by Jacob Chance
“Good question. I’m still not sure. If I don’t play, I’ll lose my scholarship, which wouldn’t be the end of the world since it’s my final year.” It’s not like my parents can’t afford it. All they have to do is dip into the trust fund my grandfather set up for me. I don’t have access to the money until I’m twenty-five, but they can use it for my college tuition. “It would be worth losing it to have more training time at the gym.” I run a careless hand through my hair. “Brady and Zeke are both graduating,” I say, mentioning both of my roommates. They’re also two of my closest friends aside from Noah and Griffin, another guy we train with. “I think Owen Dawson; the backup quarterback will take over. He’ll be a sophomore in the fall. The kid has an arm that slings missiles. He’s unbelievably talented. He might even give Brady a run for his money, but don’t tell him I said that.”
“Isn’t Brady’s brother at B.U. now too?” Noah questions.
“Yep, Trevor’s a tight end. The kid’s a beast. The gene pool for athleticism in that family is fucking impressive.”
“Hi, Nick,” a pretty brunette sidles up next to me with a smile and a hand trailing over my shoulder. I can’t remember her name or where we’ve met.
“Hey, how’s it going?”
“Great. Things could get a lot more interesting now that I know you’re here.” She leans her tits into my arm.
“You’re going to have to remind me where we met. I’m drawing a blank.” Raising my bottle, I take a large sip.
“We met at Griff’s party a few months ago.” She smiles knowingly while I try to remember if she’s someone I fucked. I’m not a dog who gets his knob polished by a different girl every night, but there are a few girls I’ve been with in the past that I call when I need to take care of business. Lately, that hasn’t happened at all. I haven’t had sex since the night I met Carter, and I’m not sure why. I only know, there’s something special about her that makes it difficult to drive her out of my mind. The chemistry between us was hotter than anything I’ve ever experienced or imagined.
As I study the brunette some more, I remember exactly when I met her and I’m relieved nothing happened between us. “It’s nice seeing you, but my man here,” I gesture at Noah, “and I are in the middle of a conversation. I’m going to have to cut this short.” I soften my harsh words with a smile.
“Oh, okay.” She steps back with a look of surprise on her face. I guess she doesn’t usually get turned down. “If you change your mind, I’ll be over there.” She gestures to the back of the bar where a table of girls stare in our direction.
“Gotcha.” I wink and turn back to Noah.
He chuckles.
“What?” I question.
“My boy’s a heartbreaker.” He claps me on the back.
“I’m not.” I shake my head.
“Dude, you attract them like flies.”
“Most of the time they’re as annoying as them too.” I drink down the rest of my beer and signal the bartender for another. “You want a refill?”
“Nah, I’m gonna’ stick with just one and then hit the road. I promised Reagan I’d be home early.”
“Pussy whipped.” I cough out.
“The hell I am. I just wanna’ see my girl.” The bartender places the beer down in front of me, removing the empty.
“If I had a girl I loved, I’d probably be a pussy whipped bastard like you.” I laugh as he punches me. “Where are the cameras when I need them?” I grab my arm with a pained expression. “That punch could be worth a lot of money.”
“I’m pretty sure you’re worth more than I’ll ever be.”
I grimace at the reminder he knows about my family’s wealth. I don’t usually share that I have a trust fund with people, but the details spilled out one night with a bottle of Jim Beam between us and two shot glasses. Noah revealed how his father drank himself to death which is one of the reasons fighting is so important to him. I filled him in on how I’m not sure I want to play football anymore, but my father is pressuring me. He has big dreams of me playing in the NFL and it’s not an unattainable goal for me. I’m damn good at the game, but somewhere along the way, fighting has become my passion and I’m not willing to push that aside to please my father. This is my life, not his.
Chapter Two
Carter
Everyone has a bad day here and there, but I’ve been having a bad year. Life has smashed a giant creme pie in my face over and over for the past six months. Ever since my fiancé Joseph slept with Lisa, my ex friend, I’ve had one thing after another thrown at me. I do my best to keep a stiff upper lip and not let things affect me, but enough is enough. I think I’ve reached my limit and I need to call a timeout.
The latest catastrophe I’m dealing with is trying to find a place to move into. Joseph needs me to move out of the house we lived in, the house he bought for us to raise a family in.
When we first split he moved into Lisa’s apartment, but now he’s claiming they need the extra space since they’re about to have a baby in the next few months. He came up with all the money for the down payment and took care of all the monthly bills that go along with owning a house. Since I’ve been living there for free, I can’t really complain and it has allowed me to save up a decent size nest egg.
I’ve decided to take this opportunity to move back to Boston. Doing this will put a couple hours of traveling distance between Joseph and I - some much needed distance. I’ll have to live with my parents until I can find a place of my own, but at least I’ll be near my sisters. I don’t get to see them nearly enough, especially Reagan. With her spending four years in California for college, she only came home for the summers. We’d cram as much fun as we could into those three months and then she’d disappear for nine more.
