Going Under (17 page)

“How can they possibly know if these girls
are virgins?” I asked.

“Spying, I guess.”

“You mean you think other girls are helping
them out?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

I was mortified. I read down the sheet. The
letters beside each name were V’s, GG’s, BG’s, or W’s. There was
one W listed for Game 2. Her name was Krista Campbell.

“Why would any of them choose a ‘whore’ if
she doesn’t score well?” I asked.

“I don’t think they get to choose any girls
they want. They have to pick from a list. They change out the girls
every game,” Terry explained. “No girl plays in games back to
back.”

“I see. Don’t want these girls feeling like
sluts,” I said.

“No, just labeled as such,” Terry
replied.

I sat back and looked at the ceiling. “So
what’s ‘FSL’?”

“Well, there’s your Fantasy Football
League.”

“Uh huh.”

“Sooo . . .”

I looked at Terry. “Fantasy Sex League?”

“Close,” he said. “Fantasy Slut League.”

I snorted. “So now they’re all sluts? What
about the virgin thing?”

“I guess the whole point is to make them
sluts,” Terry said.

“How do you know it’s ‘Fantasy
Slut
League’?”

“I saw it in an email. Can’t take credit for
figuring it out myself,” he said. “You’re scheduled for Game
3.”

I nearly shit my pants. “Excuse me?!”

“I found the list of girls for Game 3.
You’re one of the picks.”

My heartbeat sped up so fast I was afraid
I’d have a panic attack. I closed my eyes. Fields, fields, fields.
Where were the damn fields?

“My category?” I breathed, eyes still
clamped shut. I really didn’t want to ask, but I had to. How would
these guys know either way? Then I thought of Tanner. Oh God. What
if Parker asked Tanner about me? What if Tanner ran his mouth about
Finn? He knew about Finn. Don’t ask me how, but the boy knew.

“‘Good Girl’,” Terry replied.

I arched my brow and pursed my lips. “How do
they know?”

“Spies, Wright. The question is, are
you?”

“That’s none of your business, you dirty old
man,” I spat.

It wasn’t accurate, though. A ‘Good Girl’
meant that I hadn’t had sex, and that wasn’t accurate one bit.

“When does Game 3 start?” I asked.

“Not for several months, but don’t worry.
I’ll let you know when they’ve drafted their picks,” Terry
said.

I stared at him. I must have looked scared
because he shook his head.

“Nothing’s gonna happen to you,” Terry said.
“I promise.”

I nodded.

“But you have to be smart about this,
Wright,” he continued. “Don’t go putting yourself in some
compromising position just to find out more information about this
Cal dude. I understand why you want to get him, but you’ve gotta
play it safe.”

I nodded.

“I mean, I know she was your best friend and
all—”

“I got it, Terry.”

“But this could really be some serious shit.
And I just think it’d be better to—”

“Terry? I got it.”

Terry closed his mouth. I chewed on mine for
something to do while I thought.

“Let me see that spreadsheet again,” I said.
I scanned it. “Where’s Cal’s name? I see Parker, Mike, Hunter, Tim,
and Aaron, but where’s Cal?”

Terry looked over the document. “He must be
sitting this one out.”

“Yeah, but why?”

***

At least I’m not a whore.
That’s all
I could think about while I sat on the couch watching my dad
read.

“You’re home late. Work go that long?” he
asked, not looking up from his
Reader’s Digest
.

“This couple would not leave,” I said. There
was no way I was telling Dad I went to a 36-year-old man’s house to
discover the details of a fantasy slut league.

He nodded, preoccupied.

Suddenly I wanted to talk to my dad. Not
about anything in particular. I really just wanted him to make me
laugh. I needed a distraction from all the information I recently
learned.

“What was it like growing up in the
Northeast?” I asked.

Dad glanced over his magazine. “Really?”

I nodded.

“Cold.”

I cocked my head at him and raised my
eyebrows.

“Not friendly,” he offered.

“Do better,” I said.

Dad drew in his breath. “Why are you
interested in this all of a sudden? Isn’t there a show on TV you
watch at this time?”

“Dad, it’s midnight.”

“Exactly. Shouldn’t you be in bed?”

“Shouldn’t
you
be in bed? You’re the
old person here.”

