by Farlow, LK
Add in all of his small touches, and heated looks... yeah, I’m a mess. A confused, terrified, and mildly turned-on mess.
By the second quarter, I give up all pretenses of paying attention. Luckily, Stella and Zach are too engrossed in the game to notice.
Sterling, though—he’s so tuned in to me, my every thought and feeling, we may as well have some kind of sci-fi mind link thing going on.
“You okay?” he asks, bumping my shoulder with his.
“Fine. Just...”
“A million miles away?”
“Maybe only a thousand.”
“Wanna talk about it?”
“Here?” I look around the stands, which are packed to the brim with Wildcats fans decked out in gold and blue.
He does this adorable neck-bob-shoulder-shrug thing that makes him look so boyish. “Sure, why not?”
“I’m just trying to figure you out.” As soon as I say the words, I wish I would have lied. He probably thinks I’m nuts.
“Tell me what you want to know, Emmalyn.”
I’ve already started digging myself a hole, so I may as well keep shoveling. “Why are you being so nice to me? I know you said you’re turning over a new leaf, but I just—I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop.”
He tips his head to the side and adopts a wounded look. “You don’t trust me?”
“I want to,” I confess, since apparently, I’ve lost my mind.
“Guess I’ll have to try harder.” His words are the exact same ones he said to me after the quiz incident. I can’t help but wonder if it is a coincidence or a deliberate choice.
I smile weakly, not knowing how to reply. He has me flustered to the point of not trusting my own judgment. And when he reaches over and clasps my hand, twining our fingers together, I very nearly stroke out.
“What are you—”
“Shh,” he cuts me off, rubbing small circles over my hand with his thumb. “We’ve got the ball.”
The buzzer for halftime sounds, and the players hustle off the field. Stella tries drawing me into conversation, but it’s hard to hear her over the marching band doing their thing.
Shaking my head, I point to my ear, but Stella’s not having it. She stares pointedly at mine and Sterling’s clasped hands and then slips her phone out of her bag, her fingers flying over the screen.
Sure enough, my phone buzzes two seconds later. With my free hand, I wiggle the device free from my pocket, unlock it, and swipe open our thread.
Stella: BABE! Dish.
Me: IDK!
Stella: ...
Me: No, really. I have no idea what’s happening. Totally lost. It’s weird.
Stella: Good weird or bad weird? I’ll kick his ass if you want.
Me: Good. I think. Maybe.
Stella: Well, y’all look good together, if that counts for anything. Be careful though.
I nod and slip my phone back into my pocket.
Sterling leans all the way into me, pressing his lips to the shell of my ear. “It’s definitely a good weird, little mouse.”
I hate the way his nearness and that stupid nickname make me shiver, but they do.
They so do.
The third quarter passes in a blur of tackles and passes. And while I cheer when it’s appropriate, I still don’t watch the game too closely, thanks to my spinning thoughts.
I will myself to focus on the game, on Gabe and his teammates instead of on Sterling and his personality transplant.
It works for a while, too.
Until a whole new brand of torturous distraction catches my eye.
The cheer squad is now directly in my line of sight, and try as I might to ignore them, my eyes keep drifting toward them.
Their cheers are peppy and their routines are unique, but I can’t help but notice some of their counts are off.
Nope. Not my life anymore.
I tear my eyes away and focus back on the game just in time to see Gabe tackle a member of the opposing team to the ground. Cheers sound as Wildcats fans clap and holler and stomp in support of him, and Stella yanks me up onto my feet to join in.
As I sit back down, Sterling pulls me closer to him, so close our sides are completely melded together. “Why don’t you cheer anymore?” His warm breath tickles my ear, making me squirm against the hard bleachers.
“Why do you care?”
He looks at me quizzically. “You were really good, it’s a shame you quit, that’s all.”
“How would you even know?”
“Oh, Emmalyn.” He grins. “I know all sorts of things about you.”
“Creepy, much?” I ask, and he laughs.
“Okay, maybe this does make me a creeper, but I remember your freshman year you were upset because Rob and Sarah never came to any of the home games or your competitions.”
“Okay… and?”
“So, I went.”
“Went where?” My brow dips in confusion.
“To your games, when I could, and to finals.”
“Finals? As in Orlando? You came all the way to freaking Florida to watch me cheer?”
He nods.
“Um. Not to sound rude but, I don’t know how to respond to that.” At least outwardly I don’t; on the inside, I’m cartwheeling.
Seemingly undeterred by my weirdness, Sterling leans in, dipping his face toward mine.
My entire body stills. I’m fairly certain even my lungs stop expanding, and my heart stops beating. Surely, he isn’t going to try to kiss me, here, in front of all these people.
And if he does, am I going to let him? The dam breaks and panic floods my system.
However, it seems my freak-out was for nothing, because all Sterling does is gently tuck a wayward lock of hair behind my ear. “Your body tells me everything your words don’t, little mouse.”
I try to smile, but I’m sure it’s more of a grimace.
This man is so totally disorienting that merely being in his presence feels like stepping off a Tilt-A-Whirl.
Before I know it, we’re all on our feet cheering and stomping and hollering as one of our players scores the game-winning touchdown.
