Ten
Reece
Stacy’s essentially sitting on my face and not at all in the way I’ve always hoped.
She huffs as I try to gently lower her to the ground after another one of our stunts goes sideways.
But there’s really no graceful way to set someone down when they’ve basically landed on your head.
If anyone saw us, I’m pretty sure we’d look like two baby deer figuring out how legs work as I awkwardly bend and sort of plop her down.
“Angel, I know we’re fake dating and all, but I think that was maybe crossing a line,” I joke.
Stacy growls, tightening her immaculate ponytail for the umpteenth time. “Not the time for jokes, Taylor. And do not call me angel unless we’re around my family.”
“It’s never the time for jokes,” I complain.
She grits her teeth and storms off to the bleachers, saying nothing. Instead, she takes a long swig from her pink water bottle and glares at me from afar, her blue eyes narrow and cutting. If looks could kill, I would be on my way to the morgue right about now.
Classes are back in session. In addition, we’ve been gearing up at practice for the first football game of the season, learning sidelines, cheers, and time-out routines.
The stunts for game days have been sticking relatively well for the two of us, but Stacy was still insistent that we do our one-on-one stunting practice outside of our regularly scheduled team practices.
We’re starting to learn our routine for Nationals because, even though it’s still months away, the routine always takes hours and hours of practice.
It’s also far more difficult than anything we do at football games or basketball games and those are the stunts that aren’t quite sticking.
The stunts that Stacy perfected with Torres, that I perfected with my flyer from last season.
The stunts Stacy and I just aren’t getting with each other.
Needless to say, between classes starting up, normal practice, Stacy practice, and trying to wrap my head around our last first game being just two weeks away, I’ve been incredibly busy.
Not to mention Evan and Tashia’s engagement party is this weekend, and the mere thought of putting on a happy face in front of everyone is already exhausting me.
At least Stacy will be there.
“Stace, don’t be mad at me.” I meander over to the sidelines and grab my own bottle of water. “I don’t think you legally can be mad at me right now.”
She glowers up at me from her seat on the bleachers. “Believe me. I can be.”
I shrug. “I can’t control your emotions. I can only control how I respond to them. Oh, by the way, your mom wanted me to remind you that her and your dad are coming up to watch the home opener. They want to take us out to lunch on Sunday. ”
Stacy snarls, standing to face me with her fists clenched at her sides. “Stop texting my mom.”
“Hey, I’m supposed to be the world’s best boyfriend.” I hold up my hands defensively, a smirk on my lips. “Just playing the part.”
“World’s best fake boyfriend,” Stacy barks, poking me in the chest with her index finger.
“Potato, potahto.” My grin widens. Stace rolls her eyes in response but says nothing.
Not that she really has a defense.
Our dinner with Stacy’s family went smashingly.
Her parents and sister loved me and Stacy even thanked me when we got back to Wing Haven.
It went so well, in fact, that her parents eagerly agreed to come watch us cheer at the first Sharks football game, and her mother repeatedly told me how excited she is to see us both again.
Sheryl and I have been avidly texting since dinner, sharing recipes and funny Facebook Reels about cats or zoo animals.
That all being said, Stacy’s been just a touch kinder to me, genuinely appreciative of my attendance at her family dinner.
Doesn’t stop her from wanting to claw my eyes out at cheer practice, though. Call it creative differences.
“Can we call it a day? I’ve got accounting homework,” Stacy mumbles, pulling a Sharks hoodie on over her sports bra.
“Fine by me. I’m headed to Sip Society to grab a coffee. Want to come?”
Stace deliberates, chewing on her bottom lip. I know she’s weighing the pros and cons in her head about spending extra time with me and getting some caffeine in her system. I just hope her need for homework fuel outweighs her general annoyance by my presence .
“Fine,” she finally says. “Only because I need something to get me through this chapter on foreign currency transactions.”
I grimace. “You’re one of our bravest soldiers,” I tell her, hiking my gym bag over my shoulder as we head down the hallway.
Campus is relatively busy when we get out of the practice gym, students shuffling every which way to get to their late afternoon classes.
It’s refreshing, exciting to see so many faces on campus and to know this is our last year here.
Our last chance to really make a mark, make new friends, make memories with the people we’ve gotten to know over the past few years.
