Chapter Twenty-Eight
Anna
It’s 10:00 p.m. on a Friday night, and I’m at a club. On a date.
When Iris insisted I needed to get out of my funk and go on a date, everything in me recoiled at the idea. But then I pictured Drew’s cold eyes meeting mine as he walked away with another girl. True, he gave me a birthday present, but his card said it all—he couldn’t return it so it might as well have gone to me.
We are over, and I have to accept it and move on.
Cameron is perfect. He’s lithe and dark. His black jeans hug his legs as they disappear into his vintage Pumas. His lean chest is covered by a tattered Mr. Yuck T-shirt, which frowns at me as he leans back and takes a pull of his beer. We’ve been discussing the places we’d like to visit in London, and I’m having fun.
Well, as much fun as a girl can have with a goddamn hole in her chest. A fucking empty hole that won’t go away. But maybe tonight will be the trick and I’ll find a way to fill it back up. I absolutely don’t surreptitiously rub a hand along my breastbone when Cameron turns his attention toward the stage.
A band is about to perform, and the stage lights cast a halo of blue light over Cameron’s black hair. Those glossy locks swing over his shoulders when he leans toward me, his breath holding a hint of beer as he talks in my ear. “I heard these guys are great.”
I nod. I really don’t know a thing about the band, but I’ll take Cameron’s word for it. He really is beautiful. Thick black lashes frame his blue eyes, and when he puts an arm around my shoulders?
I feel nothing.
I’m not willing to concede defeat. I don’t move away when his warm fingers rest on the back of my neck. Pretty bold, considering we met about an hour before.
“So, how long have you known Iris?” he asks me.
Cameron works at the Juice Shop with Iris. She’d been trying to hook Cameron up with me for months. I resisted because of Drew—who I will not think about tonight.
“We met freshman year.” I take a sip of my beer. It’s gone flat. “Orientation.”
“Cool.” He tosses back a lock of hair.
It’s such a perfect move, highlighting his sinewy muscles and showing off his glossy hair, that I wonder if he practices in the mirror. An unwelcome impulse tempts me to ask if he plucks out half-assed versions of “Crash Into Me” on the guitar.
I’m blinking rapidly into the stage lights when I see him. He’s standing at the bar, and he’s brought a friend. Although, by the way she rests her hand on his ass, I’m guessing friend isn’t the word I should use. He doesn’t seem to mind her groping. His smile is slow and easy as he hands her a beer and leans in to hear whatever it is she needs to whisper in his ear. He laughs a little, the broad expanse of his shoulders shaking.
I should look away. But as usual, my neck doesn’t want to obey. No, I just sit and watch as they chat and her hand becomes more familiar with his ass. It barely registers that Cameron is still playing with the edge of my shirt collar, the tips of his fingers gliding along my skin, or that he’s talking about his favorite bands.
I need to make an effort to drag my attention back to my date. It would suck if Drew saw me staring. I’m almost in the clear when Drew turns, his gaze scanning the crowd in a lazy fashion, and his eyes lock onto me.
Caught, I can only stare back. He’s more than twenty feet away. The air is hazy and dim. Heads bob and weave between us as people walk past the bar. And yet it’s as if he’s right in front of me.
Did he like the book?
Just as Drew had, I’d bought it long ago. But, unlike Drew, I was too chicken to give it to him. Until he’d given me my gift. I should have sucked it up and handed it to him in person, but I didn’t have the guts to face him.
The ache in my chest digs in, and my palms tingle. I can’t move, locked in his gaze as I am. I want to go to him so badly that my thighs tense, as if I might rise. But then the connection is broken.
He turns his attention to Cameron. Or rather, to Cameron’s hand. Even from this far away, I know that’s what he’s looking at: Cameron touching me.
Drew’s eyes narrow. His expression isn’t pretty, and it’s so intent that I wonder if it’s what a linebacker sees just before he throws a touchdown pass right over their head.
