Aced (Blocked #2) (15 page)

“But you’re talented at volleyball, too. Can’t they see that?”

“Nana says volleyball won’t pay the bills, and she’s right. They’re just looking out for me. But Jaylon’s different. He’s such a motivated athlete—he trains like a mad man, and he always pushes me in the weight room. He may not be the best student, but he’s the only one who really gets my competitive side.”

“Why can’t you have both?” His gaze lingered over me. “Someone to support both your academic and athletic sides?”

Because you weren’t here three years ago
.

I stared back at him, not knowing what to say. As the silence stretched between us, I blurted, “Do you have ‘intense’ exes?”

That was definitely a blush, and I tried not to grin at his discomfort. “I dated a tennis player at TCU. Not long—a few months.”

My amusement vanished. Just who was this girl? “What…happened?” When he looked down, I winced. “I mean, if you don’t mind me asking.”

“She didn’t like the attention that came with dating me, my dad being governor and everything.”

The reporters mobbing us outside the restaurant had jarred me a bit, though hanging out with Lucia and Dane had already exposed me to the media maelstrom.

“And, she…” He blew out a breath, but didn’t finish the sentence.

I watched the muscle working at the corner of his jaw and longed to smooth my hand along his five-o’clock shadow. How would he react if I did? Would it turn into something more?

With a start, I knew how to finish his unspoken thought. “She…wanted to have sex with you?”

When his eyes widened, I knew I’d hit pay dirt.

“It must be tough to live with such strong values,” I said.

“It wasn’t that tough.” He looked at me. “Before.”

Before?
His eyes scorched me, flushing my face with heat. I found myself inching toward him on the sofa.

“So, uh, you and Jaylon.”

I leaned back. Why’d he have to bring
him
up?

“Forgive me if this sounds truculent.” When he scowled, I wondered if he’d caught himself spouting a big vocab word. “Uh,
offensive
, I mean. But Jaylon seems different from you.” He paused. “His background. His priorities.”

I swallowed as my heart juddered. Alejandro was being direct, so I should be honest with him, even though it hurt to say the truth. “Jaylon thinks I don’t act black.” My stomach flipped. “He used to tell me I talk white.”

Alejandro blanched. “He didn’t.”

“He did.” My stomach tightened. “But he didn’t say anything I haven’t heard before.”

“That’s despicable.” His eyes flared. “And untrue. There are all types of black people. And all kinds of ways to speak. To speak articulately doesn’t mean you’re white. You can be black, Filipino, Mexican…”

“Wait a minute—have
you
ever been told you talk white?”

He pinched the bridge of his nose as his gaze shifted away. “Some guys in high school.” He closed his eyes. “They called me a potato.”

“Potato?”

“Potato,” he confirmed. “Brown on the outside, white on the inside.”

A laugh bubbled up my throat, but I stifled it, as he didn’t seem amused. “That’s awful.” When his eyes opened and he looked back at me, I lost it. Laughter spilled forth like volleyballs from a ripped burlap bag. My hands flew to my mouth to stop the carnage. “S-S-Sorry,” I stuttered through my fingers.

He barked out a laugh as well. “You think that’s funny, calling me a potato?”

“Yeah, I do.” I giggled. “Tater.”

“You better stop laughing, White Talker.”

That made my giggles multiply.

“Unbelievable. Never thought I’d laugh about that.” His eyes crinkled as he scooted closer to me. “But I have to know, Maddie. Do you like potatoes?”

My heart raced. “Maybe.” He tilted his head as he studied me. “They do go great with salsa.”

His grin faded as his eyes smoldered. He clasped my hands and stroked my palms with his thumbs. I looked down at our joined hands, our skin a contrast in shades of brown. His skin lighter, his fingers longer, his touch solid and warm. He’d cut his fingernails in neat squares.

When he lifted my hand to his face, my breath caught in my throat. His warm breath tickled my palm, then his lips burned kisses along my lifeline. Heat flooded my core. I felt this alive from a kiss to my hand; what if he kissed my mouth?

The ding of an incoming text startled me, and I stole my hands back like I’d touched a hot stove. I glanced at my coat on the floor. Had Jaylon texted? “I better get that.”

Alejandro just nodded.

My hands were on fire, and I fumbled through both pockets before I found my phone. It was a text from Braxton:

You’re on CNN.
Why the hell are you with that right winger?

When I inhaled, Alejandro said, “Everything okay?”

“My brother.” I looked up from my phone. “He said we’re on CNN.”

“Oh, no.” He rested the back of his head on the sofa. “I didn’t mean to drag you into my world.”

As I fired up my laptop, my hands shook. Maybe I wanted to be part of his world.

Chapter Ten

T
HOUGHTS
B
OUNCED
I
NSIDE
my skull as I tried to sleep.

“My dad and brother don’t understand…” Single-parent homes. Her soft hands in mine. Polyelectrolytes. “It’s not easy being raised by a single parent.” You’re so obtuse. “Just who is this mystery girlfriend with Alejandro Ramirez?” The atomic mass of lithium is…“Yeah, I do, tater.” Defense mechanisms. MCAT. “Nana said volleyball won’t pay the bills.” A tear on her cheek. Single-parent homes create poverty and dysfunction.

“Could I be more stupid?” The fleece blanket tumbled off me as I sat straight up in the dark. How long had I been thrashing around? In the dim light from the kitchen stove, I could barely make out the time on my watch: 1:47. I tried to quiet my groan so as not to wake up Maddie in her bedroom.

