15. Sloane
SLOANE
“Who are you DMing?” Delaney asks as she sets a Solo cup of God knows what in front of me, then sits in one of the deck chairs next to me.
We are on the back patio with one of the guys from the football team because his parents were coincidentally out of town during the first weekend of school, which also happened to be our first win of the season.
So naturally, he threw a party.
I’d come outside when I started messaging River, not wanting to risk anyone seeing what I was saying or more importantly to who.
I’d been posting casually tonight, careful not to alert anyone as to where I was or what I was doing since I’d decided to make my Instagram public.
The only reason I’d even done that was in case River found himself stalking my social media, and sure enough, tonight, I happened to catch an RKincaid in my story views.
So maybe he’s not that pissed.
Messaging him from my parents’ content account was probably equally risky, but at least it wasn’t directly tied to me.
Even if anyone put it together that I may be associated with the HuntersIntheWild account, I doubt they would assume I was using it to talk to him, or anyone, for that matter, when my parents are the main people posted.
I’d bravely sent River some pictures tonight after I saw he watched my stories, and although I didn’t get the exact reaction I was looking for, he could have blocked me on the HuntersIntheWild account too.
And he had not.
I close the app and shake my head. “No one.”
“Not you being all secretive. What’s going on? Is it Plane Daddy? I thought you cut that off?”
I told Delaney after the disastrous first day of school that I had broken things off with River and that he understood and wished me the best. I’d done this in hopes that she’d forget about the hot, older football coach named River I’d been messing around with, who was also coincidentally the name of our school’s football coach.
Luckily, I don’t know that she knows him as anything other than “Mr. Kincaid” or “Coach K” or maybe she’s just forgotten his first name.
Nevertheless, I’d hope Plane Daddy would just become “out of sight, out of mind.”
“I did. Not him.”
“Then whooo?” she says, and I’m thankful that she’s starting to feel her drinks because otherwise she’d probably be a little more relentless.
I toss my hair over my shoulder and lock my phone. "It’s no one. Let’s just go play flip cup."
Her eyes narrow immediately. “You’re deflecting.” She sings before pointing at me with her drink. "And you did that thing.”
I fiddle with the necklace I’m wearing. "What thing?”
“Your guilty thing.”
I snort. “What is that?”
“Your tell when you’re lying. You flip your hair and avoid eye contact.”
I finally take a healthy sip of the drink she brought over and almost choke at the strength of it. “Jesus Christ, did you make this?” I ask her, hoping that the swift change in subject may cause her drunk brain to forget her prior fixation.
“Sorry.” She purses her lips guiltily before wincing. “You know I’m a little heavy-handed.”
“Is there anything in this besides vodka?”
“Okay, first off, it’s tequila and maybe lemonade?”
I haven’t had a ton of experiences with tequila. I’m typically a wine, beer, or vodka drinker with the occasional gin if it’s super fruity. But I didn’t know how tequila affected me beyond maybe a margarita or two.
I guess I was going to find out.
“I do not taste any lemonade.” I chuckle before taking another long sip.
Two Hours Later
The phone rings three times.
Four times.
Five times.
I hold the phone out in front of my face and squint to make sure that the Instagram phone call is actually going through before putting it back to my ear when I see his name across the screen, indicating that I’m calling him.
I have a passing thought to hang up right now, but I ignore it just in time for the call to connect.
“Hello?” His voice sounds gravelly and gruff, and my nipples instantly harden at the sound of it washing over me.
For a second, I forget why I called or why this is a really bad idea.
For a second, I allow myself to pretend that this is just a cliché situation of a girl drunk dialing the guy she likes.
Not a girl drunk dialing her teacher.
“Sorry, were you sleeping?” I ask, and then the sound of a girl laughing loudly on the front porch rings through the air. I’m about twenty feet from her, not wanting to have this conversation around anyone I know or, more importantly, anyone who may know the person on the other line.
“Where are you?” he asks immediately, completely ignoring the question I asked.
“A party.”
There’s a beat of silence. “Dammit,” he mutters under his breath. “Tell me the cops didn’t get called.”
“No, no, nothing like that.” My eyes pan down the street both ways, and I don’t see or hear anything out of the ordinary. This street doesn’t have many houses, and it appears that his neighbors aren’t home or just asleep, since most of their lights are out.
“Whose house?”
I start to tell him, and then I remember that he might actually be mad that one of his guys is throwing a party with alcohol and weed when everyone present is underage. “I don’t want to say.”
“Dammit. A football player?”
