The Change Up

by Quinn, Meghan

  Honestly, both options suck. The one that’s not going to hurt Kinsley is going to annoy me the most, but I’d rather be annoyed than make Kinsley mad at me, so I suck up my pride.

  “Kinsley’s on a date.”

  From the corner of my eye, I see Linc’s entire face light with absolute pleasure of what I can only assume he considers my suffering—which it is. I’m suffering here from the thought of Kinsley out with the chin poser.

  “Is that so?” He turns in his stool and faces me. “Tell me more.”

  I knew he wouldn’t make this easy on me.

  Pushing my hand through my thick, dark hair, I say, “Don’t know much. His name is Dudley, she thinks he’s hot, they’re on a date, and he is a douche who poses for a picture while holding his chin.”

  “I know the exact pose. With his thumb and forefinger?” I nod and Linc laughs. “Total douche. Where did she meet him?”

  “Someone set her up.” I fail to mention it was the geriatric neighbor down the hall who’s the matchmaker because honestly, it sounds so unreal, I can barely comprehend it.

  Six days. I was gone for six days and it feels like my entire world has been flipped on its side. I was expecting to come home today to my girl, share some food, hang out, maybe cuddle a bit. In other words—be Maddox and Kinny. Not sit at a cold bar with a guy I just spent a few hours on the plane with.

  “And from the way you’re gripping that beer bottle, I’m going to guess the guy who said nothing would EVER happen with his fuck-hot best friend is now regretting not making a move before he left on his road trip.”

  “Not regretting, just . . . hell, I don’t know, man. I’m not fucking happy, that’s for damn sure.”

  “Should we explore the feelings you’re harboring? Because I saw them the minute you made eye contact with Kinsley after our game last week. There was longing in your eyes, but also a sense of complacency, as if you would be happy for the rest of your life if you got to look at her every day.”

  “You saw that and still flirted with her? You’re an asshole.”

  “Flirting to get a rise out of you.” He sips his beer. “Glad it worked. But seriously, why are you holding back? I’ve known you for a long time, not as long as Kinsley, but long enough to know she’s special to you . . . and not just in a best friend way.”

  “Yeah, I’m beginning to think she’s special in a whole other way too.”

  “Then go for it.”

  “It’s not that easy.” I shake my head. “She’s so fucking important to me. If I make a move and she’s not interested, I could fuck over the best thing in my life, my rather unstable and rocky life. She’s been the only constant through all the years. She’s never left my side. She was there to hold my hand after my mom left us. She was there when my dad started abusing alcohol. She was the one cheering me on in the stands when my brother went to college. She was there when I was drafted and then when my dad passed. She was there every fucking second of the days I was back in Woodland.” I glance up at Linc. “She was there, holding me tightly, when Jamie broke my heart. She’s been a part of every milestone in my life that’s carved and shaped me into the person I am today. I can’t jeopardize losing her over some weird feeling that’s in the pit of my stomach.”

  Linc grows serious and nods. “But what if it’s so much more and you’re not giving it a chance to become something even more amazing?”

  I’m about to answer him when a text message lights up my phone.

  Kinsley.

  I quickly unlock my phone and read it.

  Kinsley: Stood up by a “dud” < - - get it? Where are you? I need some Maddox to make me feel not like a loser.

  “Is it her?” Linc asks.

  I nod. “She got stood up,” I say in such an angry voice that I surprise myself. “She wants to hang out.”

  “Invite her here.”

  “I’m not in a good frame of mind.”

  “I’m sure, after being stood up, she isn’t either.” Linc nudges me and I hate that he’s right, so I send a text back.

  Maddox: At Paddy’s with Linc. Come join us. I’ll order you a drink.

  She texts back immediately.

  Kinsley: Gah! I love you. See you soon.

  I set my phone down and chug the rest of my beer right before ordering another one . . . and a drink for Kinsley.

  * * *

  “Hey Linc,” Kinsley says, bouncing into the bar looking quite happy for someone who was stood up.