Somewhere in the preceding hours, I’d realized she’d never mentioned her mother. That must mean her mother had died, and stupidly, I hadn’t known. I’d probably stuck my foot in my
boca
about a hundred times, going on about single parents neglecting their children, my own mother annoying me, black families needing more stability. What a
cabrón.
But why hadn’t Maddie told Lucia her mother was dead?

“I
thought
I heard you up.”

I glanced toward the bedroom door to see her emerge from the darkness. She clicked on a floor lamp. Her curly hair shot up and out from her headband, framing her sleepy face like a halo.

“Sorry for waking you,” I said.

She shook her head as she sat on the other end of the sofa. “Not your fault. I never got to sleep.”

“I hope you weren’t replaying that news clip in your head.” I held my breath. We’d watched video footage on her laptop of our hounded dash to the SUV.

“No.” When she smiled faintly, I exhaled. “It’s kind of fun being the ‘mystery girlfriend.’”

“You won’t be a mystery for long, I’m afraid.”

She nodded, but didn’t seem distressed by my prediction. “I’m surprised they haven’t figured it out yet since I’m Rez’s teammate.”

“They’re probably too busy with the Mexican gang story.” She cocked her head. “Apparently there’s been an increase in gang activity not too far from Highbanks.”

“Oh.” Her shoulder lifted in apology. “The news and I don’t chill together, as you know.”

“Don’t worry about it. I wish I’d never heard the story either.” She watched me rub my stubbly jaw. “So if it wasn’t your television debut that kept you up, what was it?”

She sighed. “I’ve had trouble sleeping for a while now.”

“That sounds frustrating.”

When she yawned and curled her neck against the sofa cushion, I noticed her zebra-print pajama top tightening across her chest. She looked warm and fuzzy; I wanted to pull her on top of me, drape her over me like a blanket.

She stared at her lap, seeming weighed down. I had a sense she was about to tell me something, but it took her a while to speak. “That business card I had, back at the arena?” She tracked me from the corner of one eye, and I nodded. “It’s for the sport psychologist. My trainer wants me to see her—thinks it’s a good idea.” She grimaced. “She’s probably right.”

I couldn’t believe she was opening up to me.

“Tina told me I’m a hot mess. She thinks I’m crazy.”

“I doubt she thinks that…Med school fun fact: Do you know what percentage of primary-care office visits relate to behavioral health problems like stress, overeating, and lack of exercise?”

She shook her head.

“Over seventy percent. So as future physicians, we should know this stuff. We should know what therapy’s like.”

She turned to face me. “Have you ever seen a sport psychologist?”

“We didn’t have one at TCU.” I shook my head. “But even if we had, I wouldn’t have gone. Machismo and all that.”

“What’s machismo?”

“Ah, masculinity, masculine pride. Being brave, taking care of the family.” I hesitated. “It’s about being strong and virile.”

She blinked up at me with a smirk. “Virile, huh?”

My face flushed. I was hardly virile. “Anyway, not only did machismo hold me back, but the whole athlete mentality prevented me from even considering therapy.”

“I get it.” She nodded. “Never ask for help.”

“Never show vulnerability,” I added. I remembered the tears she’d cried and felt grateful she had the strength to be vulnerable with me. “But I probably could’ve benefitted from therapy, especially after my surgery.” I’d been one miserable bastard then. “I’m glad they made Lucy go to therapy—the psychologist has definitely helped her.”

“That’s true. Dane too.”

“And if you have trouble sleeping, it’s a good idea to see her.”

“I guess.” She stifled a yawn. “So enough about my insomnia. What kept
you
up?” She patted the sofa. “Besides the luxurious pillow-soft bed I gave you.”

“Hey, I was the one who invited myself over.” I looked down at my black pajama pants and started to play with my watch.

“Or maybe you can’t stop thinking about the applications of conjugated polyelectrolytes,” she teased. When I smiled, she added, “Thanks for taking the time to help me tonight.”

She had no idea how our geek-out over physical chemistry had been a highlight of the evening. “Not sure how helpful I was. You’re very bright. You’ll do fine on the test.”

She stilled, like she wasn’t sure how to respond. “I work hard, but I’m not that smart.”

“Well, you’re smarter than me.”

Her mouth popped open. “What’re you talking about?”

My heartbeat kicked up a notch. “I realized…” I swallowed. “I was lying here, kicking myself for the stupid things I’ve said.”

She pulled her feet up on the sofa, her knees below her chin. “What do you mean?”

“About single-parent homes. Here I am, railing against fathers who leave their families—”

She drew in a sharp breath, but I continued. “When I think you were trying to tell me about your mother.”

Maddie quailed, blinking as she looked straight ahead.

“I’m so sorry your mom died.”

She looked up at me, eyes blazing. “What makes you think she died?”

“She didn’t?” I leaned back, surprised by the heat of her glare.

“Of course you thought that. That’s the only thing that makes sense.” She spat the words at me. “Because what mother would ever
leave
her family? Unless her ch—” Her hand flew to cover her mouth, and before I could reach out to comfort her, she’d raced back into her bedroom and slammed the door.

What the hell just happened? My phone buzzed, and in a daze, I picked it up to see a text from China.

You okay?

No.
Maddie’s mother had abandoned her family? Who would do that? My phone buzzed again.

I’m coming in.

I typed a swift reply:

No need. Todo está bien.

Everything’s great.
I collapsed back on the worn sofa. The image of Maddie covering her mouth before she’d absconded to her room played on repeat in my head. I’d known the specter of Jaylon still lingered in her life, but I thought I’d have a chance with her once she healed. She seemed drawn to me the way I felt attracted to her. But part of her was clearly shut off—a piece I couldn’t touch. I closed my eyes, knowing neither of us would get much sleep tonight.