Game On (18 page)

For a long time, Eric hasn't been on my radar as anything more than a neighbor, or a friend. But right now, as the crickets chirp and the breeze tickles my skin, all I want is for him to start walking this way.

And he does.

He's dressed in a Lewis Creek hoodie and wearing a ratty old Yankees cap, that dark hair of his poking from beneath. He climbs the steps slowly, as if he's testing me. Seeing if I'll stop him.

I want to yank him up here and beg him to stay.

“What's wrong?” he asks.

Using my thumbs, I wipe the tears from my cheeks. Clear my throat. “I'm fine.” I don't know why I say it. It's a pretty horribly obvious lie.

He
stops in the middle of the porch, standing in front of me. “Don't try to bullshit a bullshitter.”

My dad would have a stroke if he caught Eric Perry on our porch. It's not that Eric's a bad guy, but he's, well, not exactly Dad-approved, either. But it's kind of hard for him to call those shots when he's either on the road or sleeping for ninety-five percent of my life.

I scoot over, allowing Eric room to sit, which he does. He relaxes, sprawling his legs in front of him as he stuffs his hands into the pocket of his hoodie. Heat pours off of him, and as much as I hate the idea of love and everything about it right now, all I want is to curl up beside him. And that urge scares the living crap out of me. Eric is my neighbor. He's Matt's teammate. Being with him would come with a healthy dose of small town gossip for months to come.

And he's a charmer, and there's no telling what he could possibly do with a heart if it was in his hands.

My heart doesn't want to be held. My heart wants to learn to beat on its own for a while.

So we swing in silence as time passes. But now, it doesn't feel like pieces of me are drifting away—it feels like they're slowly find their way back home.

“Laura ended up going to the dance with Randy tonight,” he says after a while. I glance over, finding him smirking. “Randy has more boyfriend potential than I do. That's one hell of a shot to the ego. He's probably chomping on dip while grinding all up on her.”

My stomach sinks. When he told me that on Monday night, about the conversation he had with Laura, I was kind of rude. But in my somewhat-defense, I was madder than a hornet.

“For what it's worth,” I tell him, “what she said was dumb. I've seen you with other girls. You're a good boyfriend.”

He lets out a light laugh. “Yeah? And what makes me a good boyfriend?”

Crap.
I walked right into that one. A smile tugs at my lips. “Eric—”

“No, you've gotta tell me.” The smile in his voice is contagious; now there's no fighting my own. “I've been wounded this week. I need to hear these things. Build me back up.”

I roll my eyes, but my grin widens. “Fine. You're into the whole hand-holding, kissy thing. That's good. Take my word for it; I'm a science girl. An observer. I notice these things.” What I don't tell him is that I started noticing those things a couple years ago, when the tiniest part of me wished it was me holding his hand instead of his other girlfriends. I wished it was me hugging him. Kissing him. Because when you're sixteen and the guy next door shoots up to over 6' and all those years of baseball start doing mind-blowing things to his body, a girl's gonna look once or twice.

Moments like these, when he listens and laughs and grins at me like no one else exists, have an awful lot to do with it, too.

But I pushed those feelings away
real
quick. He's not into me like that—he wasn't then, and I doubt he ever would be. I'm the one who used to climb trees with him. Soared through muddy fields on the back of his four-wheeler. Saw his first zit. Laughed when he nearly fell out of his dad's deer stand the night we snuck up there to see how many constellations we could find.

Which was the night he gave me my first kiss.

And it hits me that I wish we could go back to that. To the simplicity of trees and constellations and first kisses that mean more than all the stars in the sky. But we're not kids anymore. Life isn't that simple. But I'm more than okay with this new whatever-it-is we have going.

He's
quiet for a while. I chance a glance over, only to find him staring ahead, seeming to be in thought. Finally, after what feels like forever, he turns to me. Grins. And that grin turns my heart inside out. “I do like the whole hand-holding, kissy thing,” he says.

