May 24th #4
“Oh, you missed the memo. We’re going to the afterparty.”
“There’s an afterparty?”
“Oh, yeah. The best part is, Chase doesn’t know about it.”
“But I thought he planned everything.”
“He did, but my sister added it. She wanted to be able to get a little wild. You know, let the little kids go to bed. Let the adults play,” he says with a devious grin.
“May I remind you that, technically, you aren’t an adult yet?”
“Don’t think you’re going to let me forget it,” he fires back. “Is our age difference really a big deal to you?”
“No, not really. You look older than you are.”
“And you like how I look?” he flirts.
“Hmm, let me see,” I say, tilting my head and taking a moment to appraise the man standing in front of me. Six-six. Chiseled muscles. A face that is literally beautiful, but I know the playfulness in his eyes spells nothing but trouble. “You have a baby face.”
“Just like my dad. Or so my stepmom says.”
“Let me set the record straight. I want to have fun and dance tonight. But overall, one, I’m too old for you. Two, I’m too old for you. And, three, I’m too old for you.”
“Eighteen,” he says back. “The age I will be turning in just a few short days.”
“And you think that will suddenly make it right?”
“No, it’d be right, right now, but if you need it to be officially legal in the eyes of the law—although, trust me, I highly doubt I’d be filing any complaints against you—”
“Well, I would hope not. We are family after all,” I say, but I realize that’s not super appropriate-sounding either.
He gives me a naughty smirk. Between that and those sparkling eyes, I am grateful his birthday is soon. Because I’m not sure I can resist him if he keeps this up.
“I get it. That was just reason number four. Although, technically, two since you said the same one three times.”
I’m surprised he’s been following along. “Are you smart?” I blurt out.
“About what?” He looks confused now.
“Like, in school. Do you get good grades?”
“What do you consider good?” he asks, but the word sounds like sex covered in syrup.
I try to ignore it. But my mind is going places it shouldn’t. And I find myself staring at his biceps as I mutter, “Straight A’s. AP classes.”
“Aw, you like perfection. Was that your goal—to be the perfect student?” he asks me, hitting the nail on the proverbial head.
Uh, yes , is the honest answer. But I say, “Well, I had to be if I wanted to be an engineer. To get into a good college.” My eyes slip from his arms down to his tight torso. “Not all of us can get by on our athletic prowess.”
“Prowess,” he says with a grin, running a single finger across my collarbone. “Oh, I like that word.”
Oh my gosh. Has he never heard it before?
“Why?” I dare to ask.
“Because it’s just not a word I normally hear. But it totally fits, you know. Having skill and expertise in a particular activity. Not to mention the other meaning, having to do with bravery in battle. I like it because that totally describes football.”
Okay, maybe he’s not dumb. Although part of me wishes he were. I’m trying to get to three strikes as to why I can’t be with him. I mean, I don’t need to date or marry him or anything. I just really want to sleep with him. Have a fun little summer fling. I’m sorta due for something like that.
Let’s see. My strike one of him being too young will be gone in a few days. My strike two of him being related by marriage, which could cause family drama, is somewhat legitimate.
He pulls me into his arms and keeps talking. “But it’s like prowling too. Like you’re on the prowl for me because you want me, but you think you can’t have me. I can tell you’re making up excuses in that pretty little head of yours. ”
I don’t like that he’s right about that. “I’m pretty sure I could have you,” I say with my own smirk. “And I’m pretty sure I just got an open invitation.”
“To discover my prowess in the bedroom—or wherever,” he agrees. “Most definitely.”
We arrive at the space where we shared the bucket of chicken.
Daine Kirkwood’s band is set up, as is the DJ from earlier.
And dotted all around the edges of the dance floor are adorable boho-style tents.
A pizza oven is in the corner, and you can smell the wonderful aroma. I wasn’t hungry until now.
My eyes go toward one of the tents. Remembering what he said about discovering his prowess wherever .
“Oh, I know where your eyes and your mind just went,” Damon says, pulling me close. “What do you say we start by grabbing a couple of beers and splitting some pizza first?”
