Fading Out (6 page)

And shit. Beck got the bartender in on this? My head whips around to see him still in the throes of laughter, slapping his large leg. These guys could get away with murder in this town.

When I look at Arian again, taking in her indignant posture, shoulders rolled back, head held high, and the unsure quake rolling through her body that contradicts it all—I realize how far off I’ve been about her. She might have money, but that’s where my assumptions end.

I should apologize on my guys’ behalf. Right now. But while I’m contemplating the best way, trying to think of words that won’t dig me in further, I think my mouth actually hangs open, my brain trying to formulate these elusive words. Those damn words that always come out all wrong around her.

“So, you don’t deny it. Good.” She chucks the condom on the bar top.

“Whoa, wait.” Finally, I can articulate a thought. But it’s too late. Her friend is grabbing their jackets, her face drawn in a sour expression that makes my stomach clench.

“That was uncalled for,” her friend says. “Tell your buddies…” She trails off with a hard sigh. “Never mind.” Then she’s draping Arian with a green jacket and walking her toward the door.

Fucking hell.

I storm over to the table, my chest heavy and breaths constricted. “I thought I said no one fucks with her.”

Their animated faces drop into tight frowns. “It was a joke, Ryde. Just fucking around,” Beck says. “Besides, she’s a bitch.”

Anger flares hot and violent in my veins. I breathe in, out. In. Out. Taking measured breaths to calm myself before I blow up at him. Bracing my hands on the table, I lean over them and say, “I hope getting one over on her felt good. I hope it was worth it.” I glance around the table. “Because we’re doing squats until your legs want to kick the shit out of you tomorrow.”

Mumbled groans travel around the tables.

My guys know this shit isn’t cool. And they’ll move on after this. Probably even feel like the shits that they are and apologize to her. Ultimately, I wish it hadn’t gone this far. For Arian’s sake, and all the others…I should’ve spoken up a long time ago. I don’t have a real excuse other than cowardice. As long as things go easy, I don’t make ripples. But since Arian came along—with her obnoxious beacon shining a light right on my shameful past—easygoing Ryder is done.

Nothing about this girl is going to be easy.

But I’m being selfish, still, wondering just how much damage control I’ll now have to do to set things right between us.

Because—suddenly and purposely—I realize I’ve been thinking of her in us statements. Hell.

Two points her.

B
ecca’s
early morning call is not welcome after a night spent at a smelly bar, where I was humiliated—yet again—by the town’s football gods. Then had to walk home in the frosty night air, half wet and freezing, trying not to rage the whole way.

Vee, I could tell, was torn. The fact that Gavin wasn’t among the others last night helped, but she still couldn’t bring herself to take up my side completely, knowing that Gavin is a member of the opposing team.

I roll my eyes as Becca drones on through the receiver.
Now I’m thinking in sports terms. Really
?

Which I guess is just as well, considering I’m now a member of the Bobcat Boosters. I’m tempted to crumple the announcement sheet in my hand, but instead, I place it on my nightstand delicately, as if it might combust if I move too quickly.

“You know your father’s expecting you, Ari.” Becca is tapping her long, manicured nails against her cell. I can hear the
click
,
click
,
click,
while she waits for my response.

“Fine,” I say, plopping onto my bed. Defeated. “I’ll go. What time?”

The clicking stops. “Seven. And don’t worry about finding something to wear. I’ve already requested a gown be made.” A beat. “It will be ready when you arrive. We’ll go out for mani-pedis before the initial fitting.”

My chest twinges with an annoying, sharp pain. “What size?” I ask, low, dreading her answer.

She sighs. “I expect that by now, you’ll be able to fit into a two. But don’t go crazy,” she adds with a snide bite to her voice. “We don’t want you blowing up, either. Two is perfect. Aim for that. Carbs and exercise.”

By the time I hang up with Becca, my insides are so twisted I can’t even think of breakfast. Which I desperately need to eat before I venture to our first booster’s meeting. Sometimes I wish I could just hook up to an IV. Pump the right amount of nutrients straight into my system and not bother with the laborious task of actually eating.

