by S. Walden
I nodded.
“Looks like they play four games a year. Well, according to old documents I found.”
“Only four?” I asked.
“Well, think about it, Brooke. If they’re working with a team of four girls, they’ve gotta give themselves enough time to go on dates and woo each of them.”
“Okay. That makes sense,” I said. “Do they play the school year or the entire year?”
“Looks like they play in the summertime, too,” Terry said. “And I’ll venture to say these girls don’t have a clue what’s going on.”
“What a bunch of assholes,” I said with as much feminine indignation I could portray to hide my complete and utter fascination.
He pulled up another document.
“Here they’ve rated each girl from the start. You’ve got four categories to cross-reference with the score sheet. There’s ‘Virgin’ which yields top scores for anything she does. A ‘Virgin’ is classified as any girl who hasn’t done a thing except kissing. A ‘Good Girl’ yields the second top scores—”
“What defines a ‘Good Girl’?” I asked.
“Allow me to show you Exhibit D,” Terry said. “This is a document that explains all four categories. Each member of the league signed it. I suppose so that there wouldn’t be any disputes. I guess they all decide which category each girl falls into as well. Very democratic.”
“Very fucked up,” I said.
Terry smirked. “So a ‘Good Girl’ is one who’s done a little more than kissing. Light petting. No oral anything, though.”
“Jeez.” I scanned the document looking for explanations of the last two categories.
There was the ‘Bad Girl’ category for ladies known to have participated in all acts including intercourse. But they couldn’t have had sex with more than one person. The ‘Whore’ category was for all those girls who’d given it up to multiple guys.
I laughed disdainfully, shaking my head. “This is outrageous.”
“This is what you wanted to learn,” Terry replied.
I ignored him. “Show me that spreadsheet with the teams again.”
Terry pulled it up, and I noticed letters next to each girl’s name.
“How can they possibly know if these girls are virgins?” I asked.
“Spying, I guess.”
“You mean you think other girls are helping them out?”
“I don’t know. Maybe.”
I was mortified. I read down the sheet. The letters beside each name were V’s, GG’s, BG’s, or W’s. There was one W listed for Game 2. Her name was Krista Campbell.
“Why would any of them choose a ‘whore’ if she doesn’t score well?” I asked.
“I don’t think they get to choose any girls they want. They have to pick from a list. They change out the girls every game,” Terry explained. “No girl plays in games back to back.”
“I see. Don’t want these girls feeling like sluts,” I said.
“No, just labeled as such,” Terry replied.
I sat back and looked at the ceiling. “So what’s ‘FSL’?”
“Well, there’s your Fantasy Football League.”
“Uh huh.”
“Sooo . . .”
I looked at Terry. “Fantasy Sex League?”
“Close,” he said. “Fantasy Slut League.”
I snorted. “So now they’re all sluts? What about the virgin thing?”
“I guess the whole point is to make them sluts,” Terry said.
“How do you know it’s ‘Fantasy Slut League’?”
“I saw it in an email. Can’t take credit for figuring it out myself,” he said. “You’re scheduled for Game 3.”
I nearly shit my pants. “Excuse me?!”
“I found the list of girls for Game 3. You’re one of the picks.”
My heartbeat sped up so fast I was afraid I’d have a panic attack. I closed my eyes. Fields, fields, fields. Where were the damn fields?
“My category?” I breathed, eyes still clamped shut. I really didn’t want to ask, but I had to. How would these guys know either way? Then I thought of Tanner. Oh God. What if Parker asked Tanner about me? What if Tanner ran his mouth about Finn? He knew about Finn. Don’t ask me how, but the boy knew.
“‘Good Girl’,” Terry replied.
I arched my brow and pursed my lips. “How do they know?”
“Spies, Wright. The question is, are you?”
“That’s none of your business, you dirty old man,” I spat.
It wasn’t accurate, though. A ‘Good Girl’ meant that I hadn’t had sex, and that wasn’t accurate one bit.
