Varsity series box set, p.14
Varsity: Series Box Set, page 14
My room glows from the small mood lamp that is never off in the corner of my room. The blue light is just enough to see by, and it calms my active imagination whenever I’m alone. I pull my phone, cash and school ID from my back pocket and toss it on my bed, kicking my shoes off and rolling my socks from my feet with my toes. I move to my window to close my shutters, but I tilt them enough to look into Lucas’s yard before I shut them completely.
The lights are off now. I push the slats closed, but a ticking sound rattles against the other side of the glass. I hold my breath to hear it more clearly, and just when I think maybe my mind is playing tricks on me, I hear it again. This time, it’s more of a scattering sound—pebbles. I open the slats and look down, my pulse racing. I manage to catch a view of Lucas’s next throw. This time, it’s a dozen tiny rocks clinking against my metal frame, the vinyl siding, and the glass.
I pull both sides of my shutters open and lift the window open so I can hear him.
“What are you doing? You can’t run away to here. I mean, he’ll find you,” I joke.
“You were never a mistake,” he says, not even reacting to my words.
I stare at him with my mouth agape, not sure what to make of this gesture or this big revelation that’s so important he has to throw rocks at my window at eleven-thirty at night.
“Okay,” I say, grinning with a thumbs up.
“No, June . . .” He holds up a finger then rushes forward. Lucas used to climb up the eaves on our porch to tap on my window all the time. He was like Spiderman, his hands sticky and feet stickier. His body is a lot bulkier now, and the sounds of his shoes on the lower angles of the roof are clunky, but his height makes up for his lack of agility. His hands grip my window ledge within seconds, and he lifts his body up easily as I back away.
The racing in my chest is nonstop, and it’s no longer fear of a boogeyman or the dark. I’m afraid of this not being what I think it is—what I hope it is. Lucas pulls his body through my window a leg at a time until he’s literally the air I’m breathing. He looks almost lost, standing right inside my window, his hands not sure whether they should relax or move to illustrate his point. His eyes blink rapidly at first, then his gaze locks on mine and his teeth hold the tip of his tongue as he breathes out a nervous laugh.
“When you said those things, about how no girl wants to be a mistake.” He shakes his head but his eyes never leave mine. “You meant you. You weren’t talking about Ava.”
He steps toward me and my hands ball into fists at my hips. I bang them against my skin anxiously as I glance to the side, to my mirror that still has pictures of me and Lucas taped to it.
“I’m sorry, June,” he says, and even though I feel him stepping closer, I don’t look. I can’t look. If my eyes meet his right now, I’ll sob, and I don’t want to break down in front of Lucas Fuller. That’s not how this goes.
“You are not a mistake,” he repeats, his body close enough that heat radiates from his chest, blocking the cool breeze streaming in through my open window.
“Got it. Thanks,” I say, belittling his honesty. I thought this is what I want, but now that it’s happening, it’s too hard. There’s too much attention on me, too many things stripped away.
His fingertips tickle against my chin and with slight pressure, he coaxes my gaze toward him. Fighting it would be childish, but looking him in the eyes feels deeply impossible. I’m not sure I’ll survive it.
He takes away that choice.
With both of his hands cupping my cheeks, Lucas erases the few inches left between us, tilting my chin up so I’m forced to meet his eyes. They’re even bluer in my light, blue like the midnight sky.
“You are not a mistake,” he says, his eyes holding mine hostage to make sure they see every word formed on his lips.
I nod, a shaky movement on the verge of falling apart in a breath.
“Okay,” he says through a crooked smile. I’m too close to see the dimple it forms, but I don’t need to, I’ve memorized it.
His thumb sweeps away the moisture forming under my right eye and I croak out, “Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it,” he says, repeating the touch on my left cheek.
I’ve held my breath so long, through my words and his, that the sensation makes my head float and my chest burn. I’m afraid of the sound I’ll make, but if I don’t get air, I’ll die here. This would be a good death.
