Authors: Monica Murphy
“I’m not. Not really.” I grimace at my lie. I don’t know how I feel about Chelsea. We’re having fun. We’re taking it slow. Does she really fit into my life?
No.
But I’m working on somehow making that happen anyway.
“So she’s a friend?” Fable asks.
“Yeah. That’s exactly what she is.” I’m not too far off the mark with that. We
are
friends.
Friends who like to sit on my couch when Wade’s gone and make out for hours. Until we’re both so worked up I have to practically shove her out the door for fear I’ll strip her naked and jump her bones right there in the middle of the living room. And no way can I take her back to my bedroom. I do that and we’re done for. Naked and me buried deep inside her within seconds, I have no doubt about that.
“Come on. Friends? Really?”
“Really,” I say firmly. “Let me ask Chelsea if she’s able to go and I’ll text you. Is that cool?”
“As long as you tell me as soon as possible. I need to ask for those tickets as soon as you know.”
I hang up and immediately text Chelsea, hoping she’s not sleeping in.
But hey, it’s Chelsea. I’m sure she’s already been working on her homework for the last two hours, knowing her.
Wanna go to a professional football game?
I barely have to wait two minutes before she’s responding.
When?
Today,
I type.
Are you serious?!?!
Smiling, I answer her, giving her the details, then asking:
Do you have to work tonight?
No. It’s my day off.
I couldn’t make this work out any more perfect if I tried.
Then you should take your day off and come with me to San Francisco.
You really want to take me? What about Wade or Des?
They’ll kill me if they find out I’m going to a game and I didn’t invite either of their asses to go.
Tough shit.
I’d definitely rather take you.
I wait for her reply, nerves eating at my gut. This girl has me all twisted up inside and I don’t quite get it. Still.
My phone rings and I answer it without even looking to see who it is. I already know.
“I know absolutely nothing about football,” she says when I say hello.
“I can teach you.” I lie back on my bed, scratching my chest. I wish Chelsea were in bed with me. That would be a most excellent way to spend a Sunday morning.
“I’m boring. You’ll probably wish you had one of your friends with you the minute the game starts,” she says. “I’ll probably play on my phone or whatever. Or be so completely lost I won’t know what’s happening on the field.”
“You are definitely not boring. And hey, if you’re going to spend more time with me, you gotta learn about football sometime, right?”
She pauses. I can practically hear the cogs turning in her brain as she processes what I just said. “I guess you’re right,” she say, her voice soft.
That soft voice of hers gets me every single time. “I want you there with me, Chels. It’ll be fun. You could meet my sister and after the game’s done, I bet you could meet Drew, too. Come on, say yes.”
“I’d get to meet your sister?” she squeaks, sounding nervous. “Oh wow. I didn’t realize that, though it does make sense.” She pauses again, and I swear I can feel her nervousness come over the phone loud and clear. “Okay. Yes. I’ll go.”
“Good,” I say, relief sweeping through me. I’d truly been afraid she’d say no.
We make arrangements for me to come pick her up within the hour and then I hang up, immediately texting Fable that I need two tickets for Drew’s game.
I can’t wait to meet your Chelsea,
Fable answers.
Yeah. I can’t wait for Fable to meet her either. Though she’s definitely not
my
Chelsea. Despite the occasional possessive wave that comes over me when I’m with her, we are really just friends. Friends who make out. Friends who wish for more, but neither of us is doing anything about it.
I’m almost afraid to push for fear I’ll ruin it all. She’s afraid because … I don’t know why. But taking it slow isn’t so bad.
Most of the time, it’s pretty damn good. Except when I’m walking around with blue balls.
Climbing out of bed, I exit my room and go to the kitchen, on the hunt for something quick to eat before I make my way to taking a shower and getting out of here to go pick up Chelsea.
“What are you doing up so early, asshole?”
I stop short to find Des in my kitchen, eating a bowl of Cheerios and way too much milk. It’s practically sloshing out of the bowl and onto the table. “Good morning to you, too,” I mutter, irritated.
The guy acts like he lives here. It’s annoying as hell, especially since he doesn’t pay rent. Of course, neither does Wade, but that’s the arrangement we made before Wade moved in.