Suddenly, I’m angry. He has no right to scowl like that when he’s got some groupie taking hand measurements of his ass. And that lovely thought draws me right into queasiness. Especially when I see Miss Cop-A-Feel wrap her arm about his waist. Now she’s stroking his stomach. My spot.
“Excuse me,” I say to Cameron. “I’ll be back.”
Luckily Cameron doesn’t ask why I need to get away. I don’t look in Drew’s direction as I make my way to the bathroom.
Inside, I run cool water over my wrists. Always go for cooling down the wrists. Splash water on your face, and it’s a given that someone will enter the bathroom. And they’ll know you’re upset. Best, they’ll look at you with pity. Worst, they’ll ask you if you’re okay while looking at you with pity.
The wrists, however? You can easily pretend you’re just washing your hands.
I stand there until my fingers grow numb. I don’t look into the mirror. I don’t know if I’ll like what I see. A few drops of water hit my belly and I flinch, breaking out of my fog. My black T-shirt is riding up, exposing a strip of skin over my jeans. The damn shirt is too tight. This is Iris’s brilliant addition to tonight’s wardrobe choice. Because, in her words, “if you have boobs like yours, you got to display them properly.” Low-cut tops, Iris insists, are cheap and uninspired.
“But remain fully covered in something that hugs your assets and guys can’t help but want to see what’s underneath. It’s like the ultimate tease.” Ladies and Gentlemen, the world according to Iris.
Right now, I’d be satisfied with a floppy tee and pajama pants. I want to go home.
Drying my hands, I tug one last time at the bottom of my shirt and then exit the bathroom. Only to walk directly into Drew’s path.
He’s leaning against the wall of the restroom hallway. It reminds me so much of the first time we touched each other that my knees go weak. Beyond him, the club is dark, and the music has started. Here, it’s too bright. Every line on his face, the deep gold color of his eyes, the little hint of a dimple on his left cheek, is illuminated. And utterly familiar to me. It’s like history repeating itself, and I wonder how my life would be right now had I simply walked away from him the first time we collided in a dark hall. But I didn’t. And here we are. Here I am, broken.
Seeing him so close is pain. Having his attention, so long denied, now fully focused on me is both a warm blanket and a sharp blade.
He talks first, and his butter-rich voice sounds so good I press my palms against the grainy wall to keep from touching him.
“Thanks for the book.” His expression is blank, showing no emotion, except for the creases at the corners of his eyes, as if looking at me burns.
It certainly burns to look at him. “Thanks for the album cover. It was... Well, I love it.”
Hell. Now I’m gushing.
He frowns a bit, but then nods his head. “Same for the book.” His eyes meet mine, and his words come out stilted. “I love it too.”
Heat invades me. I can’t do this. I can’t stand this close to him and not touch him. I glance toward the bar, wondering if Cameron can see me, wondering if the girl Drew’s with will come looking for him. This all feels wrong as if it the world has flipped over on its head.
Drew notices the direction of my glance, and he stands taller, his shoulders stiff. “I see you found your emo boy.”
I affect a careless shrug. “If we’re going for accuracy, he’s more hipster than emo.”
When Drew glares, I continue sharply. “Isn’t your date going to wonder where you are?”
The corners of his mouth curl. It is not a smile. “That’s right, a date. I see you are familiar with the concept, despite all evidence to the contrary.”
“I don’t serial date like some, but I try to get out.”
What am I doing? I don’t want to hurt him. I just want to get away.
“Are you keeping track of who I date, Anna?” he asks softly, a smirk on his mouth.
I want to hit that smirk. I want to shout at him for plowing through what amounts to sorority row when less than a month ago he claimed that I was his.
“No, Drew,” I say, suddenly weary. “I just know your MO.”
He pushes off the wall and is in front of me in a fluid move. And some sick part of me loves when he crowds me. I love being surrounded by his strength and his heat. The familiar scent of him makes my heart ache and my body perk up. Yes, please, it says to me.
