Drumline

by Stacy Kestwick

  Not ready to let go ever.

  “It’s never felt like that before,” she whispered.

  I paused, then leaned back and pushed her tangled hair behind her ears so I could see her face. Using my finger, I nudged her chin up.

  “Like what? Did I hurt you?”

  She chuckled and the knot of fear in my gut loosened a fraction. “Oh, I imagine I’m going to be feeling this tomorrow.” Her dimple popped out, and unable to help myself, I bent down and kissed it. “But it’ll be the best soreness I’ve ever felt.”

  My dick pulsed where it still lay nestled inside her.

  “Then what?” My question was soft, cautious, as if she’d suddenly gotten skittish and I didn’t want to scare her away with quick movements or loud sounds.

  She blinked at me, long black lashes framing the most expressive brown eyes I’d ever seen.

  “Right.”

  Fuck, I love you. The words burst inside me, but I clamped down hard on them, keeping them caged within me.

  She wasn’t ready for that. Hell, I wasn’t sure I was ready for that.

  And yet there they sat, the words thick and viscous, clogging my veins and drugging my mind.

  “Oh, Reese,” I murmured, banding my arms around her back and squeezing her to me. Even hugging her felt sublime. “There’s nothing more right than you and me in this moment.” I dipped my head until I could speak right into her ear. “Except finding it again and again and again.”

  Reluctantly, I pulled out of her, quickly taking care of the condom.

  Then I hoisted her off the dresser, and took a step back until I felt the bed at the back of my knees. Holding her close, I lay back on the bed until we landed on the mattress with a soft thud, her on top of me. I groaned in contentment, loving the weight of her on my hips, her hair draping around my face, her little gasp of delight when her breasts rubbed against my chest.

  “I’ve got a few more things I want you to do tonight. For starters, I need you to scoot up a little higher on my body.”

  “Higher?” She sounded sleepy, but I knew how to fix that.

  My fingers flexed around her hips, urging her up. “Higher. Until you’re riding my face. I’m ready for dessert.”

  Reese

  “So, on the way back from the game on the bus, you just… slept?” Eli’s eyebrows pinched together in disappointment, referring to the return trip from the football game against Mississippi last week. “Even though you won in overtime with the most fantastic play of the season? And then after the game ended, all the Sharks rushed the field and tore down their goal posts? You just… took a damn nap?” He screwed up his face like he’d just sucked on a lemon. “What’s wrong with you, Reese? You’re a college girl! You’re supposed to be wild and crazy and stay up all night celebrating after a game like that. Even sick cancer kids know that much.”

  He shook his head in disgust, the striped beanie slipping down over one of his eyes until he shoved it back up. His small, pale fingers plucked at the plain white blanket covering his legs. “Did you ride back next to Laird at least?”

  I narrowed my eyes at him. I hadn’t seen Eli in almost two weeks, not since before I pulled the whole dildo stunt. When I’d volunteered the last few times, he’d been out of his room, in either physical therapy or radiology. But his last comment made me wonder what Laird might have said to Eli during his visits.

  “No. Laird’s a senior. I’m just a freshman. I sat next to my friend, Smith, since he’s a freshman too. We got the crappy seats near the front of the bus.”

  “Bummer.”

  “Yeah, bummer,” I echoed.

  “I think Laird likes you. He told me you were pretty.” Eli peered up at me, a sly expression crossing his face. “Are you dating him? I bet he’d like to date you.”

  I paused, snagging his hospital-issued pitcher and crossing to the sink under the pretense of getting him more water.

  I don’t know if I’d call what we were doing dating exactly. He’d made me dinner that one night last month, and I hadn’t gotten dressed again until minutes before I walked out the door Monday morning, just in time to make my calculus class. And he’d stayed over at my place twice, fucking me as quietly as he could on the squeaky bed. But, unless I counted a group meal after band practice two days ago, we hadn’t done anything else date-like since that first time because of our busy schedules.

  Well.

  Maybe.

