Kiss Now, Lie Later

by C. W. Farnsworth

  “Elizabeth.”

  “Maeve Elizabeth Stevens?”

  I laugh. “Okay, I get it. Calling someone by their full name feels weird. I feel like I’m either in trouble, or you’re about to propose to me.” Wes snorts, and I blush. Who mentions getting engaged on their first quasi date with a guy? Me, apparently.

  “You get one,” Wes informs me.

  “One what?”

  “Chance to call me by my full name. I do, too.”

  “Okay, deal,” I tell him.

  We’re both silent again, and the quiet gives me a chance to catalog an array of subtle details: the way his light brown hair looks black now that it’s wet, the freckle on his right collarbone, and the enticing curve of his lips as he watches me study him.

  “We should, uh, we should head in,” I suggest. My arms and legs are getting tired from treading water, but I’m more concerned about what might happen if I stay in this lake with him. I feel flushed again, despite the chilly water we’re submerged in.

  Wes nods, and we swim side by side back to shore. The air temperature feels warmer than the water did. Wes sneaks a few peeks at me as we walk back over to our small heaps of clothes, which I only catch because I’m doing the same thing to him. Since neither of us are wearing actual swimwear, the water has done nothing but make our scanty outfits even more revealing. My shorts slide back on easily, but it’s no easy feat to pull my tight tank top over my soaking sports bra. I think I hear Wes let out a low laugh as I do an awkward shimmy to slide it back on, but it’s impossible to tell over the sound of the water lapping against the shore, and his face is serious when he holds his hand out to me again and begins leading me back through the woods.

  We’re both silent, but it’s not an awkward silence. It’s a comfortable one. I don’t feel this at ease with guys I went to kindergarten with. We pass the cabin and arrive back at our cars. It’s an odd sight, seeing a car with an Alleghany Football bumper sticker parked next to mine with a Glenmont Football one.

  “‘Parting is such sweet sorrow,’” I quote as we stop between the two parked cars.

  Weston smirks. “You making fun of me, Stevens?”

  “Yes, I am, Cole,” I respond shamelessly. His smirk deepens.

  “William would be proud. See you tomorrow, Maeve.”

  chapter five

  Weston

  I’ve spent more time thinking about Maeve Stevens than I would ever admit to anyone.

  I’ve told her things I’d never told anyone else. Prior to learning any of the basic information you typically acquire about someone before confiding in them.

  I’ve fantasized about the way she looked at me on that abandoned log. While other girls were begging for my attention.

  I’ve kissed her. Because I wanted to the entire time I first spoke to her in the woods, both before and after she told me her last name.

  She’s an epically bad idea. I know it. But it hasn’t kept me from considering it. Hasn’t kept me from doing a damn thing, to be honest. Last night was supposed to get her out of my head. Instead, she managed to get more under my skin in the two hours we spent together than I would have thought possible. I’m not a sharer; I don’t open up to people. Especially girls.

  I’m tempted to blame my uncharacteristic vulnerability on the fact she shocked the shit out of me when she stripped down to her sports bra and that tiny scrap of pink lace. It’s a move I’d expect from Emily or one of the other girls who hang around me, but from Maeve Stevens? Entirely unexpected. Based on everything I’ve heard and observed, I was half-expecting her to enter the water fully dressed.

  But I can’t blame everything on that. Because I invited her to this field long before she took any clothes off. And I still can’t believe I did. There are a dozen soccer fields in Fayetteville, and I gave her the address to the only one I have any sentimental attachment to.

  Before my family moved to Alleghany, we’d come visit my mom’s brother for a week each summer at the same lakeside cabin I brought Maeve to last night. Every minute I wasn’t at the lake, I’d spend with my dad at this park, playing football. Back then, it was the one week he fully detached from his work, and it’s one of the few fond childhood memories I have with him, back when we had a functioning relationship. Even though we live only twenty minutes away from it now, we’ve never been back to this field together. I always come alone.

  Except for today.