My lips part with a quaver, and the light gasp is the last thing I remember before Lucas’s eyes dart to the slight movement. His right thumb traces along my cheek, over my top lip and onto my bottom one, stroking along it slowly until my eyes have no choice but to close. I sense his body moving before his lips touch mine, a feather-light brush of both of his lips along the plumpness of my bottom one.
Another tear is forming, and I have no choice but to accept it. My hands relax at my sides and move forward until I find the softness of his shirt. I grip it, bunching it tightly against his chest.
Lucas’s nose brushes the side of mine as he cocks his head the other way, his mouth taking a gentle taste of my upper lip this time. My mouth on autopilot, my lips beg to move with his. I’m not sure whether I’m the one who deepens the kiss or he is, but as my hands let go of his shirt and snake their way up his chest and around his neck, his palms move to the back of my head and draw me close to taste me fully. His tongue teases against mine, the softness meeting the sharp edges of my teeth. I nibble at his top lip as he sucks in my bottom one, running his tongue along the delicate skin. I wait for him to walk me backward, for him to lift me up and force my legs to wrap around him. All of my fantasies over the last two years rush my senses at once, but I let him be the guide. I’m still not certain this is real.
Only when he’s out of breath does he release his mouth’s hold on mine. I chance opening my eyes when his forehead rests against mine, and I look up to see his eyelids closed tightly as he rocks us back and forth where we stand.
“That was not a mistake,” he whispers, his body sending me zero signs that he plans to move from this position any time soon.
“Okay,” I whisper back, stepping up on my toes and chastely pressing my lips to his. This time, his are the ones to break and tremble. I hold our kiss still, my teeth grazing against his bottom lip when I finally let go.
“Okay,” I repeat the words against him. I say them again, hoping maybe, after enough times, we’ll both believe this. “Okay.”
FOURTEEN
“You can’t tell anyone.”
That’s the last thing Lucas said to me before he fled out my window, leaping from the eave to rush across the lawn toward his house.
He didn’t say why, but his eyes expressed how important it is that this thing, whatever it is, stay between us and nobody else. I think maybe he’s worried about Ava or his dad saying something to interrupt whatever we have.
What do we have?
Besides secrets.
I’m going to drown in secrets.
Something has to give, and having my best friend spend her Saturday afternoon with me at work while I dole out shoes for league bowlers is making it incredibly hard not to break my promise to Lucas. There are so many things I haven’t told Abby, and she and I don’t keep secrets. We don’t lie. I’m not supposed to lie to anyone—my mom, Lucas, Abby. I may as well add Tory to that list because I don’t like lying to him.
I don’t want to stop kissing Lucas, or do something that might risk him ever kissing me again. I can’t tell Abby about last night, not yet. Not the kiss. But I can maybe tell her about some things. I need someone to tell.
“I caught Lucas fighting with his dad last night,” I spill out while I refill my friend’s Dr. Pepper. I swear the only reason she comes to visit me at work is for free sugar.
“Tell me something new,” she says, her eyes fluttering with sarcasm. I slide the full cup of soda over to her and she puts her lid back on. Her straw is pink on the end from her lipstick.
“Yeah, I know, but I mean, I heard a lot of their argument. I guess Lucas wants to go to MIT?” Her eyes blink wide as her lips let go of her straw.
“Lucas Fuller is smart?” She coughs out a laugh.
I chuckle.
“Yeah, I know, it’s a surprise. He’s like, maybe fourth or fifth in our class?” I don’t know why I’m being vague with details. He’s fourth. I know because I checked.
“Huh. Who knew?” she says.
I did.
“That must drive you wild. Your hottie crush also has a brain!” she cackles out and leans back, spinning once on her stool.
“You have no idea,” I say, more truth to those words than she realizes.
“So, what’s the big deal? The Fuller kid is smart and wants to build rockets or some shit, and they, like . . . don’t want him to do that?” She goes back to taking a long suck on her straw. She’s already gulped down a third of her refill.