  He’d met me half a dozen times before my horrendously boring Humanities class to give me a giant Styrofoam cup of Cherry Coke Zero from the student center, making sure I had some caffeine to take in with me. It wasn’t a date necessarily, but it was something, wasn’t it?

  And there was last Thursday when he’d skipped his second class, just so he could eat a turkey-and-cranberry sub with me next to the shark fountain. Had that been a date?

  “You think so?” I stalled a bit longer as I wiped off stray water drops that had splashed around the sink.

  “You are really pretty. And he has tattoos and muscles and stuff, so I bet you like him too. He’s a really cool guy.”

  I found myself smiling softly in agreement. “He is a really cool guy.” I rearranged the cups and pitcher next to the emesis basin on the wheeled table next to his bed. “So… you think I should date him?”

  “Totally. And then maybe you guys can go on a double date with me and Amelia sometime. Y’all can take us down to the Starbucks next to the cafeteria or something.”

  “Oooooh, wait.” I picked up his cold hand and squeezed. “Did you ask her out?”

  He dipped his chin, hiding his gaze from me. “Sorta,” he mumbled. “I tried.”

  “What happened?”

  “That asshole Jaxon interrupted us before she could answer. He totally did that shit on purpose too.”

  I was no longer fazed by Eli’s cussing. At this point, I would’ve been more concerned if he didn’t drop an f-bomb during one of my visits.

  “Did you try again?” I tucked his hand under the edge of the blanket, trying not to make it obvious I was fussing over him as I adjusted the covers.

  “Not yet.” He slumped against his mountain of pillows. “I want to make it special for her, you know? But I think I might be running out of time before I go home.”

  My heart broke over the longing in his words and I hurried to reassure him. “No, Eli. I promise. It’s never too late for love. Haven’t you learned anything watching TV around here?” I winked, because we both knew how tedious TV got after a while when you were stuck in the hospital. The morning shows, then The Price is Right and the court shows, then Lifetime movies until the primetime dramas started around dinnertime. Nothing decent worth watching until late night.

  “Yeah. You’re right.” But his voice was dejected and quiet. “I heard her talking about the cake pops the other day. She likes the birthday cake ones the best because they’re pink. I wanted to take her there to get one and a smoothie or something. But that’s probably stupid.”

  “No. I think it sounds perfect!” I dug a pen and pad of paper out of my purse. “Let’s work on what you can say when you ask her again. And before I leave, I’ll run downstairs to buy a cake pop you can take to her now, so you have an excuse to go talk to her.”

  He raised his head, hope shining hesitantly in his eyes. “Yeah?”

  “Yeah. Now, let’s see how good your pick-up lines are.”

  Not that there was ever any doubt, but an hour later, Amelia said yes without even hesitating.

  Reese

  Empty cereal box. Check.

  Crumbs from stale candy bars. Check.

  Dirty clothes strewn about in half a dozen places. Check.

  I sprayed the room with Febreze to cover the stale scent of sweat and sour milk that seemed to linger in the air, then started working my way methodically around the room, from the far corner to the door. Something crunched under my foot—a mostly Styrofoam cup from the student center, the last dribble of soda now leaking out the side.
I hurried to scoop it up before it made an even bigger mess.

  Marco is fucking disgusting.

  The same kind of yellow rubber gloves my grandma used to wash dishes were on my hands as I picked up a crusty wad of tissue near his trashcan. He’d apparently missed and couldn’t be bothered to pick it up himself. Empty condom wrappers hid underneath.

  But—interesting. Two different sizes, hell, two different brands, one larger than the other. And just a few inches away from those was—

  I stopped cold.

  No. No, no, no, no, no, no.

  Lollipop cellophane and a partially eaten grape lollipop.

  I squeezed my eyes shut as I tossed it all in the trash, as if that would prevent the mental image of Marco and Smith from materializing in my head.

  He wouldn’t. He couldn’t. With Marco?

  He obviously did.

  Twice, if I was judging by the condom wrappers I’d found.