What, can he read my mind?
He’s definitely smarter than I’m giving him credit for.
I can’t say much—because at least it gets me out of his arms. Which is a good thing because sexual energy rolls off him in waves.
But when we go in the tent it’s worse.
He shuts the flap.
It’s just the two of us. Lying here.
His long body is sprawled out, taking up both visual and physical space. And I say visual because, damn …
He’s lying on his side, his elbow on the ground, hand propping up his head, like some freaking centerfold.
I imagine him naked.
Close my eyes and shake my head. Stop it, Ainsley. You’re just horny.
And I realize I’m way too comfortable like this.
I sit up straight, cross my legs into a pretzel, grab a piece of pizza, and take a bite.
“Why did you get up so quickly?” he asks.
“Didn’t want to choke on my food,” I say matter-of-factly. Even I know it’s a dumb excuse.
But he gives me a break and says, “You’re right,” and somehow manages to sit up and cross his legs like mine.
“I’m surprised you can do that, as tall as you are.”
“Well, I’ve been in ballet and yoga classes for years.”
“Ballet?” I ask because I just can’t picture it.
“Flexibility, as well as body positioning, is very important for a wide receiver.”
“Especially since, in the NFL, you have to get two toes inbounds, not just one, like college.” I nod in understanding.
“I love that you know that,” he says.
And I love that there’s something about me that he loves. In fact, it kinda makes me swoon.
“My family loves football—you know that,” I tell him. “Well, not my mom so much, but it is something I always watch with my dad and my uncles. Thanksgiving dinner was timed around the big games.”
“Ours too,” he says. “I’d love for you to come see me play this fall. ”
“I would enjoy that,” I say sincerely.
His eyes soften, and he holds my gaze, like I touched his soul.
He slowly leans closer to me, staring at my lips, and I know he’s going to kiss me. And I know I’m going to allow it.
It’s just a kiss, right?
But instead, I find pizza in front of my face, so I take a bite.
Oh my gosh, he’s feeding me?
I sigh, turning into a puddle. When was the last time a guy …
My mind immediately flashes back.
I was so in love.
“If I didn’t know better, I would say you were just thinking about another guy. One who hurt you.”
What, is he psychic now?
“I, uh … how did you—” I trip on my words.
“I’m really intuitive—or so people say. I could just read it all over your face. Not to mention your body language.”
“Let’s save that conversation for another day. We’re supposed to be celebrating. The wedding and all,” I say because I am never talking to him about my ex. Ever.
He grins, hands me my beer, and says, “That we are. ”
I could start.
Damon
I’m in love with the afterparty. Mostly because Ainsley has been spending time with me. We shared pizza. Spent time in the tent. Have danced our asses off with everyone and shared a few beers.
And right now, we’re dancing to a slow song.
I’m holding her close.
Loving the feel of her body pressed against mine.
I’m also loving talking to her. Getting to know her better.
“It was nice, sharing chicken the other night,” I tell her.
“For the picnic,” she says. “That was a really cute idea. And a cool way to celebrate.”
“I’m glad you liked it. Hopefully, we’ll share some champagne and a bucket of chicken in the future. You know, to celebrate something.”
“Like what?” she asks me, tilting her head.
“How about after my first collegiate game?” I offer.
“Your first game.” She squints her eyes in interest. “Are we talking your first game ever, the first game you play in, or the first game you are a starter?”
“You think I could start?” I ask with a smile.
“My uncles seem to think so. What do you think? ”
“It’s possible,” I say coyly.
“Okay then. Your first start, I’ll definitely be there, and we’ll celebrate after.”
“You promise?” I ask her.
“I promise,” she says with a smile.
Need a drink.
Ainsley
I’m floating on cloud nine as Damon and I head to our respective restrooms. I’ve had enough beer to feel happy, or it could just be the after effects of dancing with Damon.
He’s really fun to dance with. When I teased him about being such a good dancer, he did a ballet pirouette on his tiptoes that was quite impressive and ended it with a sweet kiss on my cheek.