Then the guilt punches me in the stomach. Eating is not supposed to be a chore, I recall my therapist stating. Very adamantly. But most days that’s exactly what it feels like. Especially when Becca starts in on me. When I’ve done something as stupid as sign up for a group that supports a jock whose current mission is to reduce me to a pile of writhing girl parts—from embarrassment as well as attraction.

The fact that both are equally torturing me is just more proof of how messed up I am. I’m attracted to a guy who treats me no better than his jockstrap. But I don’t let that rule my head. I’ve admitted just how hot Ryder is—I won’t start lying to myself. I draw the line there.

But he’s jock scum. Cocky and full of himself. Worse, he somehow thinks the more he pranks me, the more he’s wearing me down. Like I’ll just all of a sudden fall to my knees and be like,
Wow! It took you making me feel like an utter loser to realize how in love with you I am
.
Thank you. Let me suck your cock.

I balk at my own crudeness, shocked. Then rush to get dressed for the day. I seriously need some nourishment before I lose all capacity to think straight.

The room door opens, and Vee enters with a towel twisted atop her head. “Hey,” she says. “Don’t look so pissy. At least you got his attention.”

I roll my eyes. “Yes, because putting condoms in your cranberry and vodka is the equivalent of sending roses for a jock, right?”

Her pretty face screws up. “Sorry. I’m all crabby today.”

I wave it off. “No worries. But would you really prefer it if Gavin was picking on you?”

She shrugs, and I wonder—not for the first time—if the confidence she normally exerts for the world is a mask. If she’s battling some severe insecurity beneath. “At least he’d know I exist.”

“Oh, Vee…” But then an idea hits me, pushing every other sentimental and rational thought I was going to voice aside. “You really mean that?”

Again, she shrugs a shoulder. She falls on her bed. Then decides sitting isn’t enough of a display of defeat and flops to her back. “Seems like the team respects someone who can get one over on them. Even if they express it all stupid. I mean, it’s football. It’s what they do.”

“Okay.” I nod, gathering my thoughts. I planned to let this last jerk-off move of Ryder’s go, just ignore him, figuring he’d get bored and move on. But I suddenly see a way for me to get some much-needed vengeance, and for Vee to get the attention she’s dying to have from Gavin.

“Do we have time to go into town before the booster thingy?” I ask.

Her blond eyebrows knit together, and she rolls onto her side to face me. “We do…why?”

I smile. For the first time all morning.

T
he team’s
locker room smells like some filthy animal hunkered down for the winter and up and died. It reeks of musty sneakers and foul body odor, and something I’m not quite sure of and afraid to ask.

I pull a face as Vee looks over at me, her lips stretched into a forced smile. “I guess that’s why the locker room project was approved.” She glances around. “Damn, wish it was my idea.”

I laugh, following her lead as we navigate around workers installing new lockers and the old equipment being moved out. Our job, according to Cherri (our overly enthusiastic booster leader) is to help sort the good, decent, and not so good shower laundry.

Fantastic.

We huddle near the shower units, a pile of off-white tees, stained towels, and other miscellaneous whites piled high on a wooden table before us. Vee shrugs and reaches into her pack. She pulls out her ear buds and pops them into her ears, already drowning out the commotion of saws and hammers.

I didn’t think to bring mine, so I try not to flinch at each loud bang, but my back seizes up with the high whir of the saw. As I sort, inspecting and folding and tossing, I inconspicuously look around for the team. Why did Vee want to be apart of this? So far, I haven’t seen a single player. They’re either at practice or a game, or somewhere else, far away from the ruckus.

After half an hour of endless sorting, I bump my hip against Vee’s. When she pulls a bud out of her ear, I say, “You ready to hunt?”

She gets a worried expression on her face, like she’s going to back out. I bite down on my bottom lip, stopping myself from calling the whole thing off—to give her an extra second to contemplate her part.

I falter. “We don’t have—”

“No. I’m in.” She nods repeatedly, as if she’s talking herself into it. “Those guys really do deserve a taste of their own medicine. And hey”—she smiles wide, fear evaporating—“he’ll definitely know my name after this, right?”

I laugh a little nervously. “Oh, yeah. He will.”