  At least I didn’t find the actual used condoms. I gagged, dry heaving over the trashcan I’d just filled, the thought that repulsive. It wasn’t the gay sex part that was weirding me out, it was picturing Marco naked in any way that was making me nauseated. I shuddered.

  But actually, that explained a few things. Those times he ran right next to Smith on the track, picking Smith as his NAD, the way he seemed to overcompensate with the PDA at parties. Marco was either deep in the closet, or secretly bi. Or maybe he was just experimenting with Smith? Testing the waters?

  I cleaned the rest of his room as best I could in ten minutes. I couldn’t stand to be in there any longer than that. Everywhere I looked, I saw them.

  Did they do it bent over his executive desk chair? Or on the rumpled bed? On the rug?

  Oh, fuck. Did they have something going on regularly—like me and Laird? Was I somehow now part of their deception? I wanted absolutely no part of being in a threesome privy to that knowledge.

  Trash bag in hand, I shuddered as I left Marco’s room, careful to lock the door behind me.

  Ugh, what was Smith thinking? Marco? Of all people?

  I groaned as I walked into the already crowded building at 8:00. In the morning. On a Saturday. The Rodner Sharks were playing a non-conference away game against Maryland of all places, so it should’ve been a day off, a day to sleep in, a day to do nothing.

  Instead, I’d be doing the 24-hour challenge known as Shark Day, where the entire band stayed within the confines of Boldt Auditorium from eight on Saturday morning to eight on Sunday morning. They called it a challenge to get around referring to what it really was—hazing. Anyone who slipped out or went unaccounted for at any point during the event was benched from the next halftime show. Supposedly, your final grade in the class would be knocked down ten points too, but I wasn’t sure if that rumor was fact or fiction.

  The first twelve hours were relatively uneventful. We practiced the new song we’d be adding to the halftime show, did stupid group bonding activities, and ate way too much pizza. But people were starting to get prickly, breaking off into groups, forming clumps in the dozen or so rooms that made up the music building, half of them just small practice rooms.

  Even the bathrooms had turned into a sanctuary, people hiding out in the stalls trying to get a few minutes of privacy to text or scroll through Facebook without someone else looking over their shoulder.

  And there were so many people around, I hadn’t had a chance to corner Smith and ask him about the whole Marco situation I’d discovered yesterday. It was making me act weird around him, answering his questions tersely and staring at him in puzzlement when he wasn’t looking, until he’d twist his head around and snap, “What?” in exasperation.

  I made a lap around the building, weaving through the high-pitched giggles of the flutists and the third-grade humor of the trombone players. There was nowhere to escape, just noise and body odor and the gradually rising tension of people who knew they were trapped together for another twelve hours when they’d give their left big toe to be anywhere, anywhere else because as much as marching band is a family, twenty-four hours is a fucking long time.

  Free pizza only does so much for morale and goodwill toward your fellow man.

  I was avoiding Laird too. Not because I didn’t want to spend time with him, but because I was scared if I got close to him, it’d be obvious just how much I wanted him. It was getting harder and harder to pretend to only be platonic around him in public.

  I wanted to hold his hand, or lean against him, or feel his arms wrap around me. I wanted to kiss him senseless, until his hand tangled in my hair and the world around us went hazy. I wanted to bask in that warm glow that filled my chest when his gorgeous green eyes followed the motion of my hips as I walked.

  And this wasn’t the place to do any of those things.

  My phone dinged.

  Laird: Where are you? Practice room 4C. It’s empty right now. Except for me. Knock twice, pause, then twice again.

  A quiet space. With Laird.

  It was almost too good to be true.

  Maybe I could give into my urges, if only for a few minutes.

  I sidled around a trio of trumpeters who were arguing about whether bull sharks or great whites were the deadliest.

  “Bull sharks,” I muttered under my breath, and the ginger one raised his fist in solidarity.

  “See? Everyone knows it. Even the little drummer girl.”

  I paused. My spine stiffened and I swiveled back around. “What did you call me?”