Sorting through my wardrobe is overwhelming. I have too many clothes and not really by choice. Being the fiance of an aspiring politician required me to dress a certain way. Picking up a floor length gown, I fold it neatly. I won’t be needing this any time soon. Setting it down on the donate pile, I continue to sort through an endless sea of clothes. Endless pairs of black pants, and pink blouses go into one of the plastic storage bins I’m taking with me. I add numerous sweaters and more pants until I can barely get the cover closed. While I pack up all my worldly possessions I try my hardest not to let thoughts of better times spent with Joseph wander into my mind. It’s a more difficult task than I anticipated, especially when I’m staring at photographic evidence of how truly happy we once were. Picking up the silver framed picture, I study the image of us. Our arms are wrapped around each other, cheeks pressed together and eyes shining with love. When did the glow of love that surrounded us wane?
When did it become okay for him to stick his cock in another woman?
Because, drunk or not, that never should’ve happened. I could’ve been falling down from alcohol consumption, and I wouldn’t have slept with another man.
Moving day arrives and with it comes a sense of excitement. This is the first time I’ve felt hopeful in a long time. Joseph hired movers to take all of my possessions other than clothes and necessities to a storage unit in Southie he’s prepaid for the next six months. The rest I packed into the trunk and back seat of my year old Volvo S80 he purchased for me. I’m sure his eagerness to help me with the storage facility and allowing me to keep the car is motivated by good old-fashioned guilt.
Now that I’ve gained some distance from him, I realize he was turning me into the perfect little wife. Nice conservative clothes - check, dependable sedan - check, people pleaser - check. It’s disconcerting how much I let him change me and now I’m not even sure how to undo all the damage he caused to my psyche. How does one go about finding herself when she can’t even remember where she got lost?
Glancing around my old pink bedroom, I feel like I’ve landed in an alternate universe. And in a way, I have. I’ve just regressed six years into the past. If only I could really go back in time and change my actions.
Where did I
go wrong?
Was it in fifth grade when Mary Olson teased me about having a boy name? It didn’t help when I told her I was named after a President. She replied with, “exactly, all the presidents have been male.” She had a point and unfortunately, she wasn’t the only one who teased me about my unorthodox name. As a result, I began to overcompensate by wearing as much pink as I possibly could. After all, pink is a color boys don’t usually wear.
Maybe, I’d go back to the day when I met Joseph in the library at UMass. I was seated alone at a long table studying for one of my exams when he asked if he could share the space with me. He was cute in an unassuming, clean cut way and he had a nice smile with perfect teeth. I nodded and introduced myself and the rest is history.
A better option might be to go back to the day I met Lisa. If I hadn’t met her then she wouldn’t have been introduced to Joseph through me. He and I might still be a couple. We were happy together at one point.
I couldn’t bring myself to unpack all my clothes and put them away in the closet. Instead, I only took out what I absolutely need to get by for the immediate future. After that, I’m hoping to be in my own place.
I’ve been here for two days and the walls already feel like they’re closing in on me. I need to look for a job. I’m starting dental school at Boston University at the beginning of September. I’ve got five months to get my life in order so I can begin there with a clean slate. A fresh start is something I could really use. This time, I’m not going to fall for some guy with a nice smile. Straight, white teeth might be one of my weaknesses, but I’m older and wiser now. This is my chance to do things right. It’s the closest I’ll get to a redo and I plan to take advantage of it.
ADD TO GOODREADS
REMY BLAKE
Jacob Chance is also half of Remy Blake; a male and female author duo, paired up to have some fun writing steamy, short reads with insta love/lust and a HEA. You can expect twice the debauchery in every novel they write.
Check out the first two chapters of Remy Blake’s latest release, CLIPPED.
Check out all their books HERE
Chapter One
Avery
It’s six am and I’ve finally made it to my gate with a few minutes to spare until boarding time. While the adrenaline from earlier is finally leaving my body, nerves and fear are becoming more of a permanent fixture. I clutch onto the hot styrofoam cup that holds my coffee and try to steady my breathing. Everything's a mess.
At two am I got a phone call that nobody ever wants to receive. My sister Lucy went to my mother’s house and found her on the floor unresponsive. She’d had a stroke and now with the delay between the incident and someone finding her, there’s no concrete answer to how bad the damage is. Swelling on the brain means the doctors have put her in an induced coma, hoping to wake her up once it goes down. But what if it doesn’t?
I’ve spent the last four hours finding flights and trying to condense everything I could possibly need for an indefinite stay, into two suitcases. When Lucy called me, she was hysterical. And when your usually cool, calm and collected older sister breaks down, you know it’s bad.
I haven’t been home in years. My mom, my sister and my nephew are the loves of my life, but I loved letting go of the chains of small town living a little bit more. When I was eighteen I left home for college and got myself a degree in Business, minoring in Social Media Marketing. Working for Facebook was my dream, and when an internship popped up in California allowing me to do just that, I jumped at the opportunity. Four years later and I’m now a Social Media Marketing Assistant and I’ve never been happier.
I feel my phone vibrate in my bag and I pull it out to see who it is.
Lucy: Wes will pick you up from the airport.
With a lump forming in the pit of my stomach, I quickly type out my response to Lucy, praying Wes is a new guy she’s seeing and not who I think it is.
