All Things Pretty (17 page)

“Not off to a very good start, but I’m
willing to give you a chance,” I tease. “So, who’s played touch
football?” Both of them just stare. “This ought to be
interesting.”

I go over the basics, explaining how it will
work and we head to the field. The drainage here sucks and the rain
from last week left this place just the right amount of nasty. The
grass is gone from years of kids playing here and the top inch or
so of dirt is wet and soggy. Perfect surface for a game of mud
touch football.

We face off on the field and Tommi takes off
running around one side of me while Travis backs up to try and
throw her the ball. I race toward him, giving his stomach a slap as
I pass. “You’re sacked, quarterback,” I tell him.

“This game is stupid. And why the hell are
we playing in mud?”

I reach down and grab a fistful of the gunk,
smearing it on his face. “Is that answer enough?”

“What the hell did you do that for?” He
wipes at his face.

“You’ll see soon enough, grouchy.”

A kid that doesn’t like to get dirty? I
didn’t think such a creature existed. What the hell?

They run the exact same play the next two
times. Tommi misses the catch both times. “My turn,” I yell.

I take the ball from Travis and walk back to
my side, bending down and eyeing my two opponents. “Think either
one of you can catch me?” I ask.

Tommi and Travis look at each other and I
take off running around Travis, scoring easily.

“No fair!” cries Tommi.

“How was that not fair? It’s two against
one.”

“But I didn’t know exactly what I was doing.
Give me that ball.”

I toss it to her. “Take it. It’s your turn
anyway. Seven-zero.”

Travis takes the ball again and he whispers
something to Tommi before they get into position. They’re both
grinning, the same devilish look in their identical green eyes.
Maybe they’re finally getting into the spirit of the game.

Suddenly, Tommi takes off around me and
Travis falls back to throw to her again. But then, before I can
turn around, Tommi is jumping on my back, screaming, “Run, Travis!
Run!”

Travis takes off flying and I run after him,
Tommi clinging to my back like a damn monkey. I could dive after
him and take him down by the legs, but I’m afraid I’ll hurt Tommi,
so I let him go.

He scores, throwing the ball between his
legs like some of the pros do. At least he’s
seen
a football
game before.

“That was dirty,” I tell him as he gloats by
me, throwing the ball into
my
stomach this time.

“I thought that was the point,” Tommi says
from my back. I turn my head to look at her, her mouth level with
mine. Her lips part, like she knows what I’m thinking, and somehow
I resist kissing her. Instead, I sink my teeth into her chin.

“Oh, it’s on, little lady. It. Is. On.”

I reach around and pull her off my back,
dumping her gently in the mud. Her mouth makes an O and her eyes
get all round, which forces me to bend and get a handful of mud to
smear on her leg.

I walk off to take my position on the field
again, whistling over the sound of her indignant sputtering. Travis
is still smiling as he crouches down in front of me.

When I do my solo version of snapping the
ball, I fake left, fake right and then run back left, zipping
around Tommi who reaches out for me and misses. Travis isn’t going
down so easily, though. He shoots up at me from my right and
launches himself at me. I could stay upright, but I don’t. Instead,
I go down, both of us skittering through the mud. I come to a stop
with Travis pinned beneath my back, wheezing for air.

“Take that, bitch,” he says, pushing at
me.

“Who you callin’ bitch, lil man?” I ask,
putting more of my weight on Travis and pushing. We both scoot
through the mud, most of it getting on Travis.

“Get off me, you goon.”

Tommi walks up, smiling down at us, shaking
her head. “You two are gonna be filthy.”

I lean up and glance back at Travis, who
gives me a shit-eatin’ grin. We both nod in silent agreement and I
stand, offering him a hand to get up.

I get the ball two more times, giving Tommi
and her brother every opportunity to jump on, run after, try to
trip and fly at me as I half-heartedly make my way toward the
makeshift goal line. I score on my last drive, dragging Tommi
(holding onto my arm)
and
Travis (wrapped around my leg)
into the endzone with me.

“You can’t stop this,” I tell them when I
fling the ball up into the air and catch it again.

