by Teagan Kade
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, and 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 thi
nking 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.
I place the dino dildo down. I’m looking pretty ridiculous sitting on this chair about a foot from the floor. “I don’t know. Taylor’s Taylor, high and almighty. To be honest, she’s a bit of a bitch. I don’t think anyone would disagree with that.”
Willow looks at me. Her hair’s pulled up into a tight ponytail, a single, fiery twist hanging against her cheek, a smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose. Without her glasses, her violet eyes are luminous. “So why are you with her?”
Good fucking question. “We’re not together, per se. I don’t think we ever were.”
“Yet you let people believe you are. Why?”
“Convenience, I suppose. Are you jealous?” I add a smile, my dinosaur’s head falling off.
“No.” But it’s hard to miss the light blush that warms her cheeks. Her focus is back on braiding, delicate fingers working fast. I bet they’d be like fucking velvet wrapped around my cock. “I don’t want to become one of your famous conquests,” she adds.
“Who said you’d be famous?” I reply.
She stops, glaring at me. “Wow. How do you even walk with a head that big?”
“It’s called confidence.”
She resumes braiding. “Oh, I can think of many things it’s called, and none of them start with ‘C.’”
Time to turn up the heat. “Come on. Admit you’re attracted to me.”
“I’m not even going to reply to that.”
“Not even a little?” I keep the smile on, pressing her into an answer.
“What’s does ‘attractood’ mean?” sings a little voice between us.
Willow ignores the question. Her face has gone from snow white to Sahara hot, but she manages to remain collected. She looks down at her work. “You’ve got a nice body. So what? I’m not a shallow bimbo who’s only interested in the size of a guy’s… pectorals.”
I laugh. “It’s not the size of my pecs most girls sign up for.”
Now she looks at me. “Are you serious?”
“What’s a pectoral?” calls another kid.
“Nothing Xavier,” she calls back. She exhales, tying off the braid. “There you go, Kimberley.”
Willow stands, hands on her hips. She looks adorable when she’s mad. “Listen, you can try your little pants-removing charm on me all you want, but I’m not going to let you off your duties. You did something stupid and now you have to make amends. So you’re going to miss some precious time at the Quagmire, maybe a few drunken bar brawls or threesomes or whatever it is you get up to. I’m impervious to serial womanizers. Sorry.”
God, now this is turning me on. I have to shift my chair so none of the kids see the giant erection she’s creating in my pants. “I’m not trying to get out of anything. You’ve got the wrong idea, and we’ll see.”
“About what?”
I fucking love this position, looking right up between her legs. I could take hold of her right now, pull her down into my lap… if there weren’t twenty kids milling about. “We’ll see if you’re impervious to my charms.” I stand, rising above her and bending down to whisper in her ear. I don’t miss the way her breath catches when I speak, her body turning rigid as a fucking flagpole. “Because if I were a betting man, I’d say the odds are wholly in my favor.”
CHAPTER FIVE
WILLOW
I’m up high in the stands of the college stadium. They call it ‘The Litterbox’ thanks to its rectangular layout. Others would say the title’s more befitting the state the stadium’s left in post-game.
Early morning mist rises from the field. I spot Asher making his way to the home plate, bat in hand.
The beauty of training sessions is that anyone can watch. It’s actually the first time I’ve been in here. I went to Yankees stadium when I was a kid. We were never well off, but Dad bought me a hot dog and fries. I can still smell it. We were so close you could see the raked infield dirt. I was sold.
He died two years ago, on my birthday.
Being here, in another ballpark, forces those memories to the surface.
I recognize Leon pitching. He fires pitch after pitch, Asher slugging them back with rapid-fire precision. Down there, in his element, he really is something to behold. Another hot flush works its way across my skin. I push my sweater down between my legs to stifle the need growing there, but the more I watch, the more it continues to build and expand until I realize I’ve been holding my breath for the last minute.
I don’t even know why I decided to come this morning. To watch him? A guy who epitomizes all I despise about college?
You’re regressing, Willow.
There’s an extra-loud crack. I watch the ball jet into the air.
Uh-oh.
It starts to fall. It’s coming right for me.
I slide off the seat and crouch behind the one in front, praying Asher hasn’t seen me up here spying on him. He’d never let me live it down.
Mercifully, the ball ricochets off a rail a few rows down, bouncing its way down the stairs.
That’s enough excitement for one morning, don’t you think?
I get out of there before he sees me, my pulse racing, sweaty, but smiling all the same.
*
We’re on a break at the home. Asher’s got marker pen on his face. One of the kids was trying to draw a moustache on him. I think he’s forgotten about it. I figure I’ll keep my mouth shut, give him a chance to discover it in a mirror.
It shouldn’t be long. He probably checks himself out on the hour.
He sees me watching him. “Yes?”
I put my soda down. “You know, you’re not terrible at this.”
He laughs. “Is that your idea of a compliment?”
“I’m serious. The kids really like you.”
“Only because I’ve got a cool leather jacket.”
I smile. “No. You’re good with them. Dare I say it, but you’re a natural—Dad material even.”
He puts his hands out. “Whoa, whoa. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”
“You know what I mean.”
/>
He rocks forward in his chair, elbows on the table. “You’re pretty good at this yourself. You’ve got nieces, nephews, that kind of thing?”
I take hold of the soda again. “I was an only child, actually.”
“Explains a lot.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“The constant search for approval, the studying. I get it.”
I laugh. “You don’t get anything about me.”
“You’d be surprised.”
I put my foot down, my tone turning accusatory. “I actually have to work for my grades.”
“And you don’t think I do?” he fires back.
I laugh again, can’t believe he’s asking the question. “I don’t know if you’ve really worked for anything in your life, least of all grades. I bet you could not show up to a single class and still come out of this with a killer GPA.”
His expression turns slightly serious. “Maybe I’m just really smart.”
I laugh at the ceiling. “Yeah, right.”
“Is it so hard to believe?”
I nod. “Yeah, it kind of is. For one, you’re always out either partying or sexing up some poor girl, which means you don’t actually have any time to study.”
He goes to talk, but I cut him off. “Two, if you were smart, you wouldn’t be here, would you? Dining with me while your baseball buddies live it up back on campus.”
“You’re talking two kinds of smart there.”
“Oh, so you’re saying I’m not, what? Street smart?”
“The streets?” he heckles. “You look like you were born in a convent.”
He said what? “Yeah, well, you look like the illegitimate love child of Axel Rose and Janis Joplin.”
Now he smiles. “And that, ladies and gentlemen, is high praise indeed.”
We both relax, my anger subsiding.
He leans over the table. “You want to know the truth?”
“Sure.”
“I don’t find any of the subjects I’m enrolled in that interesting. What can I say? I prefer sports. At least with baseball everything makes sense. It’s simple mathematics, physics. It’s the best classroom in the world.”
And damn it, I’ve got nothing to argue back with. “I like this truthful guy.”