With deft movements, Vee reaches into her pack and pulls out a plastic bag. My knee jiggles anxiously as she tucks it under her hoodie. I feel like I’m back at camp, about to get busted for sneaking over to the boys’ side of the lake—which is pretty close to what we’re doing.

Only we’re not crossing over to flirt—at least, I’m not. Vee’s seriously disturbed crush on Gavin is forcing her into cahoots with the outcast, and I think her brain just let go of her last reservations. By pulling a prank on Gavin, she’s basically pissing circles around the guy. Claiming him as her own.

“Are you ready?” Vee whispers, pulling me out of my cycling thoughts.

I brace myself. Suck in a deep, calming breath. I feel the need to count down, get ahold of the anxiety building beneath my breastbone. But I manage. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

Then we’re off. Completely suspicious and not at all covertly as we note every person on our way toward the back of the locker room. Smiling awkwardly. Waving lamely. Oh, yeah. When this shit goes down, there’s no denying we were the culprits.

Guilty as sin.

Best to own it now.

The jerseys for tomorrow’s game have been cleaned and covered, hung along a temporary metal unit while the locker room project is underway. For a second, I think about looking for Ryder’s uniform. I just have this weird need to see it, envision him wearing it, all sweaty and ripped muscles straining against the tight fabric…but I shut down that debasing thought, and try to focus on our mission.

“Thank God, they already had these cleaned,” Vee says, lifting the plastic tarp-like covering. “At least they don’t make us sort these things.”

I take one last glimpse around to make sure we’re in the clear, then look at the pile of neatly stacked jockstraps. “I guess the boosters have
some
dignity.”

Vee laughs. “Right, because none of them would get a thrill out of handling their heroes’ ball bras.” She arches an eyebrow as she glances my way. “There is some pretty twisted idol worship going on with these people.”

I actually do agree. But I refrain from commenting on the fact that the reason we’re even here is because Vee has the hots for one of the Bobcats. And is, in fact, handling his ball bra at the moment.

“We need to sneak these things out like trash. You got the bag?” I ask.

Vee smiles and whips out a new black trash bag.

We start tossing the clean jockstraps into the bag. When the workers move on to the shower units, we make quick work of our plan. The whole while, a queasy feeling in the pit of my stomach builds until I feel like I’m about to lose my breakfast shake. I’m not sure if it’s from the actual protein drink or if it’s some kind of warning.

We should have planned our escape routes for tomorrow, I think, as I hang my artwork in Ryder’s locker. But damn, I wish I could see his cute face go all ragey when he opens his new locker before the game.

“
I
t’s about fucking time
.” Beck slaps the new lockers appreciatively. The rest of the guys file into our upgraded locker room with similar remarks and nods.

I have to admit, the boosters outdid themselves. The school has been talking about upgrading a few facilities, the locker rooms among some of the more sorely needed, since I first started out. But money was always an issue. And time. This group of supporters has been the best the team’s had in years.

With that thought comes a quick and uninviting thought of Arian. I wonder if she went through with joining them. I can’t see how, after what happened the other night at Jack’s. Whatever reason she had for wanting to in the first place most likely wasn’t enough after the second condom prank.

Damn, but we’ve really turned into a bunch of dumb jocks.

Regardless of how pissed off she was, I put an end to the pranks. I think Beck is still cursing my name—he hates squats. I’m sure the guys won’t even think of looking her way now. Which, on a completely selfish level, gives me a secret satisfaction.

“What the…?” Beck’s voice pulls me from my conflicting thoughts. I hear him bang his helmet against the locker unit. “The fuck?”

Groaning, I head toward him and a few guys hovering around his locker. I swear, sometimes being the QB of a college football team is like being a freaking babysitter. These guys can whine. A lot.

“You still pissed about the squats?” I ask, lacing my arms over my chest and leaning up against the metal blue unit.

Beck’s face flames red, his meaty cheeks fluttering with his heavy breaths as he stares into his open locker. “Who the fuck, man?” He reaches into the locker and yanks something out.

My forehead creases as my gaze zeros in on the dark fabric in his hand.

Then he holds it up, stretching out the lacy material.