He sets the swing in motion. The porch light at his house flips on, while the kitchen window goes dark. I'm pretty sure he's supposed to go straight home when he's done at the church, but for whatever reason, his parents aren't freaking out about him being over here. Which is good. Because I'd be more than happy to sit on this swing with him all night. And that realization is slightly terrifying.

But maybe a little terror can be good for us.

Chapter
Thirteen

Eric

Dad and Momma head out of town first thing Sunday morning, leaving me on my own except for the Winthrops' nightly patrols. It's safe to say that I now know what parole feels like. I never thought the house could actually be this quiet. It's crazy how loud your own head is when everyone else is gone.

And by Tuesday morning, I hate it.

When I walk outside to leave for school, Mr. Johnson's truck cab is already gone, along with Bri's car. I have no clue how the girl handles being in the house by herself so much—I'm on Day Three, and I'm ready to climb the walls.

So I go to school. I go to practice. I go through the motions, and I stick to what I'm supposed to do, because it's easy. It's dependable. But when practice is over and the sun's gone for the day, the thought of spending another night entirely by myself is enough to drive me insane.

While engines roar as the other guys tear out of the lot, I drop my bag into my truck and glance over at the soccer field. But my attention isn't on the girls darting across the green—it's on the blond guy heading that direction.

I scan the parking lot for Coach, but his truck is already gone, too. I'm not a bodyguard. I'm definitely not Bri's boyfriend. I've got zero dogs in this fight. I
should
go home and keep myself out of her business. But all I can think about is the way we stood on this field last week and talked about that guy, about the way she's been walked all over for doing what she should've
done
a long time ago. She may have said that I don't need to fight her fights for her, but damn it, someone needs to run some kind of interference here.

By the time I make it to the field, Matt's already hanging over the fence, in the same spot I stood just a few days ago. I step up beside him. Lean onto the fence, the cold metal digging into my bare arms. He says nothing—just stares at the field, at the girl who's oblivious to her audience.

Minutes pass before he clears his throat. “I'm gonna need for you to leave her alone, Perry.”

He's one to talk. Not bothering to look at him, I say, “I'm gonna need for you to mind your own damn business. And learn how to take no for an answer, while you're at it. Bri doesn't want you.”

“So it's Bri now?”

I glance over. “What?”

He shrugs a shoulder. “Every other time you've talked about her, it's been
my neighbor
or
the girl
. Now it's Bri.” He eyes me. “You really think she wants you?”

No. Not exactly. She has no reason to want me. But for some reason, his words are a kick to the gut.

“You're a nobody,” he continues. “A waste of space. A douchebag with a smart mouth and nothing to back it up. What would she want with someone like you?”

My jaw stiffens. He's baiting me. And it's working. I look back to the field, where the team's in a huddle by the goal post. No matter how much I want to prove the guy wrong, no matter how much I wish I could have a rematch right here and now, I can't. Because I promised Coach I'd be better. I promised
myself
I'd be better.

So
instead of throwing another right hook, I throw out the words slamming against my head. “Go fuck yourself, Harris.”

“Well, she's clearly not screwing you for your manners.” He smacks the brim of my cap. “Tell you what—I'll leave y'all alone. Have fun doing whatever the hell it is you're up to. But when you screw up? You won't even have to send her back my way—she'll come running.”

I close my hands into fists while he walks away, toward the lot. Open. Closed. Open. Closed. Over and over, as the girls file off the field. Over and over, until Bri starts in my direction. As I push off the fence, she smiles. And that smile's the best damn thing I've seen all day.

“What're you doing here?” she asks.

Right on cue, Matt's truck roars out of the parking lot. His tires squeal as he swerves onto the road.

“Telling your ex to go fuck himself,” I say.

Her eyes widen. “Oh. Well. Thanks for playing ref.”

“Don't mention it. Besides, I got to watch y'all run.” Becca walks past, waving bye to Bri on her way to the lot. “Y'all are good at running. In those shorts. I approve of the shorts.”

She shoves me, laughing. Stuffing my hands into my pockets, I grin as she says, “You don't have to be worried about me, you know.” She must see my confusion, because she adds, “Last time you showed up here, you said you were worried. But I'm good. I'm okay. Promise.”