“Hey, you haven’t won yet,” Tommi says with
determination. She puts her arm around Travis’s shoulder and they
walk off, her whispering in his ear all the way back to the line of
scrimmage.

They run the same play again–Travis
throwing, Tommi receiving. This time when Tommi takes off, I start
off slowly after her. Travis gets the ball to her with a fairly
decent, not entirely disappointing arm and Tommi clumsily catches
it, squealing in glee.

“I caught it! I caught it!”

Travis is yelling from behind as he runs
forward to stop me, “Run, dumb ass! Don’t just stand there.”

Shock registers on Tommi’s face and she
turns to take off. Catching her easily, I sweep her up into my arms
and throw her onto the ground. Nothing that will hurt her, just
enough force to make her feel well and truly caught.

I fall down on top of her, my body resting
between her legs, and I take the ball from where it’s gripped tight
in her arms. I tap her on the end of the nose with the laces.
“Still didn’t score, sweetheart.”

Her chest is heaving beneath me and her eyes
sparkle like dark emeralds at midnight, glimmering with a passion
she’s having trouble containing. I know because I’m struggling,
too. I stare down into her face, desire zinging between us like
exhilarating bolts of lightning.

I flex my hips ever so slightly and am
gratified when I hear her soft gasp. I lick my lips, ready to give
in and kiss her, when I feel a heavy thump on my back.

“Oh, so that’s how it’s gonna be?” I say,
speaking to Travis, but winking at Tommi, who is still staring at
me with her lips parted. “Unnecessary roughness!”

I roll onto my back, trapping Travis beneath
me until I can wiggle around to get my hands on him. When I do, I
flip him onto his stomach, putting his face right in the mud. “You
asshole!” His squeal is muffled, but there’s laughter in his
voice.

“How do you like that, tough guy?”

He struggles and I let him squirm out of my
grasp. I turn to grab Tommi quickly, before she can get away. I
take her in my arms and tickle her mercilessly. When her gasps are
almost pained they’re so breathless, I finally let her slide off my
lap. But I’m not done. I take two handfuls of mud and throw one on
her stomach and one at the watchful Travis, who’s standing off to
the side watching us. He deflects and bends for his own ammunition
as I scrape up more goop.

Touch football quickly turns into nothing
more than a mud fight, full of lots of cheap shots and laughing. At
one point, I just sit back and watch Travis and Tommi smear each
other with thick globs of the stuff, aiming for each other’s mouth
and hair and ears.

When there are literally no clean surfaces
visible on their faces and arms, they turn to me, panting and
exhausted. “Now what?”

“I think you’ve both had enough, but I’ll
leave it up to you. More football or hot shower?”

Travis and Tommi look at each other and
grin. “Hot shower,” they say simultaneously.

Tommi eyes her brother, shaking her head.
“You’re filthy! You should probably change back into your other
clothes so that at least we won’t get the back seat dirty,” Tommi
tells him. When he starts off, nodding in acknowledgement, she
calls after him, “And take those shoes off before you get in.”

Her lips are still curved when she turns her
attention back to me. Something about the moment hits me like a
punch to the gut. I think for a second that I could stand here and
stare at her, just enjoy her smile and her happiness for hours.
Days, maybe. But I can’t.
We
can’t. So, instead, I brush a
clump of mud from the end of her nose. “Have fun?”

“I did. Thank you. This was so good for
him.”

“And you.”

“And me,” she concedes.

“You can be the
real you
around me
anytime. I won’t tell a soul.”

“So you prefer this?”

“Oh, hell yeah! I don’t need glamorous. Or
proper.”

“I’m not proper.”

“You forget that I
heard
your…expressiveness that day on the side of the road. And it didn’t
consist of ‘darn’ or ‘golly gee’. But I haven’t heard anything like
that come out of your mouth since then.”

“Ladies aren’t supposed to talk that way,
according to Lance.”

“I don’t want a lady. I want a woman. One
who knows her own mind. One who wears what she’s comfortable in,
one who says what she’s thinking.” I take a step closer. I can’t
help myself. Her scent draws me in. Even covered in mud, she smells
like sexy sunshine. “I want the woman who kisses like she’s on fire
and makes me feel like I’m the only one who can put her out.”