  I watch Maeve Stevens walk across the field towards me, clutching a water bottle in one hand with a soccer ball tucked under her other arm. She’s wearing navy shorts with a matching tank top, and her blonde hair is up in a high ponytail that swishes as she strides along.

  She stops a couple feet away from me, dropping the black and white patterned ball.

  “Hey,” she greets, studying me. A light flush works its way across her freckled cheeks, which I don’t think is due to the warm summer air. She was quick to shut down any intimate moments last night, but if the number of glances she gave my body were any indication, it wasn’t because she isn’t interested. I’m assuming it’s because she knows she shouldn’t be. Something I should be thinking about too, but something I can’t seem to manage to care about whenever she’s around.

  “Hi, Maeve,” I reply, surveying her back. Her green eyes are almost the exact shade of the lush grass we’re standing on, and I quickly get lost in their bottomless depths.

  “Are you—um, are you ready to play?” Maeve asks, and I realize we’re still just standing and staring at each other.

  She’s definitely blushing now.

  “I’ve been ready to play with you for a long time, Stevens,” I reply.

  “I hope you know what you’re in for, Cole,” she flirts back, smirking slightly. She drops her water bottle on the sideline and dribbles towards the center of the field. I jog after her.

  “First to ten?” I suggest as we stop on either side of the white line drawn across the center of the field. It’s a fitting metaphor for our relationship. Or lack thereof.

  “It’s going to be a short game,” Maeve predicts confidently.

  She starts dribbling forward, and I match her pace as I start to move backwards, giving her enough space to move but staying close enough to make my presence felt. She maintains eye contact with me rather than looking down at the ball, but her steps don’t falter as we reach the penalty arc.

  I make my move as soon as we cross the line, pressing forward and attempting to swipe the ball away from her. She dodges my sad attempt at a steal easily, and moves to sprint past me. I manage to stay in front of her, but only barely.

  Maeve grins, showcasing the dimple in her left cheek. The last time I played against a girl was in elementary school, and my eight-year-old self certainly wasn’t thinking about any of the things I want to do with Maeve Stevens besides playing soccer during recess basketball games. Maeve spins, somehow taking the ball with her. My distracted brain takes a second to catch up, and it’s a second too long. She sends the soccer ball slamming against the white netting of the goal, and even if I was paying close attention I doubt I could have stopped it. It’s a seamless, practiced move, one I’m quite certain she could have demonstrated as soon as we started playing.

  Maeve starts jogging backwards. “Your ball, Cole!” She winks.

  I retrieve the ball, and this time I’m the one who starts dribbling forward. Maeve doesn’t give me a chance to move more than a few feet forward before she snags the ball and starts sprinting towards the goal I’m supposed to be defending. I run after her, but to no avail. She doubles her lead.

  It turns out Maeve was right. It doesn’t take long for her to reach ten goals, and I only manage two in the same stretch of time. But we keep playing, employing a lot more physical contact than I think the rules of soccer allow for. Not that I’m complaining.

  Eventually, we come to a mutual agreement to call it. I dribble the ball over to the spot where Maeve left her water bottle, and she follows. We flop down on the grass side by sid
e, both still breathing heavily.

  “This is a nice park,” Maeve remarks, glancing around after she takes a long pull from her water bottle. “I’ve never been here before.”

  “I used to come here with my dad,” I admit. “When we’d visit my uncle and his family at the cabin in the summer. He and I would play football for hours.”

  “It’s nice that you have those memories,” Maeve says softly.

  “Don’t you? Coach Stevens totally seems like the type of dad who would start training his kids to catch the football as toddlers.”

  “Yeah, he was,” Maeve replies. “With Liam.”

  I wish I could shove my question back in my mouth. “Maeve—shit, I’m sorry, I’m the last person who should be making assumptions—”

  “It’s fine, Wes,” she assures me as she starts picking at blades of grass and dropping them on her long, bare legs. “Don’t worry about it. That’s just always how it’s been with us. In some ways I feel worse for Liam. The pressure on him is relentless.”