Me: Who’s Wes?
Lucy: What do you mean who’s Wes? Wesley from school. Wesley my neighbor. Wesley my friend.
Me: Why does he need to pick me up? I can just call an Uber
Lucy: An Uber? It’s not California Avery, Just let him pick you up. He’s been here watching Jeremiah all night while I’ve been at the hospital. He’s been amazing and offered to help. I’ve got Jeremiah’s school play this morning and I can’t miss it. Please don’t make it difficult.
“Fucking Hell,” I mutter under my breath
Me: You’re lucky I love you. See you soon.
I see all the other people around me gathering their hand luggage and moving toward the ticketing desk. Annoyed, I throw my cell in my bag and pick up the laptop bag I’m taking on the plane. As I near the line, I toss the coffee in the bin, and begin anticipating the awkward reunion between me and Wesley fucking Steele.
The sound of the wheels being lowered before landing startles me, waking me up suddenly. I don’t even remember falling asleep. My eyes do a quick scan of my surroundings, it seems I’m not the only one who was in need of a nap. Lying my head back on the seat, I take a deep breath before the plane finally lands. Out of all the reasons I conjured up in my mind to ever return home, this wasn’t one of them. My mom is the strongest woman I know, coming in a close second is Lucy. I’m the baby of the family, the cool aunt; but I’m also the selfish one. I know it’s weird to admit, but we all have our roles and in this moment of panic and crisis I’m beginning to realize I’m not capable of handling change. I like plans, lists, and organization. Unexpectedly moving, being back here, and being responsible for people other than myself - I don’t think I’m built for that.
Waiting at the carousel for my luggage to appear, the thought of having to see Wesley Steele has tension creeping up into my shoulders. I haven’t laid eyes on him since high school ended and even this many years later is too soon. He was an arrogant dick, walking the school halls like he was king shit; expecting everyone to fall at his feet. And from the snippets of information I’ve heard over the years, nothing much has changed. I spot my suitcases and walk a little closer, preparing myself to drag them onto the ground. They each weigh a ton. It’s a miracle I wasn’t charged any extra, due to how heavy they are. As I lean over to grab the handle, a large hand beats me to it. Startled, it takes me a few seconds to stop staring at the hand and turn to see who is reaching for my stuff. Holy shit he’s gorgeous.
Stunned into silence, I put my hands on top of his, and mutter an incoherent “Thank you”
“No problem.” He says. “They look like they’re about to burst.”
Finally managing to close my fly trap, I find the words to show my appreciation. “And who said chivalry is dead?”
He chuckles. “My mom would kill me if she found out I watched you struggle pulling those bags.”
“Well, tell your Mama I said thanks,” I say, sliding the handles up and preparing to wheel them with me toward the exit. We walk alongside one another and I’m unsure as to whether or not we’re supposed to continue the conversation.
“What brings you to West Virginia?” He asks.
“I’m from Piney View and I’m getting picked up to go home for a family emergency,” I ramble. He’s probably being polite and doesn’t actually care about my life details. We exit through the automated doors and step out into the mild late spring weather. But that’s not what catches my attention, it’s the big fuck off sign that says “Welcome home, Anal Avery.”
“Is that you?” The stranger asks, reminding me there are others around to witness my humiliation.
An audible sigh leaves my mouth. “Yep, that’s me.”
“Well, I better go.”
I don’t even bother responding as he rushes off, desperate to get away from this type of crazy. It seems Wesley Steele still knows how to clear a room.
With my teeth clenched, I speed walk toward him and the sign. My face must give away how angry I am, because his smile falters and he slowly lowers the sign. We stand toe to toe and the fury is radiating off my body.
>
“Can we get the hell out of here?”
Chapter Two
Wes
Shit. She’s angrier than I expected. I don’t know why this surprises me. She’s always had a giant stick embedded in her sexy ass.
I try to smooth things over by flashing my famous grin that’s been known to steal an unsuspecting heart or two. “Come on An...I mean Avery. My truck’s this way,” I gesture to the right side of the large parking lot.
She clenches her jaw at my slip up, but silently follows me.
Clicking the remote to unlock the door of my black Ford F350, the lights flash and I hear her gasp. “What?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.
“I have to ride in this?” Her expression of horror is confusing. What’s not awesome about my truck? It’s a big, bad beast on the road - like me between the sheets.
“Good Wood Tree Removal Inc.,” she reads the name on the door. Her surprise filled eyes rise to meet mine. “Is this your company?”
“Mhm, yes it is, An...Avery.”
She covers her mouth with her hand, but her eyes are filled with mirth as she snorts. “We’re good with wood.” She reads the slogan under the company name then giggles. “This is so bad, Wesley. You don’t mind driving around in this giant cheese mobile?”
“Mind? Are you kidding? This truck is a chick magnet. They read ‘Good Wood,’ and automatically assume I bring a lot to the table - or should I say bed?” I wiggle my eyebrows at her. She probably thinks I’m joking, but it’s the truth. “Which is a correct assumption, by the way. I wanted to call it Greatest Wood, but that seemed too boastful,” I wink, “and I don’t need to brag.”