He leans in closer, his nose almost touching mine. “I never looked at another girl when I was with you. Never even thought about one. Not once.”
I force myself to meet his eyes. “I didn’t look at anyone either. Only you.”
“Then why—” He cuts himself off with a curse, and his fist slams into the wall.
I jump, ready to escape, but he’s boxed me in, his forehead pressing against the wall as he breathes in and out. He’s so close to me that his chest brushes mine with each inhale. And I shiver with the need to hold him. But I don’t.
I can feel his anger. He vibrates with it.
“We could have been so good,” he says.
Before I can answer, he launches away from me with those quick reflexes that make him a star athlete. He’s backing up. Returning to his date.
I move to go the other way, when he grabs me. One hand cups my neck, the other splays against my back, slipping under my shirt to touch my bare skin.
His mouth crashes into mine on the next breath. And my body goes supernova. His tongue slides deep, his lips bruise, and it feels so good that I moan behind it all.
It’s always like this. I can’t get enough of him. I devour his mouth, play with his tongue. My breasts crush against the hard wall of his chest. Sweet relief.
Drew.
But then he’s pushing me away, and I’m staggering back. His eyes are dull, filled with pain, regret, and worst of all, disgust.
“So fucking good.” He leaves me there slumped against the wall.
As far as mistakes go, that was fairly colossal. Fucking stupid is what it was. Damn, I shouldn’t have followed Anna to the bathroom. And I sure as shit shouldn’t have kissed her.
My ribs compress painfully at the thought. Holding her, feeling her soft, plump lips once more was both agony and ecstasy. I still taste her in my mouth. I haven’t taken another drink since I kissed her, some desperate part of me reluctant to wash her away. In short, I am undone.
Unfortunately, rationality left the building the second I saw Mr. Yuck put his fucking hands on Anna. It was all I could do not to trample through the crowd and smash Emo Boy’s face in. Holy hell, watching his fingers stoke Anna’s neck while knowing exactly how her skin feels, knowing that I’d never get to do the same, gutted me. Nothing could stop me from seeking her out, from touching her and letting her remember just what she was missing.
Great plan. Now I remember with perfect clarity what I am missing too.
Having just experienced true jealousy, I can safely say that the emotion is insidious, and I never want to feel it again. But it lingers like a plague, eating through my insides with dull, thick teeth.
I rub the hollow spot in the center of my chest and then pull my head out of the fog I’ve been wallowing in. Christ, I’m out with another girl. I shouldn’t be thinking about the one who didn’t want me.
I take a breath and face... Shit. What is her name?
In the darkness of my car’s interior, her eyes shine as she looks at me. She’s pretty. They all are: these girls I ask out with no intention of letting things go any further than one date. Hell, they all look vaguely similar, same general features, same body type, taste in clothes. All-American, perky sorority girls. Why hadn’t I noticed this before Anna? And I accused her of only wanting one type.
Bitterness fills my mouth.
My date smiles, hesitant. “That was...nice.”
Nice. Right. We’d been at the club for all of ten minutes before I disappeared, stuck my tongue down another girl’s throat, and then promptly came back to haul ass out of there like the place was on fire. Really nice of me.
“Yeah.” I clear my throat. “Sorry, I’m tired tonight. We’ve been practicing a lot.”
Lie. But one most girls seem to appreciate.
She’s no different. She smiles again, sympathetic. “That’s okay. Your dedication is admirable.”
Tell that to the guys, most of whom want to kill me about now.
“Thanks...” Fuck. What is her name? Stacy? No. Shannon! “Shannon.”
I brace for impact just in case I’ve gotten it wrong, but she smiles as if I’ve just given her some great reward.