  “Doesn’t your dad support you with soccer? I mean, Maeve, you’re good. Really good.”

  She smiles in response to my compliment. “He comes to my games when he can, but he spends most of the time talking to the other parents there about his season. Every sport except football is basically just a hobby to him.” She shrugs, as though it doesn’t bother her, but I’m getting better at reading her. I can tell it does. And it should.

  “Did you use to be closer with him?” I ask.

  “Not really,” Maeve replies. “He was gone a lot when I was little, and—I mean, you’ve met him. He’s hardly the warm and fuzzy type.”

  I snort. “True.” After a brief pause I ask another question. “Is it because of the drinking?”

  Maeve’s eyes flash from her knees to meet my gaze, and I wonder if she forgot she told me about her father’s alcoholism freshman year. “I think that’s part of it,” she finally says. “I don’t remember much of it, honestly. Like I said, he wasn’t home a lot back then. He was coaching at Arlington. But he and my mom would fight a lot when he did come back. Once, I think I was eight or nine, he came home when I was down in the kitchen getting a drink of water. He was stumbling around, slamming into everything. I got scared, thinking there was an intruder or something, so I hid under the kitchen table. My mom came downstairs, they started arguing, and that’s when I realized it was actually my dad. I just remember thinking how if drinking could make my father act like that I never wanted to.”

  “But he stopped?”

  “Yeah, when Liam and I started fifth grade. I think my mom gave him an ultimatum. He quit his job at Arlington and moved back to Glenmont full-time. My friend Brooke’s father owns an insurance company, he worked there for a little while, and then he started coaching at Glenmont when the position opened up. He took Liam to every practice and game, starting his very first season.”

  “Wow,” I remark. “Liam’s been watching high school games since middle school? I was sticking frogs in my teachers’ desks at that age.”

  Maeve laughs, lightening the heavy moment. “I’m not surprised.”

  “I’m a big fan of a good prank,” I inform her.

  “Really?” Maeve replies, raising her eyebrows. “So the fact that someone dyed our pool blue—Alleghany blue—last fall . . . ” She looks at me questioningly.

  “Yeah, I came up with that,” I admit.

  “It was funny,” she replies, smiling.

  “Thank you,” I respond, grinning back. Our mutual amusement fades slowly, and then I acknowledge the humorless revelations she just shared with me. “I’m sorry about your dad, Maeve. It’s his loss, I promise.”

  “Thanks for listening,” she replies. “I, uh—I’ve never told anyone any of that before.”

  “You can tell me anything, Maeve,” I promise.

  “Yeah, I kind of feel like I can,” she says softly. Her phone vibrates on the grass between us, and she leaps up, dusting the errant blades of grass off her shorts. “Shit, I have to go get changed before work. I totally lost track of time.”

  “Work?”

  “Yeah, I’m a waitress at Mo’s Diner,” she informs me. She kicks the resting soccer ball airborne, and catches it neatly before reaching down to grab her water bottle. “This was—uh, this was really nice, Wes. I’ll . . . I mean, I guess I’ll see you around sometime?”

  “We could meet here again tomorrow?” I suggest. “You could decimate me at soccer again, or I’m supposed to be working on my throwing technique?” I’m going for broke here. We may have swapped some pretty personal secrets, but I’m asking Maeve Stevens if she wants to help me improve at football. Me. The guy standing between her father and brother, and a state championship. There’s a very high chance she’s going to tell me to go screw myself. And I wouldn’t blame her if she did. But I would care. I would care a lot.

  More than anything I’ve confided in her about, this is also my way of letting her know I trust her. Not just with some unpleasant truths, but with my football technique. With my strategy. With information Liam Stevens could use to beat me.

  “I could—I could catch a football,” Maeve finally says. I let out a long exhale I hadn’t realized I was holding. The release of air is followed by a rush of euphoria.

  “Okay then,” I reply, fairly certain my wide grin is betraying my casual words and letting her know exactly how much her agreeing means to me. “I'll text you and we can figure out a time to meet."