“What now?” I ask once the roar of victory dies down.
“Now we party!” Zach shouts. “Y’all in?”
“Party where?” I ask, in tandem to Stella shouting, “Hell yeah!”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Sterling
We meet the blond giant in the parking lot, and it takes my all not to knock his ass out cold—or at least die trying—when Emmy flings herself into his arms for a congratulatory post-game hug.
Judging from the shit-eating grin on his face, he knows it, too.
He swings her around a few times before placing her back onto her feet. She sways a little, and I step up to steady her before he can.
“You must be Sterling.” He says my name with just enough disdain that I know Emmalyn’s told them about me.
“And you are?” I ask, keeping everything from my face to my tone stoic.
He darts his sharp green gaze down to where my hands are still holding Emmalyn’s shoulders. “A friend of Emmy’s.”
I grit my teeth and will myself to play nice. “And do you happen to have a name, friend?”
His lips twitch with amusement. “Sure I do, but I think you already know it.” He dips his head toward Emmalyn. “After all, your girl’s wearing it on her shirt.”
“Guys, let’s play nice, okay?” Stella says, sidling up next to Emmalyn. “Plus, I was promised a party, and while y’all’s dick-measuring competition is entertaining, it’s not what I had in mind. ‘Kay?”
“I’m with Stella on this one,” Zach says. “Let’s roll.”
Gabe and I lock eyes, each of our gazes loaded with unspoken threats. His, I imagine says, hurt her and die. Mine, on the other hand, is telling him to back the fuck off.
“C’mon, Sterling.” Emmalyn pries one of my hands from her shoulder and drags me forward. “Let’s try to have a good time.”
I hold steady though, not budging an inch. “Ride with me?”
She looks back at me and then to her friends’ retreating forms. “Okay.”
It may be a small victory, but it feels like so much more. She easily could have refused and caught a ride with her friends. But she didn’t. She’s sitting shotgun in my car. It’s a small sign of trust, and I’ll gladly take it.
And I damn sure plan on making the most of it.
“Come on, Emmy,” Stella calls.
“We’ll meet y’all there,” Emmalyn replies as we catch up to them.
“Oh.” Her friend shoots her a look that’s so transparent even I can read it. She’s worried about leaving Emmalyn with me. “Okay. Well. I’ll text you the address.” We break apart and head to our respective vehicles.
“Did you have fun tonight?”
She looks up at me from her peripheral vision. “It was okay. I don’t know that it’s something I’d want to do regularly.”
“Sensory overload?”
“Majorly. And, it’s just a long day.”
I nod. “That it is. You got an address for me yet?”
“Not yet.”
When we make it to my car, I open her door and help her in; this gentleman facade is quickly becoming a habit.
My phone buzzes against my thigh as I walk around to join her, but I ignore it, already knowing who it is. Rob’s been texting me every hour on the hour for a few days now. It’s safe to say he’s gone off the deep end at this point.
Which begs the question—is his fragile mental state and burning anger fueled by her false accusations or is he simply a deranged sociopath?
He’s always toed the line of what’s socially acceptable, but here lately, it seems he’s self-destructing. I can’t help but wonder why. Why is he so hell-bent on destroying Emmalyn? Why is her demise worth the cost of his mental health?
That’s not to say I don’t think she deserves payback; I just don’t... Fuck! I don’t even know anymore. Either way, I need to know, and I mean really know, before I do something that can’t be taken back.
I slide behind the wheel, liking the look of Emmalyn in my passenger seat a little too much.
“Oh, Stella texted.” She flips her screen my way, and I throw the car into gear.
It’s time to set phase two in motion.
By the time we make it to the football house, the party is in full swing. There are so many cars that we have to park on a side street, about a block and a half away.
“You ready?” I ask, killing the engine.
“Um. No?” She says it like a question, following it with an uneasy laugh. “I don’t... Parties aren’t really my thing.”
“Is that why I found you holding up the wall at the last one?”
A pained look flashes across her brown eyes at the mention of the last party; and with good reason. I was a real jackass.
“Pretty much.”
“The Emmalyn I used to know loved parties. I remember you always going out.”
“The Emmalyn you used to know is dead.” She turns away from me, but not in time to hide her tears.
“Hey, stop.” I reach for her, but she curls her body into the door. “Emmalyn, baby, listen.”
“Did you just call me baby?”
“Look at me.” Slowly, she relaxes back into her seat. “I’m sorry. For my behavior at that party and for upsetting you now.”
“Are you really?” Her voice is equal parts hurt and disbelief.
No, not really. “Of course. I was an asshole. New leaf, remember?”
She sucks in a few measured breaths. “Okay. Let’s go.”
“Are you sure?”
With a shrug, Emmalyn unbuckles and opens her door. “Nope, but let’s go anyway.”
I follow after her, catching up a few paces away from where we parked. “I promise to make tonight better, that you’ll have fun. Okay?”
“If you say so.”
Difficult little mouse. I interlace our fingers and she gasps softly. “I do, and I mean it.”
* * *
My eyes water as the overbearing scent of too many sweaty bodies, cheap perfumes, and stale pot smoke greet us the moment we open the door. All around us is debauchery at its best.