Having nothing more to say, I turn my attention back to the road. Why did I go out with her? It was thoughtless. Suffocating. I can’t get her home soon enough. I turn on the radio in a desperate attempt to fill the silence. Jack White is singing about falling in love with a ghost he’s not brave enough to kiss. I stab the Off button with more force than necessary.
Thank God we’re now in front of her sorority house because I don’t think I can drive anymore. I pull over and brake hard enough to send us both rocking forward.
As if she’s been waiting for this moment, Shannon turns in her seat and gives me an expectant look. Her body language is crystal clear, from the way she leans in toward me, to her gaze flitting from my mouth to my eyes. She wants me to kiss her.
My fingers tighten around the steering wheel, and the leather creaks.
I’m not kissing her in this car. Not where I first got my mouth on Anna’s. Just seeing another girl sitting in the passenger seat is a slap in the face. It’s wrong. Anna should be there. In a way, she is. Haunting me with each breath. The fact my safe haven is now effectively ruined makes me want to punch something.
With a snap of the seatbelt, I wrench open my door and stumble into the cold night air. I suck in a deep breath, as I round the car and open the door for my date.
Not deterred, she manages to slide her body against mine when she rises out of the car. Hell.
“So,” she murmurs, resting a hand on my chest. “Thanks for taking me out tonight.”
I edge back, shutting the car door with my hip. She follows, and her hand finds my neck.
“Yeah, sure.” I sound like a robot. Why did I go out tonight?
Her eyes stare up at me. Waiting.
No. Not going to happen. I can’t even stir up a bit of enthusiasm. But then I think of Anna going home with Mr. Yuck. She’s moved on. Frowning, I bend my head closer to the girl who is willing. Rosy lips part in invitation. I stall out.
Just do it. Do it and move on too. Kiss the damn girl, already.
She takes the decision out of my hands. Her lips mash into mine. They feel wrong, not the right shape. She smells wrong, of sweet flowers instead of warm spices.
Wrong, wrong, wrong.
My entire body recoils. I rear back, breaking out of her hold in an awkward fumble. Jesus. My dick feels like it’s shriveled in my shorts.
“Sorry,” I say just as she does.
Heat floods my face. I ought to have been able to at least go with the kiss. She’s cute, after all. And willing. Instead, my flesh crawls. And it pisses me off. I’m infected with Anna. I want to punch a hole through the roof of my car.
Giving Shannon an unsteady laugh, I step farther away, my ass hitting the car door. “I’m ah—” completely fucked “—tired.”
“Yeah...” Her wrong-shaped mouth twists in a half smile. “You said that.”
“Right.” God, just get me out of here.
But before I can make an escape, she talks again, her tone strangely neutral. “Is it because of her?”
I jerk so hard that my elbow hits the car window. “Her?”
Shannon blinks back at me. “You know, the redhead in the bar.” So much for me being subtle. “Is she the one you had that blowout with? Is she Red Hen?”
“Red Hen?” I repeat, my head buzzing. What. The. Hell?
She gives me a look designed to reassure, though I’m far from it. But there’s a gleam in her eyes like she’s dying for gossip. Does she honestly think I want to talk about Anna with her?
And, again: Red Hen? Oh, hell no.
“You know,” she says. “The one that they’re talking about on TikTok and Instagram.”
An ugly, sick feeling trickles over my shoulders. For a moment I can only stare at this girl as the buzzing in my ears grows louder. “What the hell are they saying?”
Oblivious of my growing anger, she answers eagerly. “That you dumped some redhead in the middle of the quad.”
That day haunts me still. Hearing someone else talk about it hurts my chest.
“Why are they calling her Red Hen?” I sound like I’m talking through a long tunnel. Does Anna know this? She’d hate that. Hate it.
“I don’t know who came up with that.”
“What does it mean?” My heart is thudding so hard it hurts. As a rule, I stay far away from social media. Obviously, the guys were keeping something from me, because they’d usually tell me about any nonsense.
