you, Gran.”

  She pats me on the back. “I know you do, hun. Now, eat a few donuts. You need some butt cheeks.” She pushes a box of a dozen donuts in my direction. “Jace brought over a good selection.”

  I glance in his direction and raise my eyebrows. He must have stopped at the donut shop with Madeline. After a sleepover at her place, I presume. Jace shrugs and takes a giant bite from a jelly-filled one.

  I let my eyes linger a moment. I haven’t seen him in a couple of weeks and his olive skin has turned to a dark tan. His jet black hair is ruffled in a messy fauxhawk. He’s had the same haircut for long enough that it falls into place without the need for styling.

  Jace takes a seat at our dinner table. At six feet three inches, his presence dominates our little apartment even when he’s seated.

  “Hey, I wasn’t gonna miss seeing Buns on her birthday. Got up early just for you.” Jace says, winking at Gran.

  Gran practically raised Jace, whose mom left when he was four years old. My parents died in a car crash when I was a toddler myself, and Gramps (Gran’s hubby) passed shortly after that. Jace’s dad, Jim, is a cool guy, but he works full time, so Gran babysat Jace when we were little, and watched us after school as we got older. Gramps was able to leave us a little to live on from his hard work as an electrician over the years, but it was Gran’s pension from her days as a U.S. postal mail-woman that allowed her to retire and raise me.

  “You’re a sweetie,” Gran tells Jace. “You could come to the party at Lulu’s later. We’re having a luncheon,” she offers.

  I laugh. “You sure that’s a good idea, Gran?” Lulu is Gran’s BFF. She’s throwing a birthday party with all the ladies from Gran’s knitting and book clubs. I can just imagine the reaction they’d have to Jace. Teenage girls aren’t the only ones affected by his charms.

  “Sorry Buns, I can’t miss football,” he answers, and to his credit he actually sounds regretful.

  “So how was the camp?” I ask. He’s been in Texas for two weeks playing football. It was for college recruitment and he had to be specially selected to attend.

  “It was intense, but a good time. I met some cool guys. We pretty much just played a shitload of football.” He mimes throwing a pass. “Slept a ton. Ate a ton. They actually had some decent food at the cafeteria.” He glances at Gran and quickly adds, “Nothing like your cooking, Buns, obviously.”

  Jace feeds the rest of his donut to Dave, who has been waiting patiently with his head resting on Jace’s lap.

  I shake my head at the resulting crumb-and-drool fest. “So was it worth missing Brockton’s preseason? Did they have a lot of recruiters?”

  Jace shifts in his seat. “Yeah, they had coaches from all over the nation. But shit, hosting the camp in Dallas in the middle of August pretty much killed any idea that I’d end up anyplace south of Colorado. It’s hot as fuck there.”

  “Yeah, probably not the best recruiting tactic for the southern schools, huh?” I want to ask him if he’s considering staying in Colorado, but I’m afraid what his answer will be. I’d like to hold on to the hope that he’s not leaving for jus
t a little bit longer. After all, most Brockton Public students go to CU. It’s a great school, and in-state tuition is a sweet deal.

  “How’s your dad doing? I haven’t run into him lately,” Gran asks.

  “Same old. New girlfriend. He’s good though. We had dinner at the Tavern last night after I got in. I was hoping to see you there, Pep.”

  “I had the night off.” You could have swung by the apartment to say hello, I want to add. But no, he had to go out and have a sleepover with Madeline. God forbid he goes longer than two weeks without any action. Although, knowing him, he probably figured out a way to meet girls even while he was at football camp.

  “Oh hey, I ordered a sick 2000 piece Hendrix puzzle. You want to come over later to start working on it?” Jace asks.

  Darn. I wish I could. I really missed him these past two weeks. “I’ve got my last shift at the Tavern after Gran’s party. But don’t start it without me. Maybe tomorrow night? We probably won’t have much homework after the first day anyway.” Not that homework ever got in the way of Jace’s social life before.

  “Yeah, this one’s definitely gonna make the wall, Pep. It’s wild.” When we were kids, Gran put the best puzzles we finished in frames to hang on the walls. We continue to do it with the really awesome ones.

  Jace hangs out for another hour before heading out. “Pick you up at 7:45 tomorrow morning?” he asks me.

  “I’ll be ready.”

  I’ve had my license for a few months but I don’t have my own car. When Jace is the one giving me rides, there’s not a whole lot of motivation to save up for my own vehicle. It’s my time with him. Once we get to school, he does his own thing with his crowd, and I do mine. He usually comes over for dinner, but aside from that, and the occasional puzzle session, driving to school is my special Jace time.