  The blond one snickered to the tall one. “Didn’t you hear? Apparently, there’s nothing little about her. Especially not the size of her sex toys. She must have the loosest vag on the line, probably from overuse. All those private parties they have? You know they’re getting a taste of that.”

  My ears were so hot, they threatened to spontaneously combust.

  What.

  The.

  Fuck.

  I struggled to pull air into my lungs, not sure whether I wanted to punch him in the throat or cry. Humiliation burned like acid as I tried to swallow. I hadn’t realized news of my little stunt was being twisted in such a vulgar way, that I’d been given a fucking nickname on top of it all. And even though they never said his name, my thoughts shot straight to Laird.

  This.

  This is what I’d been worried about when it came to getting involved with another drummer.

  And not just any snare player.

  The fucking captain.

  I opened my mouth, not even sure what I was going to say, but ready to explode nonetheless.

  But just then, Marco materialized at my side, looping his arm around my shoulders and pulling me into an awkward half hug, half headlock. “Just the hotshot I’ve been looking for. I need to talk to you about the stuff you left behind in my room.”

  The trumpeters snorted and elbowed each other knowingly.

  My eyes burned and my hand shook as I balled it into a fist.

  “I didn’t leave anything in your room, Marco,” I said with venom, reluctantly following him as he led me down the hallway. Room 4C was this direction anyway.

  Fucking trumpet players. Fucking Marco. Fucking stupid guys with their stupid fucking opinions.

  He stopped at room 3A, shoved open the door, and ordered the pair of clarinet players making out in the corner to leave.

  Then he locked the soundproof door.

  “I found some fuzzy black shirt on my desk chair. I assumed it was yours. I threw it away. Hope you didn’t want it back.”

  Shit. My favorite North Face fleece from home. It had been a little chilly that morning, but I’d warmed up cleaning the room and forgotten I had taken it off.

  I clenched my jaw. “Nope. Wasn’t mine.”

  “You sure?” He watched me closely.

  I shrugged. “Maybe it was Smith’s?” I was so mad, the words fell from me without thinking, but when I saw the look of panic flash across his face, I followed my instinct, sensing a rare weakness in his armor.


  A ball of guilt sat heavy and leaden in my gut, but my anger at those dumb pricks and Marco burned hotter, erasing my normal tendency for caution.

  I’d beg Smith for forgiveness later, but right now, the line of questioning had been cast, and I couldn’t take it back.

  Would he take the bait?

  My heart tried to burrow right out of my chest it was beating so hard.

  Marco narrowed his eyes, and the fingers of his left hand tapped restlessly against his thigh. “What makes you think he was in my room?”

  The condom wrapper that was way, way too big for anything you have tucked in your too tight pants.

  “I picked up some grape lollipops near your desk. I thought maybe you’d had him over or something. You know, since you’re his vet and all.” I scratched at a spot near my elbow where a mosquito had gorged on me the day before, trying to look casual.

  “Oh. Yeah. That.”

  Hook. Line. Sinker.

  “Or maybe it was Amber’s?” I added sweetly, tossing out the safety net only after he was thoroughly caught in the trap.

  “You know what? The fleece was probably hers. She’s been coming over. And coming. A lot.” He snickered and my stomach churned.

  Riiiiiiight. because you’re such a stud. I rolled my eyes. I started to turn away but he moved into my path, shoving his face too close to mine. I jerked my neck back, but kept my feet planted.

  “You didn’t see anything, Reese. You hear me? Nothing.” His voice turned ugly and vaguely menacing.

  Whoa. The aggression in his stance and tone took me off guard. “Nope. Sure didn’t,” I agreed, hurrying to placate his prickly temper. He’d already confirmed what I wanted to know. No reason to dig deeper. And, honestly, I felt bad for Smith. I couldn’t imagine Marco as anything but a selfish lover. I motioned toward the door he was blocking. “Can I leave now?”

  He grinned, sitting on the floor, his back against the locked opening, and tugged his hat low over his face, an action that brought his eyes level with my crotch. “Not for a few hours. I need a nap. I also need someone who can verify I didn’t leave the premises. I pick you.”