Chapter 14
TRICK
That’s as far as I get before I’m interrupted with a loud-as-fuck voice that makes my frustration boil into anger.
“Jennings! What the fuck?”
I look up and see Vincent Rossi come out of the visitor locker room, stalking towards us with a furrow in his forehead so deep I could bury a hatchet there and no one would ever find it.
“Shit,” Fifi whispers and grips my arm tighter as I try to pull away.
I’m mindful enough to shake her hand off me because the last thing we need is for her brother to suspect there’s anything between us. He’d go right to her father and—a whole lot of bad consequences will happen that I don’t have the bandwidth to think about right now.
“It’s okay, Fifi,” I say under my breath. My need to protect her rises as the misery in her eyes registers.
Gathering my senses, I try to think of what to tell Vincent that’ll get Fifi out of trouble.
“Hey, Trick, I’m glad I found you.”
I turn at the unexpected sound of Pammy Pledge’s voice as she appears from around the corner, showing up for no reason I can think of at the wrong fucking time.
“I’m glad I found you; I wanted to—”
“Pammy.” My first instinct is to ask what the hell she’s doing here. My second instinct is to tell her this isn’t a good time. But then, thinking fast, a third idea comes to mind, a wacked-out idea.
A glance at Vincent tells me Pammy’s presence has slowed his steps, but his scowl is still deep and mean.
Maybe Pammy showed up at the right fucking time after all.
I move to her fast and pull her into a hug, surprising everyone, especially her. “Hey babe, glad you could make it.” My words are loud enough for Vincent to hear, and over Pammy’s head, I beg Fifi with my eyes to go along with the charade.
Whispering to the stunned Pammy, I say, “Can you please play my girlfriend for a few minutes? I’ll explain everything later.”
I loosen my arms and she recovers her substantial brainpower and nods. Thank god she has a quick mind.
“I’m looking forward to the game,” she says, glancing at Fifi and then at Vincent, who reaches us with his hands on his hips and his mouth set in a firm grim line like he’s a cop about to give us a ticket for loitering.
Pammy smiles up at me. “The seats are great.” She turns to Fifi with a warm smile. Extending her hand, she says, “Hi, I’m Pammy, um, Trick’s girlfriend.” I notice her face blush furiously and hope no one reads that the wrong way.
Fifi coughs, and I don’t know how to read her expression. “Nice to meet you.”
Pammy ventures a sideways glance at Vincent, whose scowl looks cemented in permanently, and she doesn’t bother trying to say a word to him. Very wise.
Vincent’s attention turns to me. “What the hell are you up to, Jennings?”
“What does it look like, shit for brains? Not that it’s any of your damn business.
I’m meeting my girlfriend before the game for a good luck kiss.
” Before I can think better of it, I give Pammy a quick kiss on the mouth out of necessity.
I feel her sink like her knees are buckling, but I grip her by the waist and hold her up.
“Oh… Trick.” She’s beet red.
“She doesn’t like PDAs,” I say, keeping my eyes on Vincent, not daring to meet Fifi’s open-mouthed stare—which I can see because I have excellent peripheral vision. I wish I didn’t. Shit.
“I don’t blame her,” Vincent says. “I wouldn’t want to be caught—”
Fifi interrupts. “Let’s be civil, Vincent. I came to wish you good luck and ran into Patrick. He’s in one of my classes.”
Whatever shock she was in at seeing me kiss Pammy on the fucking lips, she’s handled it, and now she sounds more poised than a talk show host.
Turning to Pammy, Fifi treats her to a real smile. “I’m Sofia Rossi. I went to high school with Patrick.”
Vince steps closer and grabs Sofia’s arm. “Okay, enough with the pleasantries. Let’s get out of here.” He tugs on Sofia to guide her away. “Watch your back, Jennings.”
The way he manhandles her sends a violent ricochet of fury through my system.
Dropping my hands from Pammy, I clench my fists and force down the urge to run him down and punch his face into oblivion.
Gritting my teeth so hard I’m already worried about the dentist bill to replace them when they crack into a million pieces, I hold back the promise of violence, barely, as I stare after them.
Fifi pulls her arm from his, saving me, and saving her brother from bloodshed. Breathing in, I wrangle enough control to speak without sounding like a murderous lunatic.