  I watch as Linc’s eyes widen when he takes her in and then gives her a hug. From over her shoulder he mouths, “fuck-hot” and I roll my eyes. It’s the only reaction I can come up with since I completely agree with him. Kinsley is on a whole other level tonight with her spunky hair and fire-engine red lipstick.

  “Hey Kinsley, you look fine tonight.”

  She takes a seat next to me but not before placing a kiss on my cheek and sipping from the drink I bought her. “If only you were my date,” she says to Linc. “You would have showed up.”

  “Yeah, I fucking would have,” Linc says, looking down at Kinsley’s chest and then back up. From under the bar, I kick his shin, which he discreetly hides by turning away, bottom lip pulled under his teeth, a soft groan escaping him.

  “Do you think he saw me and walked away? Like maybe I didn’t live up to the image Joan painted for him? I’m not all that into my looks like some girls, but I wouldn’t say I was looking terrible tonight.”

  “Definitely not looking terrible,” I mutter before taking another sip of my drink, letting the bottle hang on my lips for a few seconds longer.

  “Ugh, then Dudley really is a dud. That’s so disappointing. I was really looking forward to going out on a date.”

  “No need to be upset,” Linc says. “You have two rich, successful, and incredibly sexy men sitting right next to you. Well, at least I’m incredibly sexy. You can date us tonight.”

  What the hell is he saying?

  He nods to the small arcade in the back of the bar that no one ever uses. “There are some games back there. We can order some nachos—”

  “She’s vegan,” I cut in.

  “Uh, then we can order some . . . carrots?” He chuckles and continues, “Play some games, get to know each other on a deeper level.”

  “That sounds like fun,” Kinsley says, the ever optimistic. “It would get my mind off being stood up.”

  “Perfect.” Linc stands from his stool and calls to the bartender. “Sam, can we get some carrots and celery sent to the back?” He nods. Linc then leads Kinsley by the arm to the back of the bar while calling over his shoulder to me. “Come on, Maddie.”

  I have a feeling asking Linc out tonight was a big mistake.

  Linc sets us up at the air hockey table and says, “We can play tournament style.” He holds up his finger and digs his phone out of his pocket, where he looks like he’s reading a text. Wincing he says, “Shit, I forgot I had to sign some shit for my assistant to mail out tomorrow morning. I’m going to have to bounce.”

  How.

  Fucking.

  Convenient.

  He leans over to Kinsley, gives her a hug, and says, “Sorry to leave you in your time of need, but I trust Maddox can take good care of you.”

  Arms crossed, Kinsley eyes me up and down, as if we haven’t known each other since we were five. “I think he’ll do. Have a good night, Linc.”

  “You too.” He throws up the peace sign to me, accompanied by a knowing smirk, and then takes off.

  Yup, inviting him was a mistake.

  “Are you ready to get your butt whooped?” Kinsley asks, picking up a paddle and moving side to side, as if everything between us is completely normal. She’s utterly oblivious to the weird feelings that are sprouting inside me. Unaware of the pain I’m feeling, being this close to her and unable to touch her. Noticing my unease, she pauses and stands tall. “Are you okay? You seem a little weird.”

  “Uh, yeah. Sorry.” I shake my head and swallow down the
uneasiness building inside me. “Jet-lagged.”

  “It was the same time zone.”

  “Yeah, uh you know what I mean. Planes and shit.”

  Her lips purse to the side as she studies me. “Are you sure that’s it?”

  “Yup.” I pick up the other paddle and stand at my side.

  But she doesn’t move to start the air. She continues to study me, and I beg and plead to whoever wants to listen that she can’t see through the thin veil I have over my disconcerting feelings. I want her, but I can’t have her. I can’t ruin . . . us.

  “I’m sorry if I crashed your hangout. We can go back to the apartment if you want. Or I can go, give you some time alone.”

  Going back to the apartment doesn’t seem like a great idea right now, and I sure as hell don’t want her to leave. “I invited you.” I nod toward the start button. “Stop stalling your impending doom.”