  “Okay then,” she repeats, and then turns and starts walking towards the parking lot. I watch her go. Maeve Stevens is like quicksand. I’m not even trying to get out, and I’m still sinking deeper and deeper.

  I remain sitting on the grass until my phone begins buzzing. It’s Chris.

  “What’s up?” I answer.

  “Where are you, Cole? You said you’d be at the lake half an hour ago.”

  “I’ll be there soon,” I promise, before hanging up. I climb to my feet reluctantly, stretching my arms above my head before heading in the direction of the parking lot. My body’s not used to doing this much running. I tend to rely on the power of my left arm to ensure the football reaches the end zone, and I have a new respect for athletes who play sports that don’t allow them to ever sit back on their heels. Specifically Maeve Stevens.

  There’s only one other car in the paved rectangle that comprises the parking lot. I climb inside my SUV, and head back in the direction of Alleghany. It takes me twenty minutes to reach my driveway, and I’m relieved to see both of my parents’ cars are missing. I go in through the front door, kicking off the sneakers I wore to the park in the immaculate entryway. I head into my room, not bothering to change my sweaty t-shirt. I simply swap out my athletic shorts for a pair of swim trunks, and then grab a baseball cap before heading back downstairs. I’m in and out in a matter of minutes.

  It’s a short drive to Alleghany’s public stretch of lakeshore from my house. I park along the side of the road, behind the long line of cars overflowing from the parking area. I stroll casually onto the sand that’s made from a mixture of beige and light gray grains. The central congregation is all Alleghany High students, with some families and younger kids present on the periphery. A few girls, who look to be freshman or sophomores, giggle as I pass them.

  My arrival causes its usual stir as I infiltrate the grouping that consists mostly of seniors. Chris breathes an exaggerated sigh of relief when I make my way over to his side.

  “Where the hell have you been, Cole?” he asks from his seat in the sand.

  “I told you I was training,” I reply, grabbing a sports drink from the cooler sitting in the sand.

  “Yeah, three hours ago! You’ve seriously been practicing this whole time?”

  “Uh-huh,” I respond, taking a long drink of the cold liquid. I should have known better than to not bring a drink to the field after running sprints with Maeve last night. I cap the bottle and pull my still-damp t-shirt over my head. The move draws se
veral admiring glances from the girls gathered around us, but none of the heated gazes I feel on me have a fraction of the effect Maeve’s did last night.

  “Jesus, Cole,” Chris remarks. “You weren’t getting enough attention already? Way to make the rest of us look bad.”

  I roll my eyes. He spends as much time at the gym as I do. “I’m going swimming,” I inform him.

  “Water’s freezing,” Chris warns.

  “Those two children seem to be managing all right,” I inform him, laughing as I nod to the two kids splashing in the shallows. Chris flips me off, and I grin at him before I head towards the sparkling water. I dive in as soon as the water reaches my waist, and the sticky residue of sweat disappears as soon as I submerge myself in the refreshing liquid. I swim out a few hundred feet to the floating dock that’s marooned offshore, but I don’t bother to pull myself up on the weathered surface. I turn around and head back towards the shore.

  When I emerge from the water, I make a point to send some errant drops of water Chris’s way. He flips me off again as I settle in the sand beside him. Charlie has appeared, but there’s no sign of Adam.

  “Hey, Wes,” Charlie greets. “Chris said you were training?”

  “Yup,” I reply, retrieving my drink and taking another long sip.

  I expect Charlie to give me a hard time about showing up late too, but instead he looks pleased. “Good. Glenmont started their captain’s practices today.”

  “Are you serious?” Chris replies. “Already?”

  “Yup,” Charlie confirms. “It was all over their social media.”

  “Shit,” Chris says. “I mean, it’s not surprising after last year’s game. We all knew Stevens would be out for blood. This is his last chance.”

  “We’ll be ready,” Charlie predicts confidently. “I already told the boys to make sure Glenmont knows our quarterback practiced all morning. Nice work, Cole.”