“When does Game 3 start?” I asked.
“Not for several months, but don’t worry. I’ll let you know when they’ve drafted their picks,” Terry said.
I stared at him. I must have looked scared because he shook his head.
“Nothing’s gonna happen to you,” Terry said. “I promise.”
I nodded.
“But you have to be smart about this, Wright,” he continued. “Don’t go putting yourself in some compromising position just to find out more information about this Cal dude. I understand why you want to get him, but you’ve gotta play it safe.”
I nodded.
“I mean, I know she was your best friend and all—”
“I got it, Terry.”
“But this could really be some serious shit. And I just think it’d be better to—”
“Terry? I got it.”
Terry closed his mouth. I chewed on mine for something to do while I thought.
“Let me see that spreadsheet again,” I said. I scanned it. “Where’s Cal’s name? I see Parker, Mike, Hunter, Tim, and Aaron, but where’s Cal?”
Terry looked over the document. “He must be sitting this one out.”
“Yeah, but why?”
***
At least I’m not a whore. That’s all I could think about while I sat on the couch watching my dad read.
“You’re home late. Work go that long?” he asked, not looking up from his Reader’s Digest.
“This couple would not leave,” I said. There was no way I was telling Dad I went to a 36-year-old man’s house to discover the details of a fantasy slut league.
He nodded, preoccupied.
Suddenly I wanted to talk to my dad. Not about anything in particular. I really just wanted him to make me laugh. I needed a distraction from all the information I recently learned.
“What was it like growing up in the Northeast?” I asked.
Dad glanced over his magazine. “Really?”
I nodded.
“Cold.”
I cocked my head at him and raised my eyebrows.
“Not friendly,” he offered.
“Do better,” I said.
Dad drew in his breath. “Why are you interested in this all of a sudden? Isn’t there a show on TV you watch at this time?”
“Dad, it’s midnight.”
“Exactly. Shouldn’t you be in bed?”
“Shouldn’t you be in bed? You’re the old person here.”
“Cute.”
I winked at him. He winked back. It was our thing. I remembered doing it ever since he taught me how to wink when I was four. I didn’t realize how much I missed it when we lived apart.
“Just tell me,” I said.
“All right. I lived in a row home. You know what that is?”
“Those houses that are joined together like townhomes?”
“Yep. Space up north is hard to come by unless you’ve got a lot of money. Most of the houses are smashed together.”
“So no back yard?” I asked.
“Um, a little one. About the size of this living room,” Dad replied.
I looked around. “That’s sad.”
“It was what it was.”
“Why wasn’t it friendly?”
“I’m sure it was friendly,” Dad said. “Just different compared to Raleigh.”
I was about to comm
ent when I heard a light knock on the front door.
“Stay right here,” Dad ordered as he jumped up from his chair. He grabbed the loaded Colt .45 tucked in the drawer of an end table. I heard him cock it.
“I’m sure it’s just—”
“Quiet, Brooklyn.”
I obeyed. Whenever my dad got like this, I listened to him. Not listening proved disastrous. I learned from past experience.
Dad peered out of the peephole and sighed. He turned in my direction.
“You know some boy with a skateboard?”
I jumped up and ran to the door. “Yes!”
“What the hell? It’s midnight, Brooke.”
“On a Friday,” I argued.
Dad grunted and returned to his chair.
“Seriously, Dad? You’re gonna sit there when I open the door?”
“You bet I am. With my gun right here in my lap, too.”
I rolled my eyes and opened the door.
Ryan stood in the doorway staring at me. I could think of nothing to say, so I just stared back. He finally broke the silence.
“I’m really sorry,” he said. “For showing up here late and for the other day . . .”
“Let’s talk outside,” I said.
“It’s midnight, Brooke,” my father called from the living room.
Oh my God.
“Maybe I should meet your friend first before you go chat outside?” he said.
I had a feeling I knew what was about to happen, but I had no choice.