I shrug. “I wasn't really worried. But…” I trail off, unable to tear my eyes away from her. And an idea hits me that may be kind of crazy, but spending another night alone would drive me even crazier. “I was thinking that maybe we could have dinner together?”

“But your parents aren't home. Neither are your sisters.”

And
she picked up on the craziness aspect. The girl's quick. “So?”

“So,” she drawls, “wouldn't that be like a, you know—the D-word?”

D-word
? Shit. I shake my head. “It's not a date—it's two neighbors eating together. But if you're not okay with it, it's cool. Whatever.”

I'll just eat alone. Again. Watch TV alone. Again. Count the ceiling tiles alone. Again.

Holding my gaze, she tilts her head to the side. “I do have pizza. It's frozen pizza, but it's pizza.”

I've had pizza for the past two nights. “I cannot argue with pizza.”

She spins on her heel, starting toward the parking lot. “You really like eating with me?”

She says it with full-blown curiosity, like she honestly can't believe that I want to spend time with her. I catch up, falling into step with her as I say, “I really like eating with you.”

I glance at her out the corner of my eye, catching her biting back a smile.

~

Bri's living room is a lot different than I remember. When she and her dad first moved in after her parents split up, the place was bare bones, with a creaky futon and a coffee table that looked like it was dragged in from a swap meet. It's become homey since the last time I was here, with a giant couch that I could probably get lost in, end tables covered with lamps and plants—actual plants that need water and stuff—and a huge TV against the wall.

I yank off my cap and toss it onto one of the end tables. I settle back against her couch, the suede cool and soft, and I kind of
want
to get lost in this thing. After putting the pizza in the oven, she went straight to her room to change. Leaving me in here to my knotty stomach and a heart that won't stop racing.

This is not a date. It's not. It's dinner at my neighbor's house. So knock it off, body.

My
phone buzzes in my pocket. I yank it out, spotting Kellen's dad's number on the screen. Momma wasn't lying—the man's called right after practice the past two nights. Keeping my voice down, I answer, “Hello?”

“Just doing my duty,” he says. Mr. Winthrop has this friendly, booming voice that's perfect for Sunday morning sermons and not-so-perfect for phone conversations. “You get home all right?”

I glance around the living room. Technically, I did get home all right. I'm just not, you know,
there
, like I'm supposed to be. “Yes, sir,” I tell him. “Settling in right now.”

I mean, it's not an actual lie.

We hang up after saying our goodbyes, right as Bri's door creaks open down the hall. She walks into the living room, dressed in sweatpants and a white tank top, her dark hair spilling across her shoulders. She's got this olive-colored skin that's just smooth and perfect and God, I bet she even smells amazing. And as soon as she flops down beside me, that stupid heart of mine kicks into gear again. Along with other parts of my body.

Lord, help me, she does smell amazing. Maybe coming here wasn't my best idea.

She grabs the remote and tucks her legs beneath her. “Tonight's TV catch-up night,” she says. “Thank God, because reality freaking sucks sometimes.”

I narrow my eyes. “You all right?”

She stares at the TV, her face drawn tight. “He texted on my way home. And again while I was getting changed.” She swallows audibly and settles back against the couch. With the way her voice dips, it's clear she's talking about Matt. And now I hate him even more, because all I can think about is how much I crave being around this girl, and he had the chance and used it all wrong.

“
You should change your number,” I tell her.

She shrugs a shoulder. “I did. And he's already tracked it down. Great thing about small towns—you can figure out whatever you want about anyone.” She drops her head back, gazing at the ceiling. “He always called at night, you know,” she continues, almost to herself. “Any time from nine until three in the morning.
Just to talk
, he'd say, but…” She lets out a short, humorless laugh. “He wanted to know where I was. Make sure I wasn't with anyone else. The first time he tried showing up here in the middle of the night was the last, thanks to my dad actually being home. I still barely sleep. I'm used to midnight wakeup calls.” She glances at me. “He was convinced that I'd sneak into your window or something. Crazy, right?”