A thong.

The group of guys start laughing. “You finally coming out of the closet, bro?” James says, clapping Beck on his big shoulder. “I told you that cross-dressing shit back in freshman year would stick.”

Beck growls. “That was Halloween, you douche!” He balls the pair of women’s underwear and tosses them to the bottom of the locker. “Where’s my strap?”

It’s finally starting to register what’s going on. I just thought that a fan stuck them in Beck’s locker. Not really getting why he’s so pissed off. Hey, stranger things have happened.

But soon the locker room fills with curses as the laughter dies down.

I head to my locker and yank open the door. A pink thong hangs on a hook, and next to it, a folded piece of paper. I tweak the note out:

And just for our special QB, the leader of the pack…

I grab the thong. On the front…or whatever you call the thickest part of the damn underwear…is a glittery R. All done up in pink sparkles.

Gavin laughs from over my shoulder. “Dude, yours are bedazzled!”

James says, “How the hell do you even know what that is?”

“I’ve had girlfriends. Unlike your no-ass-getting self.” Gavin punches James in the arm.

As they continue to bicker, I stare at the thong, knowing exactly who it's from. Damn. I just figured out why Arian wanted to join the boosters.

“Okay,” Gavin says, gaining the attention of the room. “Joke time’s over. It’s game time! Where the hell are our straps?”

They start the hunt. Checking the shower area, laundry bags, but I can save them the trouble right now. They’re not here.

“You’re looking at them,” I say, and all eyes land on me. “Strap up, girls.”

Beck’s chest heaves. “No way, man. This is bullshit. I’m not wearing that shit on the field.”

“But you’ll wear it somewhere else?” James says, laughing.

“Shut it!” Beck hollers. He’s really pissed off about this. But honestly, I can’t blame the guy. He’s the biggest dude on the team. A tiny thong won’t be the most comfortable thing for him. Well, not for any of us. But I consider it the last of our punishment for what’s been done to Arian.

“I’ll free ball,” Beck says, turning to go change out.

I hold up my hand. “None of you are stepping foot on that field without you’re boys strapped up,” I say. I make eye contact with each player. “Man the fuck up and put your damn panties on.”

A chorus of groans travels around the locker room as the guys lower their heads and make their sad ways back to their lockers. They know I’m serious.

I let them vent and curse, be as pissed off as they want, but they know they’re accepting this punishment. I look down at the pink thong with little plastic jewels. I have to admit, I feel a little pissed myself, but the thought that she took the time to make something—even a gift meant as payback—means she had to be thinking of me. Period.

Despite the fact that she had revenge on her mind; wanted to see me suffer. Still, it’s the thought that counts, right?

I suck up my manly pride, shake my head, and strip down. Working myself up to slip on the underwear. Hell.

Hoots and whistles rise, echoing off the walls. Then Gavin streaks past me in only his tiny black thong. I laugh as the guys whip towels and tees at his bare ass.

F
irst and ten
. The roar of the crowd bounces off the stadium. Reverberates through my chest. We’re in the lead by four points. James touches the ground, palms the ball, ready to snap to me. I glance around, catch the eye of one of the linebackers. He sneers, prepared to run me through.

I breathe in the fresh scent of cut grass. The crisp night air. The lights beam down on the field, casting a glowing halo over the stadium’s arc.

This game is ours.

Before I call out to start the play, I look to the risers. To where Arian watches. I spotted her during halftime, a beaming smile on her face as she laughed while I waddled off the field, desperate to dig the damn underwear out of my ass crack.

And now, her smile grows. Our eyes meeting. If laughing at my expense puts that smile on her face, so be it. I’ll make a damn fool of myself if it means never having to see her hurt or upset again.

Something has shifted. At this point, all the humiliation in the world couldn’t keep me from her.

A fraction of the fissure running through me begins to seal itself. And it’s because of Arian. I wish I could’ve found a way to make things right with Alyssa. But it would’ve taken more than wearing a pair of thongs to correct that mistake. A hell of a lot more.

Down the yellow line, Beck curses. I glance over to see him hike one of his legs and reach behind him to pull at his pants.

Game well played. Arian, all the points.