“Will you come in for a minute?” I asked, and Ryan nodded.
“This is my dad, Mr. Wright,” I said.
I watched my father stand up, the gun nestled in his left hand pointing down while he extended his right. Ryan took it and shook it with what looked like trepidation mixed with a desperate attempt at confidence.
“Nice to meet you, son,” Dad said. “Now what the hell are you doing knocking on my door at midnight?” He looked at his wristwatch after releasing Ryan’s hand. “Correction. Twelve-thirty.”
“I’m really sorry, sir,” Ryan said. “Completely inappropriate, I know.”
“You got that right. Were you thinking I was out of town or something? Did Brooklyn tell you I travel for work sometimes? Were you hoping to get her alone in my house?”
Oh. My. God.
“No sir!” Ryan said. “No no, I knew you were here! I saw you in the window.”
“So you’re spying on us now?” Dad tapped the gun on the side of his thigh.
“No, Mr. Wright! I was riding my skateboard down the street—”
“At 12:30 in the morning? Are you some kind of hoodlum? What’s your number, son? Who are your parents?”
“DAD!” I cried.
My father turned in my direction. There was a hint of humor playing in his eyes and on his lips. I doubted Ryan could see it, but I could because I knew my dad. And I wanted to strangle him.
Dad turned his attention once again to Ryan. “What are your intentions with my daughter?”
I rolled my eyes.
“To talk with her outside for a few minutes?” Ryan offered.
“On the front porch. You leave that porch and I’ll come find you. Do you understand what I mean, Ryan?” Dad sank back down in his club chair and rested the gun on his lap.
“Yes, sir.”
I forgot all about feeling uncomfortable near Ryan for our past make-out session. I grabbed his hand like we were old friends and yanked him outside, all but slamming the front door in frustration and total humiliation.
“Oh my God,” I said. “I’m mortified. I’m so sorry. My dad is just—”
Ryan’s face broke out in a wide grin.
“What?” I asked.
“Your dad is awesome,” he said.
I was completely confused. Awesome? My dad was a nutcase and an embarrassment.
I didn’t know what to say.
“That’s how a father’s supposed to take care of his daughter,” he said after a moment. “I hope I take care of my daughter that way.”
I didn’t get it. I didn’t get Ryan. But he was just as sexy as I remembered him from school earlier today, and now he was standing on my front porch apparently wanting to make things right between us.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “For everything. I didn’t mean to make you feel embarrassed for going so long without making out. Like it’s a big damn deal making out.”
“It is a big damn deal,” he said. “With the right person.”
I shuffled my feet. “Well, I know. But I didn’t mean to act so shocked about it. It’s just that you’re so cute.” I blushed, but it was dark outside, so I knew he wouldn’t see. In fact, it was easy for me to be honest with him out here on the porch in the early morning hours because it was dark. Like a confessional. I could say everything on my heart, I thought, and not be ashamed.
“Well, I don’t know about cute, but there are reasons I’ve abstained, if you will.”
God, I just loved hearing him talk. What guy says, “If you will”? He sounded so intelligent, and I wanted to pounce on him. And here we go again. Was there no end to my out-of-control sexual desire for this guy? Hello, Brooklyn? Your father is right inside.
“I’m sorry I acted like a jerk,” Ryan said. “I shouldn’t have done that. I didn’t even have any place to go. I was just embarrassed. I thought I kissed you all wrong.” He hung his head.
“Are you kidding me?” I asked. “I nearly came.”
I am the biggest moron on the planet. Why did I say that?
“I mean, I didn’t almost come. I . . . I don’t know why I said that. Oh my God. I’m so embarrassed. I’m not like that. I’ve never come in my life. I mean, I’m a good girl.” I had no idea what I was blabbing about. “I just think you’re a really special guy.” Brooke, turn around and go back inside. “I just meant that it was really nice,” I ended lamely.
“You’ve never come before in your life?” Ryan asked softly. “That’s a shame.”