“He got an offer from Tennessee,” I add.
This time, she puts the drink down. Abby was a cheerleader our freshman and sophomore years, and she knows football. She quit cheering after she broke her wrist, but she’s still a diehard for the game. Notre Dame football used to be a holiday in her house, every Saturday. Her dad played. Her mom cheered. And now that they’re divorced, Abby has to sneak-watch the games because her mom can’t stand the sight of the blue and gold. All of this to say, she gets how big an offer is to play at Tennessee. She also knows that’s where Lucas’s dad played—until one game knocked him out of the sport forever.
“Damn!” She shakes her head as her gaze drifts off with thought.
“Yup.” I nod.
A few league teams wrap up their games and deliver their shoes to the counter. I hate getting backed up with racking shoes, so I set them all on the floor to spray the insides, coughing from the cloud of fumes. When I stand again, it’s no longer my best friend sitting on the other side of the counter from me—it’s my best friend, and Lucas Fuller, and both D’Angelo twins.
Shit.
“Maybe Mabee, what’s up?” Tory leans over the counter with an arm stretched out to give me a sideways hug. I walk forward, stiff and unsure how to navigate this, reach around and pat him on the back while his arm encircles me. I look to Lucas mid-embrace, and his gaze traps mine, not letting go until Tory’s hand is no longer touching my skin. His look is possessive, and if anyone else were looking at him, our secret would be blown.
I’d be fine with that.
“Nice game Friday, Luc.” Abby gives me a sideways glance and a short wink, and the moment she starts, I regret not giving her every single detail of every secret I hold. As far as she believes, Lucas still treats me like shit and feels pressure about football from his dad. It’s the perfect storm for my best friend to enact a little vengeance on my behalf.
“Fuck off, Abby,” Lucas fires back. He takes a seat on the stool farthest from the rest of us and shifts his gaze to me. His face is full of indifference, and it hurts a little to see. I can’t tell whether he’s acting or changed his mind.
“Can I get a water?” He nods toward the tap.
I saunter toward the ice machine, grab a cup and scoop ice while my eyes hazily study him.
“It’s a buck for the cup,” I say.
Abby titters and takes a long drink through her straw until her cup is empty enough for her to make the slurping sound.
“Ahh,” she says, tapping her cup on the counter. “Some of us get freebies.”
A short laugh escapes my nose, and my cheeks burn a little with guilt. From this new perspective, it’s funny to watch my friend stick up for me.
Lucas cocks his head to the side and shifts his eyes to glance harshly at my friend, but leans to pull his wallet from the back pocket of his jeans. He mostly wears all black, black jeans, black hoodie, and his black End Zone ball cap pulled low and shading his eyes. It makes his glare more ominous, especially when light finds a way in to illuminate his blue eyes from the shadow. I can’t stop staring at his mouth. He’s wearing a hard expression, so his lips don’t stretch with the fullness of his smile, but it doesn’t stop me from imagining it. That smile played out against mine only hours ago. I kissed that smile until I was raw.
Wallet in hand, he slips out his debit card and tosses it so it slides toward me on the counter. I slap my palm down to stop it, and pick it up, checking the name against the person who sent it to me.
“Lucas A. Fuller,” I accentuate his middle initial, knowing it stands for Andrew. I set the card back on the counter and flick it back toward him with my index finger. He catches it in his lap. “I’m afraid I can only take cash.”
I shrug and give him a wry smile, pulling the lid from the cup I just filled so I can threaten to pour out his water. I’m partly playing along and half sincere in pushing him, and the mix of it all makes me drunk on feelings. Why can’t we tell people that we’ve found our way back? Why can’t I kiss him again here and now?
His mouth ticks up on one side as the water trickles from the cup. I think he doesn’t think I’ll go through with this. A cup of water isn’t a very big deal, but it’s the only deal I’ve got. If we’re playing the part of hate-mates, I’m going to make it convincing.