I’ve known Wade since I was a kid. His mom bailed me out multiple times and let me stay at their house way more than she ever had to. She understood Fable was always working and Mom was never around. Wade’s mother always welcomed me with open arms.
It was the least I could do, offering Wade a free place to live while we went to college. His mom may live in the same town but he wanted to be on his own, just like I did.
But Des? The guy is loaded, one of those rich kids from the Bay Area who come to the university looking to party now that they’re free from their parents. He’d been the drug-dealing high school kid in the suburbs and now he’s the drug-dealing college student on campus. I like him, but not just because he’s my dealer. He’s my friend.
He’s also a user.
Aren’t we all?
“Why you up so early?” Des pushes more cereal into his mouth, munching loudly on his Cheerios. “I usually have the house all to myself on a Sunday morning.”
“You act like you live here,” I say, leaning against the counter. I need some fucking coffee, stat.
“I practically do.”
“So why aren’t you paying any rent?”
“Because I sleep on the fucking couch. Why should I have to pay rent to sleep on a come-stained couch?”
“Jesus, Des.” I reach for the coffeemaker, thankful Des actually made some. Grabbing a mug from the cabinet, I pour myself a cup, then dump sugar and creamer into it before I take a sip.
And grimace as I swallow. Damn it’s strong, even with all the cream and sugar added to it.
“You know it’s true. How many girls have we all banged at one point or another on that couch? Too many to count.” Des chuckles and shakes his head, sounding proud of the fact that my couch has hosted an endless list of chicks sprawled naked across it.
The image disgusts me. Not even a few weeks ago I probably would have high-fived him.
Now all I can think about is Chelsea. And how grossed out she’d be if she really knew all the dirty shit I’d been up to in my not-so-distant past.
“I just feel like if you’re going to stay here all the time, you should at least contribute something,” I mutter.
“I do contribute. Plenty of beer and weed to keep y’all on a continuous buzz,” he says matter-of-factly.
“Yeah, but I always pay for the weed, bro.” I do. I never expect a handout.
“I’m getting real sick of your poor-ol’-me act. You act all hard up and like you always need money, but gimme a break. Wade lives here rent-free. Why can’t I hang around here on occasion?” Des pushes the now only filled-with-milk bowl away from him and leans back in his chair, running a hand through his longish brown hair. He always has a shaggy, slightly unkempt look about him. Thin, worn T-shirts, old, holey and torn jeans, scuffed shoes. His hair is a mess, his face covered in four-day-old beard. It’s like he’s cultivated this drug dealer image, but I know he’s full of shit.
“I’ve been thinking about it and I don’t know if it’s smart that you’re always here,” I say, sipping from my coffee. My appetite has left me. I don’t want to have this conversation with Des. Not now, not really ever. He’s a friend, even if he irritates the shit out of me. I’m not in the mood for a confrontation.
“Why the hell not?” Des sounds indignant, looks shocked. “What does it matter?”
I set the mug on the counter beside me, meeting his gaze. “You’re a drug dealer.”
“So what? I’ve supplied you with enough joints to last you a lifetime.”
Chelsea would die if she knew Des was a dealer. “Maybe I’m trying to clean up my image.”
Des glares, his gaze narrowed, his jaw tight. “It’s the girl, right?”
I never said Des was stupid. “Maybe. What does it matter? Doesn’t look good that I’m on the football team and like to get high. They could kick me off.”
“That’s never bothered you before.”
“Yeah, well it should’ve,” I mutter.
Des studies me. “You know you’re fucking around with a chick who is nothing like you, Owen. She’s too goody-goody for your ass. You get in her panties yet?”
“That’s none of your goddamn business,” I spit out.
“Meaning you haven’t.” Des sighs and shakes his head. “Stick with what you know, buddy. Find some girl who’s looking for a good time and that’s it. Chelsea is just some smart, sorta plain girl who’s slumming. You’re exciting, you’re nothing like any guy she’s ever known, if she’s even known any guys, because if you want my opinion, she has virgin written all over her.”
“You need to watch what you say about her,” I warn, fury eating me up, ready to burst out and unleash all over Des’s skinny ass. “Show her some respect.”
