Chapter 13 – Josie
chapter
thirteen
Josie
Okay, I’d admit defeat. I had actually had fun at the game.
The Kappa Nu house was shaking by the time we got there.
Kimmy had her arm looped through mine, and Lena had the other side, and we pushed through the front door into noise and heat and bodies. Someone had taped a scoreboard printout to the wall by the stairs — HOME 4, AWAY 2 — and drawn a dick on it in Sharpie.
“Classy,” Lena said, her lip curling.
“The classiest.” Kimmy grinned, dragging us toward the kitchen.
I saw Waylon before he saw me. He was by the kitchen doorway with Ryder, beer in hand, hat backward, and when he turned and spotted me, his whole face lit up.
“Flash.” He crossed to me in three strides. “How’d the kit work out?”
“You saved my ass,” I said, too soft for the room. “I was the warmest person in the section. Kimmy tried to steal the blanket.”
“Tried and failed,” Kimmy said from behind me.
“Tried and succeeded,” I corrected. “I got it back in the third period.”
Kimmy spotted someone she knew near the pool table and grabbed Lena’s arm, and they were gone. Leaving just Waylon and me standing by the kitchen doorway with the party pressing in around us.
He leaned against the frame and looked down at me. “So it was almost fun?”
“Almost.” I bit my lip to keep from smiling too wide.
“Almost.” He shook his head slowly. “Tough customer.”
“The toughest.”
He was looking at me with those green eyes, and the grin had gone soft and warm. I was standing too close and staying too long, and I knew it. Then Marcus’s arm landed around my waist from behind and pulled me back against his chest.
“Babe.” Marcus kissed the side of my head. “There you are.”
Waylon’s face didn’t change. He took a sip of his beer and nodded once. “Good game tonight, Kane.”
“Fuck yeah, it was,” Marcus said, already steering me away.
“See you around, Flash,” Waylon said, and I felt his eyes on my back as Marcus walked me into the crowd.
He grabbed my waist tighter, spun me half a turn, and kissed my cheek with a grin that wasn’t for me.
“Damn, that goal was fucking perfect. Some of the guys are saying I’m like a god because of what a tough shot it was.”
I doubted anyone was saying that.
“I saw it.” I smiled up at him and put my hand on his chest. I’d been on my feet with everyone else.
“Power play goal, baby. Coach said it was the cleanest look he’s seen all season.” His hand stayed on my waist, but his eyes were past me.
“That was amazing.” I leaned into his side.
“I’m gonna go find Kowalski,” he said, kissing my temple. “Don’t go anywhere.”
“I’ll be here.” I squeezed his hand on the way past and watched him disappear into the crowd. Gone in five seconds. Impressive, even for him.
Kimmy grabbed my wrist. “Let’s dance.”
She pulled Lena and me through the throng toward the living room, where the furniture had been shoved against the walls, and the bass was so heavy the cups on the mantel were vibrating.
Kimmy threw her arms up, and her hips started going.
She had no rhythm and zero shame, and it was contagious.
Lena fell in beside me, rolling her hips to the beat while guys kept looking and she kept ignoring them.
I grabbed a hard lemonade off the bar on the way past, cracked it open myself, and danced until my hair stuck to my neck and my legs ached and an hour had gone by without me noticing.
Then I saw Waylon on the far side of the living room near the stairs, leaning against the banister. Crisp white T-shirt that fit way too well across the chest and shoulders, hat turned backward, jaw freshly shaved. He’d clearly put five minutes into getting ready, and it had worked.
Stop looking, Josie.
A blond girl was pressed against his side with her hand on his chest, laughing and tilting her chin up at him, her fingers tracing the neckline of his shirt.
He was looking down at her with that smile, the slow one, the one that started in one corner of his mouth and pulled a dimple out of his left cheek, the one I’d seen at the tutoring center, on the running trail, and in the back hallway at O’Leary’s.