The heat washed over me in an angry tidal wave. It was embarrassment and lust and giddiness crashing down all at once. I wanted to drown in it.
“Well, I don’t know,” I said just as softly. I didn’t even know what that meant. Of course I’d had orgasms in the past, but I realized none of them counted because they weren’t with Ryan. And then I remembered my dad was inside, and we were talking about orgasms.
“I think it’s late,” I said. “And I think I’m tired from today. School. Work.” Spying on the swim team.
Ryan nodded. “May I see you tomorrow?”
“You mean later today?” I asked.
Ryan nodded patiently.
“I have to work the lunch shift at the diner,” I said.
“May I come in for lunch?”
I grinned. “Yes.”
“All right then, Brooklyn,” Ryan said, and I liked it. I didn’t like when Cal called me “Brooklyn” because he did it to keep a certain distance. And just to be an asshole. But Ryan wasn’t trying to keep me at a distance at all. He said my full first name, and it instantly drew me closer to him.
“See ya,” I said, watching him walk into the blackness of the morning.
Eleven
I had no business getting all dolled up for Ryan. I was supposed to be focused on Cal, but somehow he became just some guy in the background, out of focus and unimportant in my life. I thought I heard Beth screaming from a far off place, asking me what the hell I was doing, but I ignored her. She couldn’t control my life. I’d get to Cal when I got to him. She had to understand that.
I studied myself in the full-length mirror. I’d never looked prettier for work. I thought I looked like a Barbie doll, my hair pulled up high on my head in a ponytail, locks curled and tumbling in flirty waves from the elastic band. I pumped up the eye factor with heavy mascara. I wanted to go for an Edie Sedgwick look—all ‘60s glam. I even ironed my uniform, a typical diner waitress outfit. Blue shirtdress that hit just above my knees. I slipped on my Ke
ds and grabbed my apron.
I planned to knock his socks off.
Ryan showed up at one. I assumed it was to beat the lunch rush, but he came in the midst of it. The hostess tried to seat him at the bar. He was alone, after all, and she didn’t want to waste a table on him. Normally we waitresses appreciated this. Bigger party meant larger bill which hopefully meant fat tip. It didn’t always work out that way. There were your typical cheap ass patrons always looking to find something wrong with the service or meal, thus justifying a poor tip or no tip at all.
I especially loved the ones who ran me to death and then stiffed me. They usually had me going to the kitchen at least ten times throughout the course of their meals needing a refill when their drinks were three-quarters of the way full. Needing dipping sauces when their meals didn’t come with them. Needing a fresh salad because they found one wilted lettuce leaf. And if I didn’t hover over them, they’d complain of being forgotten, and so would undoubtedly “forget” to leave a tip.
“I’ve got an open table,” I told Kimberly, watching Ryan hover about the bar area. “Just put him with me.”
“But yours is a four top,” she argued.
“It doesn’t matter,” I said.
“It does matter. I’ve got to seat a family with you. They can’t sit at the bar.”
“Kimberly,” I said patiently. “Seat him with me. Now.”
“Whatever. It’s your tip,” she said, and showed Ryan to my table.
I approached him after counting to twenty. I didn’t want to seem too eager.
“Hi,” I said. I felt bright and bubbly and on top of the world.
“Hello.”
I placed my hand on my hip and popped it out. “Come here often?” I couldn’t resist.
“Once. The waitress was cute, but she’s got nothing on you,” Ryan said.
Damn right she doesn’t. I went Edie Sedgwick for you, buddy.
“God, you look gorgeous,” he said.
Oh, those heart flutters. I wanted to feel those heart flutters forever.
“I’m in an ugly uniform,” I said, looking down at my outfit. I smoothed my apron on my stomach.
“Not ugly at all. Sexy more like.”
I blushed, and this time he saw. I couldn’t conceal it under the glare of the restaurant lights.
“Hungry?” I asked, and pulled out my order pad.