I don’t bother to reply because I’m drawn to my window. Since Dani left for college, I’ve kept the curtains closed. I knew it would be too hard, looking out and knowing she wasn’t there anymore.
I take a deep breath, knowing I’m being ridiculous, and pull open the curtains, letting daylight flood into the room. I remove the piece of paper from the window and look at the word I wrote in a flowing script, trying to mimic her ring. The cool thing is, she understood and even wore the ring to school. I carefully fold the paper up and put it into my duffel as I hear Lacey’s car pull into the drive.
I dare a glance at Dani’s window, and it’s then when I spot it. Hanging in her window is a photo. A photo that means everything to me. To us.
Or at least, it did.
I punch my fist into the window frame and yank the fabric shut just as Lacey walks in my room and locks the door behind her. She gives me a wicked grin and looks me up and down.
“You look stressed, baby,” she says, patting the bed. “Let me help you with that.”
I’m pulling my pants back up when she glances at her phone.
“You don’t have to go yet.”
“It’s the first game, Lace. I know you heard Damon’s car leave.”
“Everyone in the neighborhood can hear Damon’s car when he leaves,” she says with a laugh, but then she eyes me seriously. “Why don’t you ask for an exotic car like his for your birthday? You’re turning eighteen. That’s a big deal.”
On Damon’s seventeenth birthday this summer, he got surprised with what he calls his Outrageous Orange Baby, a Lamborghini Murciélago LP640 that Jennifer had totally picked out for him. She has a passion for exotic cars and a garage full of them in LA. Orange is both of their favorite colors, and this one is more toward yellow than pumpkin. Girls love it. Actually, girls love Damon—hot car or not. He’s got the gift of gab, my dad says, and he can talk to anyone.
I assume he left early to stop by his latest fling’s house for a little pre-game action.
“Not really my style,” I tell Lacey, although you’d think by now, she’d have figured it out. “I love my truck.”
What I should really say is that I have a love-hate relationship with my truck. Mostly because every single time I get in it, I’m reminded of the first time I did. It was in the driveway the day we arrived back from our trip to the Ozarks. My parents told me it was for me. For my sixteenth birthday.
Jennifer then went on to explain how it started out as a regular, new black Ford Raptor. How they took it to the guys who modify her cars, who added a higher-flow three-inch exhaust and a cold air intake. Added to that was a performance pack engine upgrade that makes it faster than the already-powerful motor, a massive windshield logo, new grill, industrial-looking off-road lights atop a custom-designed bar, body moldings, and some sweet wheels under a three-inch lift kit. The interior is equally awesome. Embroidered headrests and handmade seats with an impressive sound system. I got to drive it that day with my parents in the car since I still only had my permit, but later that night, I asked Dani to take me for a ride. We went parking, and I just knew we’d be together forever.
Until we weren’t.
And she’s still the only girl I’ve ever let drive it.
“I know you do,” Lacey says, bringing me back to the present.
I pull on my suit jacket, tighten my tie back up, and then grab my duffel, tossing it over my shoulder.
“You look so handsome,” Lacey says, running her hand across my chest.
It makes me feel guilty, knowing I was just thinking about someone else after our intimate moment.
I like Lacey—I do. I’ll never love her, but I also can’t live in the past.
I give her a kiss before making my way to the door. “And you’re the prettiest girl at school.”
She rolls her eyes. “I bet you say that to all the girls.”
“Lacey, I don’t have time for this right now.” I can’t deal with her jealousy when there’s nothing to be jealous of. At least, with no one at our school.
“We’re seniors, Chase. We’ve been dating since last year’s Homecoming, but we aren’t in a relationship. Don’t you think that’s kind of weird? My friends certainly do.”
“I don’t care what your friends think. And if you aren’t cool with the way things are—”
“Yeah, yeah, I know. There are plenty of other girls dying to take my place.”
“That’s not at all what I meant. If you aren’t happy with the way things are and don’t understand why I can’t be in a committed relationship, then you can get out. No harm—”
“No foul,” she finishes.
“Exactly. I really gotta go.”
She takes my hand and pulls me back on the bed with her.
Ugh. I don’t have time for this conversation right now, but I still say, “You know I like you, Lacey.”
“You mean, you like having sex with me,” she fires back.
“This moment—right here, right now—is exactly why I don’t want to be in a relationship. I have a big game tonight. I have a lot to prove out there. Scouts will be there. They will be at every game this season, and instead of focusing on that—”
“Why do you think we do what we just did before your games? I’m helping you. Relaxing you. So you can play better.”
“It’s very nice, Lacey, but it’s not what makes me play well. I was winning games long before you started this little routine.”
“But I’m—can you at least go out with me tonight after the game?”
“Not tonight, okay? I’ll be tired. We have to get up early to head to Lincoln for the home opener.”
“We should go out after the games. Everyone goes out after the games, and I’m always alone. You’re just no fun anymore.”
I take a deep breath, trying to stay calm. “I really have to go.”
“Can I come to the game with you tomorrow?”
“If my parents didn’t invite you, the answer would be no because they only have so many tickets.”
“We had so much fun this summer, Chase.”
“Sure we did, Lace. We also had time to have fun.”
“It’s our senior year. It’s supposed to be the best year of our lives. I’ve got so many—”
“Plans?”
“Yeah,” she says with a frown.
“I’m really sorry I’m disappointing you,” I say, feeling bad.
She leans in, puts her mouth close to my lips, and says, “I love you, Chase.”
I back away. “Oh.”
“I tell you I love you, and all you say is oh?” she says, her voice rising. “Do you even care about me?”
“Of course I do.”
“Well, you’re not acting like it right now.”
I run my hand across her shoulder. “What’s going on? What started all this? If you are unhappy, I understand. We can end things amicably.”
“Football started all this,” she says.
A half-smile, half-frown forms on my face, and I hold my hands up in the air, like, What do you want me to do about it?