To be honest, it wasn’t what I had been hoping for.
And in that moment, I realize that I really do want to kiss him.
Tonight.
I hear hushed but harsh voices coming from nearby, and when I round the corner of the building, I see my uncles with my dad.
I’m so happy that he decided to show up!
And just when I’m ready to call out to him, I realize he doesn’t look very good. Like maybe he’s been drinking?
But when I hear Uncle Van say, “We told you last time, Rocky—actually, we’ve told you it’s the last time too many times,” I flatten myself against the wall so no one can see me.
“But I’ve been good. I’ve been winning,” Dad argues.
“Then why do you need money?” Tripp asks.
“Shit,” my dad says. “Just trust me. I need it. I need for you to help me. I don’t have anyone else to turn to.”
“You were supposed to stop gambling. That’s why we’ve sent you to rehab—repeatedly.”
Gambling? I think back to when I was in high school and Dad was gone for six weeks on some kind of work project. Was he really at rehab? Does he have a problem? An addiction? No. No way. I would know.
“I just … please,” Dad begs.
Van shakes his head. “Sorry, we’re not bailing you out again. Maybe you need to hit rock bottom before you ever decide to change.”
“But you don’t understand. I’m there! At the bottom. Now.”
“Not the first time,” Tripp says.
I gasp, then cover my mouth with my hand so that they don’t hear me.
This can’t be real.
I watch as Dad drops to his knees and pleads. “She’s leaving. Nicole is leaving me. I’m going to lose everything.”
“It’s about time she does,” Tripp says. “Don’t you think you’ve put that woman through enough? ”
“Her? What about me? I’ve been through a lot too!” Dad counters.
“I’m afraid you can’t complain when you brought it on yourself. As usual, we will pay for you to go to rehab. We’ll put you on a plane tonight if you’re willing. But that’s it. It’s officially your life, and it’s about time you decide how to live it,” Van says to him.
“But what about Ainsley?” Dad asks.
“You’re damn lucky she’s never had a clue. But so help me, you do not go to her for money,” Uncle Van says in the most forceful voice he’s used so far.
“She has money?” Dad asks, perking up.
“Scholarship money for college, yes. She’s a bright girl and very talented. Don’t even think about it,” Tripp warns.
“She’s here. I need to see her. She texted me this morning, said she wanted me to come for the wedding.”
“Yet you missed it. As usual. And of course she’s here. It’s our family reunion,” Van states.
“And the soft reopening of this place,” Tripp adds. “The place you used to love.”
Dad stands up, looking pissed off now instead of sorrowful. “You just can’t stop, can you?” he spits at Tripp. “You have just as much of an addictive personality as I do. Always building another Archibald shrine to … yourself.”
“We were close as kids, Rocky, and we’ve had your back since then. We’ll always love you, but the money train has left the station. Forever.”
“I hate you! Always have!” Dad yells. “And I’ll pass on the bullshit rehab. I’m going to find my wife and daughter and get them the hell away from you two.”
Van holds up his phone, appears to make a call, then says, “Your husband is here and would like for you and Ainsley to come home with him. Yes, right now.” He pauses, seems to wait for Mom’s reply, and says, “That’s what I thought.
” He hangs up, puts his phone in the breast pocket of his suit, and says to my dad, “She said no. Why don’t we put you up in one of the hotel rooms tonight? You can talk to them in the morning.”
“Fine,” Dad says.
I’m in tears, wondering what is happening, and I’m trying to take it all in when Damon comes to stand next to me.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
“I don’t know,” I say, throwing myself into his arms, needing a hug. Trying to make sense of this. “How much of that did you hear?”
“From when they talked about sending him to rehab.”
“I feel like my life has been a lie. How could my parents—my uncles, my family—hide this from me?”
“I’d guess to shelter you,” Damon says softly. “I’m not saying it’s right, but I’m sure they had your best interests at heart.”
“I still need to pee,” I tell him. “Then we’re going back to the afterparty. I seriously need a drink.”
And I do have a drink.
Then another.
And another.
And …