“Thanks for the warning, Vince,” I shout belatedly. “Real decent of you.”
Vincent turns and snorts, darting his eyes between me and Pammy before he disappears around a corner with Fifi. He’s escorting her to the elevator bank that goes to the stands as if he doesn’t trust her, or me. Not that he should.
Pammy clears her throat.
Calming, I give her a reassuring smile and pat her arm.
Who knows if Vincent believes she’s my girlfriend? She might come across as unexpected, definitely not my type from Vincent’s—or my teammates’ point of view.
Her glasses sport a wad of tape wrapped around the bridge to pad her nose.
She’s wearing a knit UNH cap pulled low with two long brown braids sticking out the sides, and her oversized jersey tightens around her ample midsection and covers the top of her thighs but doesn’t hide her sweats.
Glancing at her feet, I admire the LL Bean duck boots because I’d love to be able to afford a pair.
“What the heck-a-palooza is going on?” She asks a reasonable question. “Was that… the girl, the one to whom you gave the poetry?” She sounds like she’s in awe, or maybe it’s disbelief.
“She’s the one to whom,” I tease, or try to. I heave a breath, but it’s not nearly enough to calm my still stammering heart after the close call with Vincent.
I feel like I’m recovering from a hit by a stun gun. Not that I know what that’s like from real-life experience, but I have an imagination.
It’s a good thing I do, or I wouldn’t have dreamed up the idea to pull Pammy into my tight-wire act and make her my pretend girlfriend for a scene.
“So…,” Pammy says, touching my arm to get me out of my head.
“Why did you lie about me being your girlfriend with her standing right there? And what’s with Vincent?
Did you drown his kitten? No, I take that back.
He doesn’t look like the kind of guy who would have a kitten.
Any sane kitten would rightly run the other way. ”
“Slow down, Pammy.”
“Sorry, I ramble when I get excited.”
I laugh. “Thanks for going along with the fib. You bailed me out.”
“Out of what?”
I hear a whistle, and I realize the guys are heading our way to the locker room to dress.
“Later. I’ll explain everything. I promise.” As the team catches up to us, Pammy skitters out of the way. I see Bog and join him.
I call to Pammy, “Enjoy the game.”
She waves, wearing a bewildered expression as I walk away.
“Who’s that?” Bog asks. “She doesn’t look like your type.”
She’s not my type, not for a girlfriend, but that’s my fault because I’m a superficial fucker, but that doesn’t stop me from needing to defend her as a friend.
“Pammy is serious. She’s a certified genius and cool as fuck.” I realize too late that my tone may have sounded defensive. Not surprisingly, since I was trying to defend her.
He widens his eyes and gives apologetic vibes. “No offense meant.”
“Besides,” I lighten up. “I don’t have a type. You know that.”
He laughs. “Whatever you say, man. I’ve seen all types of girls throw themselves at you. I’ll give you that.”
“Pammy didn’t—” I’m about to defend her again as we enter the locker room, but I stop myself. The less said about Pammy, the better. Posing as a couple with her was a one-time fix for Vincent’s eyes only. I don’t need to make a deal out of it with Bog.
It’s bad enough that I owe Pammy an explanation, but I owe Fifi an explanation about who Pammy is too. Fuck.
This is not what I want to be focused on before a big game.
We file into the locker room, and Vaughn jumps up on a bench, waving his arms to get everyone’s attention. He shouts, “Who wants the first shot at Vincent Rossi?”
I’m in the process of raising my hand, one of those animal instinct responses about self-preservation hard-wired into men, when Bog catches my arm and pins it to my side in an impressive wrestling move.
I look at him. “Since when did you join the WWF?”
He narrows his eyes at me, trying to squelch his usual laugh, and whispers, “Don’t even think about it.”
Half the team jumps at the chance with enthusiasm before Sully takes over and picks a couple of candidates, Van being one of them.
“I’m up for throwing a punch,” Bog raises his voice. I elbow him and give Sully a look that says no way in hell.
Sully laughs. “You’re the only other person on the team who we can’t afford to lose.”
Bog’s a kickass goalie specializing in clutch saves, especially in big games, like today. If he weren’t so dead set on building bridges and shit when he graduates, he might be able to play in the pros.