Shannon shifts from one foot to the other. “I guess it’s because she tried to trap you into a relationship. You know, by getting pregnant.”
The ground seems to sway beneath me, and a cold sweat breaks over my skin. Holy shit. Is Anna pregnant? She didn’t look... Hell, what does early pregnancy even look like? But she would have told me tonight, wouldn’t she? Then again, I’d pretty much gone on the offensive with her, which didn’t exactly make for an easy opening to a topic like that. Holy fucking shit, but if she is...
I’m going to hurl. Right here on Shannon’s sidewalk. Yet behind the instant terror is a strange sort of elation. If Anna is pregnant, I’m going to her and am sticking. Screw pride.
Somehow, I find the ability to talk. It’s a miracle that I can form a sentence. “Why do people think she’s pregnant?”
Maybe Shannon finally notices that I’m about to lose my shit because she clamps up.
“Why!” My shout rings out in the night.
Shannon visibly swallows, her eyes growing round. “Well, in the videos, you, ah... yell at her about your relationship being just a hook up, and, well, she walks away all hunched over, clutching her stomach, so...”
So, no proof of Anna being pregnant. Just fools jumping to the wrong conclusion and sticking their noses in places they have no business being. Even though relief swamps me, the ringing in my ears grows to a clamor. “So, you all think that I would get a girl pregnant, then publicly dump her when she tells me?”
“Ah...well...”
“And believing this, you still wanted to go out with me?”
Okay, I might be yelling. Shit, it’s a miracle that I’m not shouting to the clouds at this point. That’s what people think of me?
Shannon backs away a step. “I didn’t blame you.” As if this supposed pregnancy was all Anna’s doing.
“Well, you should,” I snap. “If it were true. You should stay far away from any asshole who would do something like that.”
She just stares at me like I’ve gone insane, and the rage within me surges. What the hell is wrong with this girl?
I take a breath, not wanting to scare her any further. I’m much bigger than her, and even if I can’t wait to get away, it isn’t cool to make her afraid.
“Look,” I say with forced calm. “Whatever you’ve heard, it’s wrong. Yes, that was the girl, and yes we broke up. But it was a mutual decision.”
I wince a bit with that one, but it isn’t really a lie. Anna didn’t want a relationship, and I couldn’t pretend that it wasn’t the only thing I wanted.
“She’s a nice girl. And it makes me sick that people would think otherwise.”
Wide-eyed Shannon nods as if her life depends on it. She’s clutching her arms over her chest. I put that fear in her, and guilt clenches my stomach.
“I’ve got to go. Sorry.” I’m not sure what else I can say. I just need to get out of here.
By the time I get home and manage to turn on my laptop, my hands are shaking. Nausea rolls around in my stomach as a TikTok search for my name pulls up millions of views. And there they are in endless posts of malicious glee. Speculation on why I was arguing with a curvaceous redhead. Hate-filled comments about Anna that make my heart ache and my blood boil. But it is nothing compared to the videos.
There I am, looming over Anna, who looks so tiny in comparison. I’m a monster with muscles bulging and a vein sticking out on my temple.
I’ve never felt so ashamed. Anna’s pale, her chin lifting in defiance. That I remember. But I never saw the aftermath. There’s one of me walking away, humiliating because it captures my own pain. My face is twisted with it. And then one of Anna.
She’s leaning against the tree, clutching her arms around her middle, her gorgeous eyes looking up toward the sky as if it holds some answer. Pain etches her features.
With shaking fingers, I nearly touch the screen. Pain that mirrors my own.
Have I done the wrong thing by ending it with Anna? Does it matter? She’s currently on a date with Mr. Yuck. And I can’t overlook the fact that she was right. One public argument with me has brought the ugliness of public opinion down upon her head. I never wanted that for her. After reading through the hateful comments, how can I blame her reluctance to be seen with me?
For the first time in my life, I dread going out on the field and playing again. Because they’re all watching for the wrong reasons.