  Her eyes light up. “Excuse me, do you really think you’re going to beat me?”

  “When have you ever beat me in anything?”

  She thinks about it for a second. Not coming up with anything, she says, “There’s always time for that first win.”

  “Just press start.”

  And she does, sending air through the tiny holes of the table. She picks up the puck from her slot and swats the paddle at it, sending it careening down the middle. I bounce it off the side with ease, sending it directly into her goal. The clinking sound of the puck down the shoot very satisfying.

  “One to zero, babe. You’re going to have to try a lot harder than that if you want to beat me.”

  She pretends to roll up her non-existent sleeves and says, “That was just a warmup. Now I’m going to rock your world.”

  Pretty sure she already has.

  * * *

  “Let me see it.”

  I lower the pack of ice Sam gave us after Kinsley ran up to the bar in a panic asking for one.

  She winces, taking in the lump under my eye. “Wow, it keeps getting bigger.”

  I return the ice to my eye and lean back in the booth we’re sharing. She’s crowded against me, apology written all over her face.

  She should look apologetic, after throwing her paddle clear across the table after I scored the winning goal. It was a bratty reaction that I’ve seen many times before in our younger years, surprised it resurfaced in our twenties—in the worst way possible—with an air hockey paddle to the face.

  She claims I should have better reactions to things flying at my face. I claimed she should have better reactions to losing. Plus, in my defense, it’s dark, and I truly wasn’t expecting a temper tantrum from the other side of the table.

  “If it makes you feel any better, I feel like I tore a tendon in my arm from chucking that at you. I gave it all my might.”

  “Much better,” I say sarcastically.

  “You know, maybe the Rebels should consider me as a closer given my speed and accuracy.”

  “What accuracy? Were you aiming for my eye?”

  “Well, no, but I really wasn’t aiming for anything and then bam, got you in the old eyeball. Imagine the strikes I could surprise people with.”

  “Or the disaster that you’d be on the mound. You’d need someone to piss you off to be able to throw the ball the sixty feet to the plate.”

  “Hey.” She puts one hand on her hip. “I can throw the ball. I’ve seen you do it enough to know it’s not that hard.”

  “Not that hard?” I laugh and shake my head. “You’re insane.” Removing the ice pack, I set it on the table. “And you’re supposed to be this earth-loving, beautiful spirit, not a rager who gives their friends black eyes with air hockey paddles.”

  “I like the earth and animals, never said anything about humans.” She smirks, then picks up the ice pack and puts it back on my eye, holding it for me.

  Her leg presses against mine as she has somehow shuffled her small body in the booth so her back is against the table and her knees against the booth seat so she’s facing me. The thought of pulling her onto my lap so she’s more comfortable has crossed my mind, but thankfully I didn’t lose my common sense when she pegged me in the head.

  “Are you mad at me?” she asks, softly.

  “What? No.” I laugh and place my hand on her thigh, reassuring her that it’s okay. “I think we need to talk about your anger management but I’m not mad at you, Kin. Not sure I could ever be mad at you. Irritated, yes, but mad—”

  “Are you irritated with me?” Her eyes widen.

  “Mildly.”

  She drops the ice pack and gets even closer . . . if possible, her natural scent of lavender swirling around the both of us, wrapping us in a tight blanket.

  “You’re irritated with me? Why?” It’s not an accusation or a demand to know; it’s more of a quizzical question, as if she doesn’t quite understand.

  Wanting to be gentle with her, I say, “Just threw me for a loop, that’s all.”

  “Was it the recycling I brought home?”

  “That was a shock to say the least, to have all that on the balcony, but I also understand your heart.”

  “Was it all the mugs? I know you have bowls, but I really like a handle. But if you want me to use a bowl or plate for my veggie crudité, I can.”

  “It’s not the mugs. That’s kind of cute.”

  “Cute?” Her brows shoot up. “Does that mean you’ll get more mugs?”

  “No.”

  She folds her arms over her chest. “Then you might be drinking your coffee out of a bowl.”

