Better than Perfect (31 page)

He replaces his mouth with the tip of his forefinger, lightly moving it over my lips before dipping his finger inside my mouth so I can suck on it.

I lean back while he removes his finger from my mouth and moves it gently and passionately over my body. At some point his finger gets replaced by his mouth and tongue. When I feel his hot breath on my slick skin, my entire body tingles.

“You don't know what you're doing to me,” I pant.

“Yeah, I do,” he says in a hoarse, deep voice as he removes the rest of his clothes. I hear the rip of a condom wrapper and my body goes still.

“Did you get that from your wallet?” I ask him.

“Yeah.”

“I thought you didn't carry a condom in your wallet.”

He chuckles, and I can imagine his lips are curved into a mischievous grin. “Secret compartment.”

I'm sitting on the edge of the workbench as he stands between my legs and slips on a condom.

I brace my hands on his chest. “Derek?”

“Yeah?” he says, his voice strained as he holds himself back.

I'm glad it's dark, and he can't see my face now, all hot and bothered and nervous. “I don't know what I'm doing.”

He puts my hand on him so I can feel his arousal. “Obviously, you do.”

“No, I mean I've done stuff before . . . but not . . .”

“What? I had no idea.” He lets out a long, slow breath before placing his forehead against mine. “We don't have to do this, Ashtyn. Your first time shouldn't be in a shed.”

“I want to.” I hold his face in my hands. “I love you, Cowboy. Unconditionally. And this is the perfect place to do it . . . the place we first met. Nothing could be more special with you, right here. Right now.”

And so we do.

Derek takes it slow.

“You okay?” he asks as we move together. “I don't want to hurt you.”

I'm so overwhelmed and so in the moment it's hard for me to process it all. It's like I'm in the middle of a dream and I don't want to wake up. “Don't worry about me,” I say in a soft whisper.

“I always worry about you, Ashtyn. I know you can take care of yourself . . .” He grabs my butt with his hands, urging my legs to wrap around him as he lifts me off the workbench. “But sometimes it's way better when you let someone else take care of you. Come with me and let go of your inhibitions, Sugar Pie.”

I close my eyes while Derek takes over. He's right. I've never felt so loved and cared for in my entire life. He's so gentle and patient and knows just the right thing to do and suddenly I'm crying out his name and he cries out mine. I know this dream won't last forever and a part of me will always want him as a permanent fixture in my life.

“You own a piece of me,” he murmurs as he holds me afterward.

“Good,” I tell him. “And just so you know . . . I'm never giving it back.”

In the past, I knew what I wanted and went for it with a vengeance. When I was younger, it was football. I did what I had to do in order to be the best.

The day after Ashtyn and I spent the night together in the shed, I'm on the plane headed back to Texas. My grandmother is sitting across from me with a stoic look on her face. I know she bonded with Brandi, Julian, and Ashtyn. Hell, I even saw her secretly feed Falkor scraps of food under the table when she thought nobody was looking.

After we land, Harold picks us up.

“Did you have a nice time?” Harold asks us.

My grandmother and I look at each other. “The weather in Chicago is atrociously hot and humid,” she says in a haughty tone. “But Fremont is a charming town. With people who grew on me, I suppose. Right, Derek?”

“Right,” I say.

I enter my grandmother's house and it just doesn't feel right. It's too big and too empty. At night, I stare at the stark white walls and know this isn't where I want to be.

Before the sun comes up, I walk downstairs and am surprised to find my grandmother sitting in the library all by herself. She's got my mom's letter in her hand.

“You can't sleep?”

She shakes her head and puts the letter down. “It's not for lack of trying. What about you, Derek?”

“I can't sleep, either.” I sit next to her. “You miss my mom?”

She nods. “Yes. Very much.”

“Me, too.” I look at my grandmother and for the first time since my mom died, I realize what I want. I want to be there for Julian and Brandi, the family I never knew I wanted. I want to be close to my grandmother even though she drives me nuts. I want to show Ashtyn what it means to be loved unconditionally—because she's the only girl I want to be with and I don't ever want her to feel alone again.