I smack my forehead because I really didn’t think this through. “I’m no snitch.”
“After the first fucking game. I swear to God,” he grumbles before clearing his throat. “Why did you call me, Sloane?”
“To… talk? I don’t know.”
“Are you drunk?”
“Maybe. I did have a lot of tequila.”
“Jesus Christ.” He sighs, and I feel like I detect a hint of disappointment in his voice. “How are you getting home?”
“Not sure yet. Delaney and I will probably Uber.” I tell him, knowing we absolutely plan to Uber, but wanting to see how he responds to my ambiguous answer.
“Probably? Sloane, do not drive or get in a car with anyone that’s been drinking.” His tone is hard and commanding and fucking hot.
“I know, I won’t.”
“I am not fucking kidding around.”
“Yes, Daddy, I’m aware,” I say in my sassiest voice.
“Don’t.” He barks into the phone, and I gasp.
“Would you prefer Mr. Kincaid?”
“Do not say my name out loud. Are you around anyone?”
I turn around toward the porch again and see the same people who were there before talking among themselves and not paying attention to me. “No, I’m by myself.”
“By yourself, outside? I don’t like that either, Sloane.”
“I mean, I’m in front of the house, and there are other people outside, but not close enough to hear me.”
“This is risky,” he responds.
“You can hang up if you want. I just… I’ve had a little bit to drink and wanted to talk to the guy I like.
” He doesn’t respond. So I continue, “I know I shouldn’t like you…
or I guess it doesn’t matter that I like you.
” More silence. “Your overprotectiveness is hot for the record.” He doesn’t respond again, and I hear the message loud and clear.
This was stupid. What did you think was going to happen?
He’d initiate phone sex? And now I’m fucking rambling.
“Okay… well… I’m sorry I called. I’ll let you go. ”
“Wait,” he says and my heart flips slightly in my chest. “I… liked the pictures.” Oh?
“You did?”
“Screenshotted all of them,” he says, and his voice is low and sexy. My mouth drops open in shock because I was not expecting him to say that. I drag my finger over my lips as a smile pulls at them.
“Which was your favorite?”
“Hard to say, but the… one with your leg up…” He clears his throat. “May have inspired some… alone time.”
“You… touched yourself to pictures of me?”
“I shouldn’t tell you that.” His voice is so quiet it’s almost like a whisper.
“Yes, you should. I’ve definitely done the same.” And probably will the second I get home now.
“I didn’t confirm anything. I’m still pissed at you,” he says matter-of-factly.
Goosebumps pop up all over my arms despite the warm temperature because I don’t think anyone’s ever been pissed at me.
Maybe my brother when we were younger and we used to fight about everything.
And that was just normal sibling shit. But the thought of him angrily masturbating to thoughts of me kind of turns me on. “I know.”
“I shouldn’t be doing that.”
“Okay, well, unless you submit a video to the school board of you doing that, I think you’re safe. No one is going to know what goes on in the privacy of your own home when you’re alone.”
“I know what I’m doing, though, and I’m disappointed in myself.”
“I don’t know what to say about that. Sorry I make you want to masturbate?” I chuckle sarcastically.
“This isn’t a game, Sloane. You can’t… call me. Or message me… I told you we don’t exist to each other for the rest of the year.”
“Okay. I won’t again. I’ll see you at school on Monday. Goodb—”
“When are you leaving?” he says, interrupting my attempt to end the call.
“Not sure yet.”
“It’s late,” he offers.
I pull my phone away from my ear because I actually have no idea what time it is. Just after one thirty. Damn, it is late. “I don’t have a curfew, remember?”
“You should. It’s dangerous for two girls to be out by themselves. I don’t even like the idea of you taking an Uber alone while you’re drunk.”
“Are you saying… you want to come get me?” Hope blooms in my chest at the idea of him picking me up and spending the night fucking him in his bed again.
“No. Wherever you are is swarming with students and you’re with your cousin. I surely cannot pick her up as well.”
“What if I was in trouble?”
“Don’t,” he repeats. “Do not try to manipulate me.”
“What if… I needed you, Daddy? You wouldn’t come get me?” I pout, and I hope my voice sounds like I’m doing that as well.
“That’s not going to work.”
“You’re still on the phone with me. I think it’s working a little.”
“I’m in hell,” he says. “Sloane, even if I wanted to, I cannot come get you.”
“Do you? Want to, I mean?” He chuckles but doesn’t answer. “What?” I ask.
“It really doesn’t matter what I want. Right now, it’s impossible.”
“It matters. Tell me what you want.”