Des laughs. “You got it bad, don’t you? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you like this over a girl. You usually just fuck ’em and leave ’em. Hell, Wade and I both have slobbered after your leftovers and you’ve never protested. What would you say if I told you I’d pick up where you left off when you’re done with the tutor?”
“I’d say I’d beat your fucking face in until you couldn’t speak,” I say, my voice low as I stare at him.
The motherfucker actually smiles. “Well, well. Look at you. All worked up over a girl. It’s kind of cute, Maguire. But you’re wasting your time with that one. She’s going to be the one who leaves first and damn, is it going to hurt. You’ll need me and what I supply more than anything once she’s gone.”
Does everyone think I’m a weak asshole who can’t function without a joint dangling from my fingers or what? “Trust me, I don’t need you.”
“You will. Once your precious little tutor is gone.” He grins, gets up from the kitchen table, and saunters out of the room. Leaving his dirty bowl on the table for me to pick up.
So I do. I pick it up and throw it in the fucking sink, so hard the ceramic smashes everywhere, but I’m not satisfied.
I’m pissed. And a little scared. What if what he says comes true and Chelsea does leave first? I’ve never even thought about it. I’m always the one who walks away.
If the tables were turned, I don’t know if I could stand it.
I always thought I hated football, but this has turned out to be one of the best days of my life. Despite the dark, gloomy skies, the rain somehow decided not to fall once we arrived at the game. We’re watching from high above in a humongous skybox in the new stadium that opened a few years ago.
I’m not even paying attention to what’s happening. How can I? I’m too consumed with Owen as he watches the game with rapt attention, his expression tense, his gaze locked on the field for every play, especially when the 49ers have the ball, specifically his brother-in-law. Every once in a while he says something to either Fable or me, or he leans over to give my hand a quick squeeze. He even drops the occasional kiss on my lips.
All the while his sister sits there, watching us in obvious shock though she’s trying her best to fake it.
She’s nice, his sister. When he introduced us, she actually hugged me, her pleasure at meeting me genuine. I was a little overwhelmed at first because Owen had warned me on the drive here that she could be pretty standoffish when she first meets someone. Says she has a hard time trusting people.
I could relate. Maybe she saw that, too; I don’t know.
Fable’s definitely beautiful, petite yet busty, with long, sunny blond hair and those same flashing green eyes as Owen’s. The affection between the two of them is palpable, and it makes me happy to see such obvious sibling love.
It almost makes me a little jealous, which is so stupid and pointless. Would I ever matter as much to Owen as his sister does? Totally not fair of me to think that way, but I can’t help it.
The drive to the stadium in Santa Clara had been long but fun. He’d come and picked me up in a sullen, agitated mood, but then he’d seemed to brighten a little when he saw me. And when he kissed me, his lips had lingered, and he’d held me extra close. Told me he missed me, his gaze roving over my face as if he couldn’t get enough of me, and for whatever reason, he seemed to calm down.
Had something happened before he came to pick me up? The thought nagged at the back of my mind the entire drive. I tried not to distract him too much since it rained on us most of the way and the roads were slick, so I kept my worry to myself.
And I am a total worrier. I inherited that trait from Mom and I hate it. Though she always claimed all the worry made me that much better of a student, since I feared missing an assignment or getting a bad grade. Worrying kept me on track, she told me more than once.
Whatever.
“So how is Owen doing in school?” Fable asks, her expression curious.
It’s halftime and Owen has taken off. Probably going to the bathroom, leaving me and Fable alone together.
“He’s doing a lot better,” I say, my voice a little shaky. I wish I weren’t so intimidated but oh my God, this is Owen’s sister. The one person he seems to love more than anyone else. She pretty much raised him and he respects her so much. I just want her to like me. “When I first started seeing him, he wasn’t applying himself, you know? And he also wasn’t going to class, which is obviously a problem.”
Fable sighs. “He can be so irritating. And stubborn. If I keep telling him to do something, I swear sometimes he’ll flat-out not do it just because I want him to. You know what I mean?”
I shrug. Not really, because that’s not how I am whatsoever. And somehow I convinced Owen to do his schoolwork. Of course, he had so much on the line at that point I don’t think he was willing to risk it.