I want to fight for her. And go for it with a vengeance.

It's been a long time since I set a plan in motion, other than a stupid prank, but that competitive instinct kicks in as if it were never gone in the first place. I feel excitement and blood rushing through my veins as I plot out what I need to do. It won't be easy—far from it. But I welcome the challenge.

“Grams?”

“Yes, Derek. Did I ever tell you that I hate when you call me that?”

“It's a term of endearment, because I love you,” I tell her, getting me a jab in the ribs. “I want to go back to Chicago. And I want you to come with me.”

“I'm a Texan, Derek,” she says.

“Me, too. Think we can be Texans who just happen to live somewhere else?”

She thinks about it for a minute, then nods. “Yes. Yes, I think we can give it a whirl and try it. I'll have Harold help us find a decent house to live in that's not too far from Brandi and Ashtyn. Of course Harold and the staff will relocate with us . . . and I have to come back periodically to oversee Worthington Industries. You know you're the heir to the company, don't you?”

“You keep reminding me.”

“Good.”

This is more than fixing the mistakes I made in the past. This is bringing purpose back into my life, something I'd been missing. Ashtyn knew I had fight left in me . . . and she helped me realize that I have goals and dreams just like she does.

My grandmother is more than happy to help set my plans in motion. It takes a bunch of calls to some universities and coaches I once played with, and pulling some strings that only an heir of Worthington Industries can pull off. I fly back to Chicago when I know Ashtyn's got her interview at Northwestern University. I know she won't be at practice. As soon as I land, I head over to Fremont High.

I walk on the field, and the familiar scent of fresh-cut grass envelops me. The coach is in an intense conversation with one of
the assistant coaches. “Coach Dieter,” I say, jogging to catch up with him.

The coach turns around, his sharp blue eyes giving me a onceover. “Yeah?”

I swallow. Suddenly I'm nervous. How could my nerves be wound tight just by talking to a small-town coach? Probably because in the back of my mind, I know this is it and I can't turn back.

“I'm a transfer student,” I tell Dieter. “I'm startin' here in the fall and—”

“Son, I haven't got all day. State your business.”

I tell him, straight up, “I want to play ball. Quarterback.”

He chuckles.

“Listen, I know you lost McKnight and your backup isn't exactly starter material.” I can't afford to show any weakness, only determination and confidence. “I'll be better than McKnight on his best day.”

Coach Dieter's eyebrows rise. “You sure are a cocky sonofa-bitch. What's your name?”

I hold out my hand. “Derek. Derek Fitzpatrick.”

The coach takes my hand and shakes it. It's a manly shake, one of those hard ones that tests the strength of another guy and it's over before you know it.

“Where'd you play?”

“Started in Alabama, then played at Sierra High in California. State champion, all-state player—”

“What year are you?”

“I'll be a senior.”

Dieter calls over one of the assistant coaches. “Derek Fitzpatrick, this is our DC, Coach Heilmann. Coach Heilmann, Derek here thinks he's a better QB than Landon McKnight.”

The defensive coordinator gives a short laugh, then shrugs. “What the hell. I'd give him a tryout, Bill. At this point it can't hurt,” the assistant coach says before leaving us alone again.

Dieter taps his pen on his clipboard. “What
can
hurt is egomaniac wannabes wasting my time.” Before I can tell him about my stats, he says, “Follow me, son. Let's get you suited up and see what you got.”

I follow the coach into the locker room, where the rest of the team is putting on their gear. He motions for me to wait outside the equipment cage while he grabs me pads and a helmet. After he hands them to me, I sit on a bench and check out my future teammates.

I catch sight of Victor immediately. He takes one look at me and storms up, facing me head-on with fierce hatred on his face. “Get the fuck out of here, Fitzpatrick. You think you can hurt Ashtyn, then suddenly have a change of heart and expect her to run back in your arms so you can take advantage of her again? That's bullshit, man. I don't trust you, and neither does anyone else on this team, so you might as well go back to where you came from.”

“I'm not goin' anywhere,” I tell him.