“Ah ah,” he says, lifting his palm slightly. He tucks his card back in his wallet and leaves his grinning eyes on me as he feels around for something else. He pulls a folded receipt from one of the compartments, then digs into the next slot to slide out a folded up dollar bill. When it falls on the counter, though, a golden wrapped condom packet slips out with it. My eyes flit to that first, as do his.
I stop pouring, my gaze on the condom that fell out, the condom that is probably tucked in there for those “mistake” times he mentioned in the car last night. I top off his cup and refasten the lid, pulling a wrapped straw from the box under the register.
“Here,” I say, walking it over to stand right in front of him, the bar top between us. With my tongue wedged between my back teeth and cheek, I breathe out a snort laugh and smile on the right side of my mouth as I slide my palm across the counter, collecting both the dollar and the condom.
I unfold the bill and slip it in the register, shutting the drawer with my hip. I then pinch the condom packet between my thumb and index finger and hold it up for everyone to see. The twins are holding fists to their mouths to contain their laughter, and Abby is twisting in her seat with nervous excitement. I examine the print on it closely, my stomach swimming with jealousy.
“Ribbed for her pleasure,” I read, punctuating the short sentence with a click of the tongue. “Well . . .” I lean forward, resting my elbow on the surface between us, and hold out the package for him to put back where it belongs.
He pinches the other side and we both hold on for a second, his eyes hazing in a warning that I’m taking this too far. I can’t help the green monster that beats in my chest, though.
“I hope she enjoys it,” I say, finally letting go.
He lets out a breathy laugh and chews at the inside of his cheek as he tucks the condom back in the tight fit of his wallet. He stands to put his wallet back in his pocket, then pulls the water cup in his grip, holding it up to toast me before biting the end of his straw with his teeth.
“She better,” he says, a flash to his eyes that sends an electric jolt through my veins that makes me want to crawl over this counter and both choke him and kiss him at the same time.
“Gentlemen?” He turns his focus to his friends and they shake their heads, I’m guessing in awe of how big of an ass he can be. They follow him toward the pool tables anyhow, leaving me with Abby to pick apart the scene I just lived, but with her missing half the story.
“That was intense,” she says, holding her lid down on her drink when I reach for it. “I’m good. I think three Dr. Peppers in an hour is my max.”
“You want some water?” I want to give her more free shit, and to brag about it loudly.
She shakes her head and stands from her seat, pulling her keys from her purse. I still have two hours on my shift. I guess it’s not fair to expect her to hang out here the entire time.
“Think you can manage to not get in any throw-downs before I pick you up at five?” Without warning, she spins around, lifts her phone and snaps a photo of the both of us. I’m sure I look like a raging lunatic or a cross-eyed loser.
“Why? When are you going to stop doing that?” I whine.
“Oh, June.” She leans forward and blows a kiss at me over the counter. “You know the answer to that.” She winks and I flip her off.
“Have a good day at work, honey,” she says, her heels clicking along the polished concrete floor on her way out. I stare over to the pool tables and catch both D’Angelo twins angling their necks to watch every sway of my friend’s hips as she leaves. Heels aren’t part of her normal wardrobe; she has a shoot in them in a few days and has been wearing them nonstop this weekend to get used to balancing in them. When paired with her short-shorts and tight sweater, though, she looks like a fucking natural.
Rather than take my break under the mirror again, I decide to skip it altogether and just pick at the sandwich I packed. I slip it out of the plastic lunch bag under the counter and unwrap some of the plastic wrap to tear off a piece of the crust covered in peanut butter. We were out of jelly, so I loaded it up thick. Just one bite has my mouth fighting for moisture, so I fill a cup with ice and water.
“Employees don’t have to follow that dollar rule I guess, huh?” Lucas walks over alone, the twins still battling over a new game of nine-ball several yards behind him.
“You just missed it. I donated a condom to the register,” I say, my tone flat and eyes focused on nothing but the edge of my sandwich.
“June, don’t be like that,” he says, and I laugh at his pathetic apology.
