Thirty-Three
Stacy
Our godforsaken stunts aren’t sticking.
It’s been almost a week since Propst accosted Reece and me about our relationship. Since then, our stunts were shaky at the football game, our cupie fell at practice on Monday, I lost my balance in a bow and arrow on Tuesday, and now our hands to hands stunt is wobbly. Again .
We only have a few more days left until Thanksgiving break. After Thanksgiving, finals are going to come in hot, followed by winter break. Then it’s back to school and our national competition will happen almost immediately after the holidays.
We don’t have time to fail anymore.
It’s like since Reece and I backed off of our pretend relationship, everything’s gone to shit. Almost a week and I miss Reece even though I still see him nearly every day.
Almost a week and my heart aches .
I was finally starting to get comfortable with the idea of having feelings for Reece. Falling for him was beginning to become inevitable, something Mae warned me about months ago .
I should’ve listened.
I’m not stupid. I know that the conversation Reece and I had after our meeting with Propst hurt him.
It was written all over his face, the pain clear as day.
But the scolding we got from our coach ended up being a not-so-gentle reminder that I need a tighter grip on reality.
Reece isn’t my real boyfriend and I don’t have the mental capacity to have a real boyfriend anyway.
These next few months are going to be incredibly pivotal as I try and figure out what I’m doing with my life and being distracted by a man is the last thing I need.
I kissed Reece a few times. He won me a stupid teddy bear at a carnival, danced with me at a bar, and then he gave me two mind-blowing orgasms. That’s it .
But if that’s it, why does my chest feel hollow every time I see him? If we’re “friends,” why do I want to jump his bones everyday? Are relationships always this complicated ?
“Let’s throw our rewind one more time before we run our comp routine,” Reece says into my ear, pulling me back to the present.
I glance at him over my shoulder and nod, getting into position to throw our stunt.
Reece’s hands find my hips and I close my eyes against the warmth of his fingers, tightening all my muscles as Reece hoists me into the air.
I tuck my knees to my chest as I flip backwards before straightening out my legs, my feet finding Reece’s hands mid-air.
I should feel happy, feel that thrill and rush that usually comes from sticking a stunt but instead I just feel robotic.
Reece pops me out of the stunt, catching me in a twisting cradle dismount, and I have to disassociate when he holds me against his chest for a brief second. If I don’t compartmentalize my feelings and look away from his gorgeous face, I damn well may start tearing up.
And I don’t tear up.
“Nice job,” Reece compliments, holding out his knuckles to give me a fist bump.
I tap my fist to his, reveling in the momentary physical contact before he drops his hand.
We stand in awkward silence as our team dismounts stunts around us and a sour feeling twists in my stomach.
We’re supposed to spend Thanksgiving together next week but we barely know how to string together a full sentence around each other now.
How the hell are we going to act like a happy, doting couple? Why does this hurt so bad ?
My mouth gapes as I search for something to say to him but Propst claps her hands and ushers us into our starting positions for our competition routine before I come up with anything.
I’m grateful to be saved by the bell but the two and a half minute routine flies by in a blur.
Most of our stunts stick but they’re messy nonetheless and I’ve never felt more like my head isn’t in the game.
It’s almost like being connected with Reece really did help us stunt better as partners.
We’re all panting as the music fades. Propst taps her mouth with her pen, narrowing her eyes and clicking her tongue at us before telling us to run it again.
And again.
A fourth time.
“Did somebody piss off Propst? Are we being punished?” Mae gasps when we break for water after our fifth run-through.
My cheeks flame as I take a swig from my bottle. “Guess she’s just in a mood.” I shrug .
Mae stares at me for a long second. “ You’re in a mood,” she finally says.
I glance at her, popping the lid back on my water. “I’m not in a mood,” I lie.
“You’re quiet as hell, you backed out of wine night, you didn’t want to meet us at Sip Society yesterday. What’s going on?”
My eyes trail to where Reece is chatting with Christina and Drew before snapping back to Mae. “Just family stuff. You know, the holiday coming up.”
Mae nods, patting my bicep sympathetically before getting called away by her base, Collin.
I want to tell my best friend everything. I want to pour my heart out and maybe sob into a nice glass of red and let her comfort me the way a girlfriend should.
But doing any of that would mean admitting that the feelings I have for Reece are very real. It would also mean having a blunt and honest conversation with myself regarding just how much I miss being in a “relationship” with him, real or otherwise.
“One more run-through and we’ll call it a day,” Propst announces, clapping her hands a couple times as groans scatter through the gym.
Our final practice goes much like the others and I wish I could feel a little bit more concerning our very volatile competition routine. But instead I feel numb, like I’ve shut down my feelings for Reece so effectively that I’ve inadvertently shut down all of my emotions in general.
That can’t be healthy.
We’re packing up when Reece passes by me, patting my shoulder. “Nice work today, Dunn. ”
The casual camaraderie between us has me gritting my teeth, begging for more as I whip around to call after him. “Reece?”
He turns on his heels. “Yes?”
I gape, trying to find something, anything that might warrant a conversation between us. “My family is hoping to do Thanksgiving on Saturday. Dad’s on call Thursday and Friday so we can spend that time in Cincinnati with your family. Is that cool?”
Reece nods, a gentle smile playing on his lips. “Sounds perfect. We can head to the city on Thursday morning, yeah?”
I give him two thumbs up and he winks before heading out of the gym.
Dropping my hands, I groan. A thumbs up ? Really, Stacy? That’s what I went with? Cool. This is officially going to be the most disastrous Thanksgiving of my life.
And I say that as someone who once projectile-vomited cranberry sauce at the kids’ table.