  “Leave me without a mug and I’ll buy Styrofoam cups.”

  Her eyes sharpen and I swear fire lights up in them as she says, “Don’t you dare mutter the S word around me. How companies still use Styrofoam is beyond me. It takes fifty years for one single cup to decompose. Fifty years, so that means coffee you drank from a Styrofoam cup ten years ago is still floating around here and will be for the next forty. The cup you slipped your canker sore lips over is still—”

  “I don’t have fucking canker-sore lips.”

  She huffs. “I’m trying to be dramatic here, Maddox.”

  “Choose a different route.”

  She waves at me. “You get my point. Don’t you dare even think about bringing Styrofoam back to our apartment, or I will slash you in your sleep. And then ensure your body decomposes quickly to help grow more trees.”

  Smiling, my hand still on her thigh, I give it a squeeze and say, “Our apartment?”

  “You surely don’t consider it just yours, not after I brought recycling back from the office, do you? That right there is claiming the space as mine too. Which reminds me, we got off track. Why are you mildly irritated with me? It’s not the recycling or the mugs.” She taps her chin. “I know I’m a little messy, but I cleaned that up, and—”

  “It’s Clyde.”

  “Clyde?” Her nose crinkles, and fuck it’s so adorable, I want to kiss that crinkle away. “What do you have against a sleeping mechanism that has provided you many nights of comfort in the past?”

  “The past being the key word. The thing is breaking down every night and hearing the duct tape is annoying as fuck. Plus, is duct tape really eco-friendly?”

  She smiles wide. “My off-brand is.”

  Of course.

  “Either way, it’s fucking annoying. Just use the air mattress or hell, share my bed, sleep on the couch, do anything.”

  “Sleep in your bed? Yeah right, I don’t want to see you wanking off at night. Gross.”

  Wow. Can’t hear that enough.

  “You really think I’d jerk off with you right next to me?”

  She shrugs. “Possibly. If you were horny enough. Honestly, I don’t want the sheets to wave up and down while I’m next to you, hearing you grunt and chuckle—”

  “Why the hell am I chuckling when jacking off?”

  “I watched Stan jack off once,” she says so casually that it freaks me out. What kind of shit did she and Stan get into? Do I reall
y want to know? “We were doing this thing where we’d play with ourselves in front of each other. I always thought it would be one hell of a fantasy fulfilled, but unfortunately Stan wasn’t sexy when it came to winging his willy around. He would grunt and then chuckle, grunt and then chuckle. So I figured, might be a Woodland thing?” Seriously, she asks, “Do you grunt and chuckle?”

  “Do I look like a man who grunts and chuckles when clutching his cock?” I ask in a low voice, trying to make a point.

  I watch as she carefully swallows and then looks me up and down, giving me a full once-over, pausing at my lips . . . then slowly wets hers.

  They glisten under the bar light.

  A light thrum starts at the base of my spine as I wait for her eyes to connect with mine again, but the longer they stay on my lips, the harder my body gets.

  It’s so tempting . . . to reach out, close the space between us, take her mouth with mine.

  Finally, when her eyes return to mine, she takes a deep breath and says, “No, you don’t . . . you look like a man who squeals like a pig in heat.” And then she laughs so hard tears start to fall down her cheeks.

  Really, fucking funny.

  * * *

  “Do you want more ice?” Kinsley asks as we push through the apartment door. I switch on the light, illuminating the living room, but keeping the rest of the apartment dark.

  I have one thing on my mind—it’s taken me time to muster the courage—and I’m not going to bed without doing what I played over and over in my head, while my hand was on Kinsley’s thigh.

  The rest of the night we hung out in the booth. She teased me relentlessly, constantly bringing me back down to earth, mocking my celebrity status. It’s one of the things I love about her. She’s never treated me as Maddox Paige, the multi-million-dollar pitcher on his way to the Hall of Fame. She treats me as Maddie, the boy she grew up with. If that ever changed, I think my entire world would be flipped, and I wouldn’t know what to do.