“Oh, yeah? You want to get to Ashtyn, you've got to get through every single one of us.”

“No problem.” Whatever it takes. I'm not backing down.

He pushes me. I push back.

We're about to get into it when Dieter blows his whistle. Everybody stops what they're doing and suddenly the entire locker room is quiet. All eyes are on me. Obviously if Victor considers me the enemy, they all consider me the enemy.

“Everyone on the field!” Dieter yells.

Shit, this is not going to be easy.

Jet pushes my helmet off the bench. “Don't expect any one of us to kiss your ass or fawn all over you because you're supposed to be some sort of master QB and all. We all watched Ashtyn cry for days after you left. It was fucked-up, 'cause she never gets that emotional. You got a death wish, this is the right place.”

When I run on the field after suiting up, Victor walks right up to Dieter. “We want Butter in as QB, Coach.”

Dieter doesn't even look up from his clipboard. “I'm not planning anything but a winning season. From my experience, there's nothin' like shaking things up to make a team stronger. Maybe a new QB will light a fire under your asses.”

Victor is getting riled up now, because he's breathing hard and his fist is clenched on to the face mask of his helmet hanging at his side. “Coach—”

“Salazar, stop whining. Now get your ass over to calisthenics. You, too, Fitzpatrick.”

Victor stalks over to the field where the rest of the team is doing jumping jacks. Dieter grabs my elbow as I walk past him. “He's not gonna make it easy for you.”

“I'm not used to things coming easy,” I say.

I better keep my mind on the game and not the girl who has invaded my thoughts and my life.

During practice, I'm ordered to shadow the current QB, Brandon Butter. After he runs a play, Dieter sidelines him and tells me to call the same play. My handoff to Trey Matthews is textbook, but he drops the ball as soon as his hands touch the leather.

“What the hell?” I ask Trey after he drops the ball a second time. “That was a textbook handoff.”

He starts walking away. “For a prodigy, your skills are obviously lacking,” he mumbles, then crudely grabs his crotch for my benefit.

“Fuck you. My skills are spot-on.”

Jet isn't any help, either. He tries his hardest to catch the current QB's throws every time, even when they're way off target, but he practically runs in the opposite direction the second the ball leaves my hand.

The guys on the offensive line leave a hole wide open for Victor to sack me. He does, repeatedly.

“Dude, you suck!” Victor says to me when we're getting in formation. He chuckles, amused at my inability to show off my skills.

“I wouldn't suck if your teammates would do their job,” I yell.

As the ball is hiked to me, I look for Jet but am immediately sacked by Victor again. None of my offensive linemen are protecting me.

“That was for Ashtyn,” Victor says, shoving me to the ground
as I try to get up. Then he puts a hand out to help me, but I don't take it. It's his damn fault I got sacked. With my frustration at an all-time high, I stand up and push him. He's a linebacker. I shouldn't be surprised that his feet stay solid on the ground.

“Want a piece of me?” he asks.

Jet appears between us. He grabs the front of my jersey and urges me away from Vic.

It's too late. “Give me what you got, Salazar.”

I brace myself and keep my center of gravity as he attempts to shove me to the ground. Ha. The big guy thought he'd take me down without an effort, but I'm one stubborn motherfucker, my adrenaline is running high, and I refuse to be taken down. Frustrated, he removes his helmet and gets in my face. Dieter blows his whistle. I think he's been blowing it ever since I got sacked, but I'm ignoring it just like everyone else at this point.

“You can't expect to come here, snap your fingers, and make us work for you,” Salazar says.

I whip off my helmet. “I've played with freshmen who could run circles around you.”

He rushes me just as Coach Dieter blows his whistle again. It's not easy to fight with equipment on. We're rolling on the ground trying to get at each other.

“Break it up!” I hear Dieter yelling.

A bunch of guys force us off each other.

“Fitzpatrick, on the bench!” Dieter orders, motioning to the sidelines.

What the hell? I'm being singled out? Fuck that. “You've got to be kiddin'. Coach, it wasn't my—”

Dieter points to the bench, cutting me off. “I'm not gonna say it again.”