My stomach went tight and my face went hot, and I turned away so fast I sloshed lemonade on Kimmy’s shoe.
“Hey!” Kimmy looked down, frowning. “These are new.”
“Sorry, bathroom.” I shoved the bottle into Lena’s hand and pushed through the crowd toward the kitchen.
Some blonde had her fingers on his chest, and that had nothing to do with me. I needed to get it together.
“You okay?” Lena appeared beside me, holding both our drinks.
“Fine, hot in here.” I took the lemonade without looking at her.
She looked at me for a long second, then toward the living room, then back at me, and said nothing.
He took the blonde’s hand and walked toward the back door.
She went with him, and he didn’t look back. The door closed behind them, and the cold air from outside hit the room for one second.
Good for him, and wherever he was taking her was not my problem.
I set my lemonade down on the counter and pressed my palms flat against the surface.
Marcus reappeared ten minutes later, drunker than when he’d left, his arm heavy around my shoulders.
“Baby,” he mumbled into my neck, his words sliding together. “Baby, come upstairs.”
I leaned into him, and he smelled like tequila and sweat. His eyes were glassy, and his weight was half on me and half on the wall.
“Marcus, you’re wasted.” I braced my feet to hold us both up.
“I’m fine.” He grinned, sloppy. “C’mon. I want you.”
He wanted me, and he was my boyfriend, and he was right here, and I needed to stop thinking about the white T-shirt walking out the back door.
“Okay, let’s go.” I took his arm and steered him toward the stairs.
He leaned on me the whole way up, his shoulder bouncing off the wall as he navigated the hallway to his room.
Marcus pushed me down on the bed and fell on top of me. His mouth found mine. The kiss was lime and tequila and too much tongue, but I kissed him back anyway.
His hand went to my jeans and fumbled with the button for a long time, so I helped him. He pulled back and tried to undo his own belt. His fingers kept slipping, and he cursed under his breath, which was oh so romantic.
I lay there, staring at the ceiling and waiting.
“Gimme a sec,” he slurred.
He got the belt open and shoved his jeans down and reached for me, and through his boxers, he wasn’t hard.
He pressed against me anyway, grinding, his face in my neck, breathing hard, and nothing happened. He shifted his hips and tried again. His jaw tightened, and his eyes squeezed shut, and the frustration built in his shoulders.
“Just — hang on —” His voice cracked, and he grabbed harder.
“It’s okay,” I said flatly.
“Shut up.” His teeth clenched. “Just — give me a second.”
I closed my mouth and stared at the ceiling because, sure, Marcus, whatever you say, of course your whiskey dick is my fault.
He rolled off me and grabbed himself through his boxers and worked at it with his eyes closed and his jaw locked.
I lay beside him and stared at the ceiling and counted fourteen seconds before his whole body went slack, his hand dropped, and he rolled back toward me with his eyes already closing and landed face-first on my chest — two hundred and ten pounds of drunk hockey player directly on my breasts, and the air went out of me completely.
“Marcus,” I wheezed, shoving at his shoulder, but he didn’t move. “Marcus, I can’t breathe.”
He mumbled gibberish and pressed his face deeper into my cleavage. His breathing evened out, and he was asleep, my jeans half undone and one shoe still on.
I shoved harder, and he grunted and shifted half an inch, and his dead weight settled right back where it had been.
I braced my feet on the mattress and pushed with my legs until I wedged myself sideways out from under him. He flopped onto his stomach and made a sound that might have been my name and went still.
I sat on the edge of the bed, buttoned my jeans, and put my shoe back on.
Laughter carried up from downstairs. Somebody banged on a door down the hall, and a girl shrieked, and someone else said, “My bad, my bad.”
Marcus lay face down, mouth open, one arm hanging off the bed.
Happy Saturday to me. Somewhere out there, a white T-shirt was having a better night. I hated myself for thinking it, but I thought it anyway.