Bodies writhe together on the dance floor, moving like a mass of tangled serpents while onlookers chug their liquid courage before joining the fray.
“Whoa,” Emmalyn whispers, practically skidding to a halt.
I stumble a little at our sudden change in momentum, wrapping an arm around her middle to keep us both standing.
Her soft planes press into my hard ones, and for a moment, I’m lost in her scent, sweet and soft and so fucking feminine, as it overrides everything else around me.
With music pumping, drinks flowing, inhibitions lowering, and Emmalyn Price in my arms, all I can think of is what kind of secrets the tempting little liar might spill, if given the right... motivation.
“You okay?” I ask, denying myself the pleasure of burying my face in the crook of her neck.
“Yeah, um. Yes.” She wiggles in my hold, her pert ass rubbing against me in a way that sends fire racing through my veins. “This is just a lot to take in.”
“Looks like your typical football party.” I shrug behind her. “I’m honestly shocked everyone still has their clothes on.”
“What?” She sounds so scandalized I can’t help but laugh. Who knew Princess Price was such a prude?
“Tell me, Emmalyn…” I give in to the temptation and press my lips to the smooth skin of her neck. “Are you really this innocent?”
“I mean, we had parties in high school, but I...”
I can feel her throat work as she swallows.
“I never went to any after my junior year, and those were pretty tame. People drank and smoked and hooked up, but anything really crazy happened behind closed doors. This is so open.”
I crowd her, dragging my hand lower from the dip of her waist down to the hem of the stupid-ass jersey she’s wearing. “Welcome to the big leagues, baby.”
She laughs uncomfortably. “Do you see Stella anywhere?”
“No.” I roll my eyes but scan the room all the same. “Maybe they’re in the kitchen.” Reluctantly, I release her from my hold. “Let’s go look.”
I grab her hand and pull her toward the kitchen, telling myself it’s to keep her close by, and not because I like the way her delicate hand feels in my grasp.
We make it to the kitchen, but the three musketeers are nowhere in sight. “Are you thirsty?”
“Oh, sure.”
I walk her back against the far wall, caging her in with my arms. “Wait here.”
She blinks up at me with her big doe eyes.
“I mean it. Don’t move. Not a single inch.”
“Okay.”
I turn my back toward her and stalk toward the island, which is serving as a makeshift bar. “Sterling!” Emmalyn calls after me, and I glance her way over my shoulder. “I don’t drink alcohol.” She bites her lips and drops her gaze toward the floor for a moment before looking back at me. “Just so you know.”
The cogs in my brain are turning as an idea takes shape. “No worries. I’ll take care of you, Emmalyn.”
With a sure hand, I mix us each a drink, making sure to make hers with extra care.
When I return, Emmalyn’s in a heated conversation with her friends. “Oh, good,” I drawl. “Y’all found us.”
“Where were you?” Gabe asks, his voice ripe with accusation.
“Making drinks.” I hold my hands up and shimmy the cups before passing one to Emmalyn.
Eyeing me, she sniffs the contents. “What’s this?”
“Punch. My own special recipe, just for you.” I wink, softening the thinly veiled deception in my words.
She smiles, taking a hesitant sip. “Mmmm, fruity.”
Our misfit group lapses into an awkward kind of silence until Gabe looks at me and says, “Let’s chat for a minute.”
He’s not asking.
“Sure thing.” If he wants to play this game, we can play it. I come from a long line of lawyers, shit-talking may as well be my third major.
He guides me a few steps away from everyone; close enough to keep an eye on them, but far enough they can’t hear us.
“What’s your end game with Emmy?”
“I’m not sure what you mean?”
“Don’t bullshit me, Abbot.”
I grin, liking his protective streak. Too bad he’s too late, because after tonight, Emmy will see me as her very own white knight.
“Listen, we clearly got off on the wrong foot.” I raise my hands in a placating gesture. “Why don’t we start over, yeah?”
He regards me with a snarled lip and keen eye. “You hurt her, and I’ll fucking end you, do you understand? I know you’ve been messing with her out of some sick sense of loyalty to your friend, but that girl? She’s already survived a lifetime of pain and betrayal, and if you add even an ounce to her suffering, I’ll take great joy in tearing you apart. Got it?”
“Let’s take a breath, big guy. No one’s going to hurt Emmalyn. I was running a fool’s errand and have seen the error of my ways. I’m trying like hell to make up for my less than stellar behavior, but having it pointed out isn’t really doing me any favors, you know?”
His facial features relax slightly as he stares me down, waiting for me to crack. But I’m rock solid. “Fine. But I meant what I said.”
“I have no doubts.”
He tips his head my way before turning and making his way back to where the rest of our group is congregated.
Emmalyn catches my eye from where she’s pressed into the wall. I raise my cup to her, signaling I’m getting a refill. She nods and breaks away from her friends and joins me. “Me, too?” she asks, her voice soft.
“Absolutely.”
I keep my back to her, using my broad shoulders as a shield, and fix us each another drink, which she readily accepts and tosses back. “So good!”
“Glad you like it.”