“Cute.”

I winked at him. He winked back. It was our
thing. I remembered doing it ever since he taught me how to wink
when I was four. I didn’t realize how much I missed it when we
lived apart.

“Just tell me,” I said.

“All right. I lived in a row home. You know
what that is?”

“Those houses that are joined together like
townhomes?”

“Yep. Space up north is hard to come by
unless you’ve got a lot of money. Most of the houses are smashed
together.”

“So no back yard?” I asked.

“Um, a little one. About the size of this
living room,” Dad replied.

I looked around. “That’s sad.”

“It was what it was.”

“Why wasn’t it friendly?”

“I’m sure it was friendly,” Dad said. “Just
different compared to Raleigh.”

I was about to comment when I heard a light
knock on the front door.

“Stay right here,” Dad ordered as he jumped
up from his chair. He grabbed the loaded Colt .45 tucked in the
drawer of an end table. I heard him cock it.

“I’m sure it’s just—”

“Quiet, Brooklyn.”

I obeyed. Whenever my dad got like this, I
listened to him. Not listening proved disastrous. I learned from
past experience.

Dad peered out of the peephole and sighed.
He turned in my direction.

“You know some boy with a skateboard?”

I jumped up and ran to the door. “Yes!”

“What the hell? It’s midnight, Brooke.”

“On a Friday,” I argued.

Dad grunted and returned to his chair.

“Seriously, Dad? You’re gonna sit there when
I open the door?”

“You bet I am. With my gun right here in my
lap, too.”

I rolled my eyes and opened the door.

Ryan stood in the doorway staring at me. I
could think of nothing to say, so I just stared back. He finally
broke the silence.

“I’m really sorry,” he said. “For showing up
here late and for the other day . . .”

“Let’s talk outside,” I said.

“It’s midnight, Brooke,” my father called
from the living room.

Oh my God.

“Maybe I should meet your friend first
before you go chat outside?” he said.

I had a feeling I knew what was about to
happen, but I had no choice.

“Will you come in for a minute?” I asked,
and Ryan nodded.

“This is my dad, Mr. Wright,” I said.

I watched my father stand up, the gun
nestled in his left hand pointing down while he extended his right.
Ryan took it and shook it with what looked like trepidation mixed
with a desperate attempt at confidence.

“Nice to meet you, son,” Dad said. “Now what
the hell are you doing knocking on my door at midnight?” He looked
at his wristwatch after releasing Ryan’s hand. “Correction.
Twelve-thirty.”

“I’m really sorry, sir,” Ryan said.
“Completely inappropriate, I know.”

“You got that right. Were you thinking I was
out of town or something? Did Brooklyn tell you I travel for work
sometimes? Were you hoping to get her alone in my house?”

Oh. My. God.

“No sir!” Ryan said. “No no, I knew you were
here! I saw you in the window.”

“So you’re spying on us now?” Dad tapped the
gun on the side of his thigh.

“No, Mr. Wright! I was riding my skateboard
down the street—”

“At 12:30 in the morning? Are you some kind
of hoodlum? What’s your number, son? Who are your parents?”

“DAD!” I cried.

My father turned in my direction. There was
a hint of humor playing in his eyes and on his lips. I doubted Ryan
could see it, but I could because I knew my dad. And I wanted to
strangle him.

Dad turned his attention once again to Ryan.
“What are your intentions with my daughter?”

I rolled my eyes.

“To talk with her outside for a few
minutes?” Ryan offered.

“On the front porch. You leave that porch
and I’ll come find you. Do you understand what I mean, Ryan?” Dad
sank back down in his club chair and rested the gun on his lap.

“Yes, sir.”

I forgot all about feeling uncomfortable
near Ryan for our past make-out session. I grabbed his hand like we
were old friends and yanked him outside, all but slamming the front
door in frustration and total humiliation.

“Oh my God,” I said. “I’m mortified. I’m so
sorry. My dad is just—”

Ryan’s face broke out in a wide grin.

“What?” I asked.

“Your dad is awesome,” he said.

I was completely confused. Awesome? My dad
was a nutcase and an embarrassment.

I didn’t know what to say.

“That’s how a father’s supposed to take care
of his daughter,” he said after a moment. “I hope I take care of my
daughter that way.”