Melancholy hits me right in the gut as I think about my senior year, laid out before me with endless possibilities.
I feel a small twinge of hope that Stacy is one of those possibilities.
I shake it off as we trudge in companionable silence towards Sip Society.
Attracted as I may be to Stacy, there’s no real world in which we can be involved.
Being on the same team makes everything messy enough.
Not to mention, we have a very strict and cordial partnership going on with our little fake relationship.
My only goal should be to make nice with Stacy, to be her friend while we help each other out.
And if we maybe help each other out in bed, so be it.
Dammit, Reece. No!
“You’re awfully quiet over there,” Stacy comments as we weave through students and large, brick academic buildings.
I smirk. “Weird. I was just thinking the same thing about you. ”
“I’m always quiet,” she reasons. “This is a rarity for you.”
“First of all, you’re not quiet,” I protest. “You’re solemn.”
I see her shrug in my peripheral. “Same thing.”
“Second of all,” I go on, not about to argue with her about the definitions of words, “I’m thinking about Evan’s engagement party on Saturday.”
Yes, I’m thinking about Evan’s engagement party and not at all about the inappropriate things I wish I could do to you.
Stacy’s silent as we wait at a crosswalk, so silent that I think she’s going to let our conversation die until she mutters, “Are you going to be okay?”
I whip my head towards her, genuinely shocked that she’s showing concern for my well-being. “Hm?”
“Saturday. Seeing your brother and your ex together. I know you’re this happy-go-lucky ball of joy but that has to suck a little bit.” She pauses as the crosswalk gives us the go-ahead. “Especially if you’re not over her.”
I deliberate. “It does suck,” I finally admit. “But it’s not because I’m not over Tashia. It’s more about the principal, if that makes sense. It sucks that the two people I loved and trusted most in the world would go behind my back. It sucks how it happened. You know?”
Stacy nods, gnawing on that damn bottom lip again as Sip Society comes into view, an old 19th century house that was converted into our beloved coffee shop years ago. “Yeah. I understand that. You’re a bigger person than me, Reece. I think I would’ve told them both to go to hell.”
I bark out a laugh as I hold the door open for her, because she doesn’t know how strong the urge was to do just that.
She has no idea how much I wanted to tell both Evan and Tashia to lose my number and forget that I existed.
But then the begging came. From Mom, from Gemma, even from my father, a man who avoids deep conversations like the plague.
We can’t lose another son.
Please, Reece. Find it in your heart to forgive him.
This family needs you. Evan needs you.
You’ve already lost one brother. Please don’t push him away.
But Stacy doesn’t need to know all that. Not now. Not yet. She doesn’t need to know that maybe, deep, deep down, I’m not the bigger person. I’m not the sunshine that my mom always claims I am, that my sister always sees me as.
“Well, you tell me to go to hell all the time, and I’ve never slept with your ex. Seems like maybe that’s just an easier thing for you to do,” I tease instead.
Stace snorts as we line up behind a couple of fellow Wing Haven students to order coffee. “That would require me having an ex for you to sleep with.”
Her response brings me up short. She’s staring forward at the chalkboard like she didn’t just drop a bomb on me, but I’m staring at her.
The side profile of her adorable button nose, the curve of her jawline, the pronounced cheekbones that are always tinted pink.
I think back to her father’s comment at dinner about Stacy never bringing boys home and it shocked me just as much then as it does now.
Sure, Stacy can be cold and stony. But she’s also witty, smart, and smoking hot.
How has no one ever swept this girl off her feet?
I’m about to respond, about to pry a little further into the lore of Stacy’s personal life, when a female voice from across the cafe interrupts me. “Reece?”
I whip my head in the direction of whoever is saying my name, Stacy looking as well, and I feel all the blood draining from my face as my worst nightmare starts walking towards me.
Okay, second worst nightmare. The only thing worse would be Tashia Jenkins herself.
“Oh, god, oh, no. Shit, shit, shit,” I whisper.
Stacy’s gaze whips back and forth between me and the woman approaching us. “Who’s that? What’s wrong?”
“Lily Park,” I say through the smile plastered on my face. “That’s my ex-girlfriend’s best friend. Holy shit, I forgot she’s still in school here.” I hold up my hand to wave, feeling a bit like I’m greeting the Grim Reaper.