“Sig,” she begins.

I break in to cut her off. I know her
objections. And I know how much I don’t want to hear them. “I’m
just being honest. I’m not even touching you.”

Her eyes are glued to mine, a damn near
irresistible gravity pulling us together. “It’s not like you can
anyway. I mean, we’re in public. With my little brother. What could
you possibly touch?”

I reach down and smear my hand in mud. With
her eyes locked on mine, I reach between us and flatten my palm on
her chest, right over her heart. “This. I’d touch this.”

Her eyes search mine for a couple of
heartbeats, looking for my meaning. I know when she finds it. Clear
green crystal melts into liquid. I see it just before she closes
her eyes. She squeezes them shut, like it hurts to look at me.
Rather than touching her anywhere else, like I want to, or saying
anything else, like I want to, I just press my palm flush against
her, feeling the steady, rapid beat of her heart.

After nearly a minute, I lower my hand,
reaching for hers. “Come on. I’ve got towels in the truck,” I say,
tugging her along behind me.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE- TOMMI

After he drops us off at my house, my eyes
follow Sig’s truck until it disappears around the corner. I don’t
want him to go. But he can’t stay.

I try to smother my sigh as I turn toward
the front door. I let us in and Travis goes immediately for a quick
shower and then into his room, where he’ll undoubtedly stay until
dinner and then, afterward, until morning. I can’t decide how much
is typical teenager or typical Asperger’s and how much is something
I should worry about. At the root of the problem is that Travis is
hardly typical in any way, so I’m a continuous ball of worrying yet
trying not to worry. And probably making a load of mistakes along
the way.

“How about pizza for supper?” I call down
the hall. “I didn’t really plan anything.”

I was too busy lying to Lance to plan
dinner.

And I had to lie because I can’t get Sig out
of my head
.
Or out of my blood. He seems to have stormed the
carefully guarded castle of my mind and taken over. And if that’s
not bad enough, I’m starting to feel things other than just desire
for him. And that is trouble that I don’t need.

That’s what my brain tells me. But my body
and my heart have different arguments. Like the fact that I’ve
never really felt this way about someone before. Like the fact that
everyone needs some pleasure, some comfort, some…
substance
to their lives. Things other than obligation and responsibility.
Right?

I never really craved the touch of another
person before. Every hand that’s ever been on my body has been
there for a specific reason, not because I’ve wanted it there.
Until Sig.

I never really craved the company of another
person before either. At sixteen, my life changed forever and I
haven’t had time for simple pleasures like laughing or being
frivolous or falling in love. Even though I don’t really have time
now, I’m beginning to feel like I need it. Like I need Sig. Not his
help or his protection, just his presence. I like being with him. A
lot. And there’s a big part of me that says he’s worth the
risk.

But I can’t. I shouldn’t. It could go so
very, very wrong.

Or it could go right
, my other half
argues.
So very, very right.

And then what? Where do we go from
there?

There’s nowhere to go. It can never be
anything more than just a fling, no matter how much I wish it
otherwise. Our paths are too different.

But maybe that’s enough–an amazing fling. It
would have to be.

A one-time indulgence. Just to get it out of
our system. To slake this undeniable hunger. Just one time, one
night and no more. All things return to normal after that. Hands
off, strictly professional.

But we’d get the one time.

One perfect time.

As I call in the pizza and empty the
dishwasher while I wait for it, I give myself over to the
back-and-forth of my internal arguments. But in the end, after all
is said and done, one side wins. One thought continually flutters
to the surface.
Just once.

We’re both adults. We can handle what will
amount to a one-night stand. We’ve both had them before. I mean, I
have. Many years ago, but still… And I’m sure Sig has. I mean, a
guy like that…who looks like he does…and flirts like he does… He’s
probably had several.

I go motionless, standing perfectly still
with a plate in my hand, frozen by the thought. Even though the
one-night-stand contention was just supposed to have been a case in
point for going through with this, the thought of Sig with another
woman sends a furious streak of jealousy speeding through me. It’s
almost painful it’s so intense. The intensity of it, however,
serves to reinforce the consideration of being with him once. So
does another thought.