I didn’t get it. I didn’t get Ryan. But he
was just as sexy as I remembered him from school earlier today, and
now he was standing on my front porch apparently wanting to make
things right between us.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “For everything. I
didn’t mean to make you feel embarrassed for going so long without
making out. Like it’s a big damn deal making out.”

“It is a big damn deal,” he said. “With the
right person.”

I shuffled my feet. “Well, I know. But I
didn’t mean to act so shocked about it. It’s just that you’re so
cute.” I blushed, but it was dark outside, so I knew he wouldn’t
see. In fact, it was easy for me to be honest with him out here on
the porch in the early morning hours because it was dark. Like a
confessional. I could say everything on my heart, I thought, and
not be ashamed.

“Well, I don’t know about cute, but there
are reasons I’ve abstained, if you will.”

God, I just loved hearing him talk. What guy
says, “If you will”? He sounded so intelligent, and I wanted to
pounce on him. And here we go again. Was there no end to my
out-of-control sexual desire for this guy? Hello, Brooklyn? Your
father is right inside.

“I’m sorry I acted like a jerk,” Ryan said.
“I shouldn’t have done that. I didn’t even have any place to go. I
was just embarrassed. I thought I kissed you all wrong.” He hung
his head.

“Are you kidding me?” I asked. “I nearly
came.”

I am the biggest moron on the planet. Why
did I say that?

“I mean, I didn’t almost come. I . . . I
don’t know why I said that. Oh my God. I’m so embarrassed. I’m not
like that. I’ve never come in my life. I mean, I’m a good girl.” I
had no idea what I was blabbing about. “I just think you’re a
really special guy.”
Brooke, turn around and go back inside
.
“I just meant that it was really nice,” I ended lamely.

“You’ve never come before in your life?”
Ryan asked softly. “That’s a shame.”

The heat washed over me in an angry tidal
wave. It was embarrassment and lust and giddiness crashing down all
at once. I wanted to drown in it.

“Well, I don’t know,” I said just as softly.
I didn’t even know what that meant. Of course I’d had orgasms in
the past, but I realized none of them counted because they weren’t
with Ryan. And then I remembered my dad was inside, and we were
talking about orgasms.

“I think it’s late,” I said. “And I think
I’m tired from today. School. Work.”
Spying
on the swim
team.

Ryan nodded. “May I see you tomorrow?”

“You mean later today?” I asked.

Ryan nodded patiently.

“I have to work the lunch shift at the
diner,” I said.

“May I come in for lunch?”

I grinned. “Yes.”

“All right then, Brooklyn,” Ryan said, and I
liked it. I didn’t like when Cal called me “Brooklyn” because he
did it to keep a certain distance. And just to be an asshole. But
Ryan wasn’t trying to keep me at a distance at all. He said my full
first name, and it instantly drew me closer to him.

“See ya,” I said, watching him walk into the
blackness of the morning.

Eleven

I had no business getting all dolled up for
Ryan. I was supposed to be focused on Cal, but somehow he became
just some guy in the background, out of focus and unimportant in my
life. I thought I heard Beth screaming from a far off place, asking
me what the hell I was doing, but I ignored her. She couldn’t
control my life. I’d get to Cal when I got to him. She had to
understand that.

I studied myself in the full-length mirror.
I’d never looked prettier for work. I thought I looked like a
Barbie doll, my hair pulled up high on my head in a ponytail, locks
curled and tumbling in flirty waves from the elastic band. I pumped
up the eye factor with heavy mascara. I wanted to go for an Edie
Sedgwick look—all ‘60s glam. I even ironed my uniform, a typical
diner waitress outfit. Blue shirtdress that hit just above my
knees. I slipped on my Keds and grabbed my apron.

I planned to knock his socks off.

Ryan showed up at one. I assumed it was to
beat the lunch rush, but he came in the midst of it. The hostess
tried to seat him at the bar. He was alone, after all, and she
didn’t want to waste a table on him. Normally we waitresses
appreciated this. Bigger party meant larger bill which hopefully
meant fat tip. It didn’t always work out that way. There were your
typical cheap ass patrons always looking to find something wrong
with the service or meal, thus justifying a poor tip or no tip at
all.