Danika picks up her glass with a look that says, “I told you so.” We clink our glasses together.
Flushed from a few drinks, I drag Teddy onto the dance floor by his shirt. Cheers ring up around at the display. A remix of Taylor Swift’s Love Story plays at a deafening level, made worse by the drunk college kids—myself included—singing at the top of our lungs.
I shout lyrics at Teddy about Romeo throwing pebbles and kneeling on the ground.
He goes along with it, singing along. I have to admit I’m impressed he knows every single lyric. Then again, this is Teddy, so I shouldn’t be surprised. He’s a man of many talents.
“Did you mean it?”
“Huh?” He turns his ear toward me.
“Did you mean it?” I yell again. “In Greece. When you said you want me in all the ways that a man wants a woman, did you mean you want me for keeps?”
He hears me this time. Heated green eyes make my core clench. He cups my cheek, thumb rubbing over my bottom lip. “I’ve wanted you for real for … God. Months now. I’ve been waiting for you to catch up.” His mouth is a hard press to mine. Demanding. Insistent. I open for him, his tongue sweeping inside my mouth and staking claim.
Behind those boyish smiles, and twinkling eyes, and sexual comments, there’s a man who just wants to love a woman, and that woman is me.
I’ve never seen myself as particularly lucky, but I can’t help but think that Lady Luck’s guiding hand put us in each other’s paths.
I saw the shift in Teddy, how his feelings grew real, and I ignored them. Pushed him away. Insisted on keeping this arrangement as it should be. But my heart didn’t get that memo.
As Taylor Swift croons, I smile up at him, our own love story being written around us.
35
Teddy
“We should take my car.”
I guffaw at Mascen’s absurd suggestion. “Why would we take that?” I point at his bronze-colored Land Rover behemoth. “When we have this?” I move my hands to encompass my sleek, sexy cobalt blue Porsche.
We have an away game today, and normally we’d be on the bus with our teammates, but the two of us had to stay behind for an interview with a local magazine. Thank fuck Coach was the one who mis-scheduled the interview or we would’ve had hell to pay. As it is, with the interview done, we’re stuck road-tripping it together to our game. True, we could drive separately but that doesn’t make much sense, and time will go by faster if I have Mascen to annoy.
“Because,” Mascen intones, pinching his brow, “your car screams mid-life crisis, insecure, and most importantly small peepee.”
“Did I seriously hear you use the word peepee?”
He holds up a hand to silence me. “Whereas my beautiful Rover here says one thing and one thing only.”
“And what’s that?” I challenge, arms crossed over my chest.
“Big. Cock.”
“Do you want to compare sizes right now because I’m happy to whip it out and prove you wrong?”
“Keep your pants on McCallister. I see enough of that thing in the locker room.”
I smirk. “It’s huge, isn’t it? Nothing small about it. You can’t miss it.”
He throws his arms up in the air and curses under his breath. “Forget it. You drive.”
“Yes!” I jump up and down in victory.
“Get in the car,” he commands in a booming tone, like a parent. “We’re going to be late.”
“Yes, sir.”
I slide behind the wheel, put the address in my phone, crank up some tunes and we’re on our way.
“We’re going the wrong way.”
I swing my head forcefully in Mascen’s direction, surprised when I don’t get whiplash. “No, we’re not. I put the address in and everything.” I point down at my phone in the cupholder that’s been spitting out directions for the last hour and a half of our six-hour trip.
“I’m telling you, we’re going in the wrong direction. We should’ve headed east and we’re going west.”
“How would you know?” I sound defensive, but how can I not? Everyone uses their phone’s these days, and Mascen’s over here acting like Dora the fucking Explorer with a trusty map—only this one seems to be in his head.
“Common sense, dumb ass.” He starts pointing at signs and spewing out words that make no sense to me, but finally I agree that he’s right, and I’ve put in the wrong location.
Coming off the highway, I fill up with gas while Christopher Columbus—fitting since that dude was as big of an asshole as Mascen—figures out the new course.
“You want anything?” I poke my head in the car at him, desperate for some snacks.
“Just some water … maybe a sandwich if they don’t look like shit.”
I rap my knuckles against the hood of the car and take off for the store, gathering the goods.
When I return, Mascen has a map up on his phone and starts rattling off what we need to do.
“Time’s going to be tight,” he warns, buckling in.
“Don’t worry, I’ll get us there no problem.”
Lie.
Not an intentional one, but who could’ve predicted we’d get stuck in traffic—a complete standstill—because of an accident.
Mascen is a jittery mess beside me. “This wouldn’t have fucking happened if you’d let me drive. Then we wouldn’t have gone in the wrong direction for too long.”
“It’s not my fault you didn’t realize it sooner,” I defend. “Besides, at least we’re not the ones in the accident.”
Mascen’s eyes flash at me, the kind of spark that screams murder. “You’re about to be in a bloody accident if you don’t shut your mouth.”
“You’re stressed, sweetie, so I won’t take anything you say to heart. Promise.” I pout my lips at him.
“I have never wanted to punch another human being more than I want to hit you.”
I sigh at this, gripping the wheel. “You’re not the only one.” The teasing light-hearted tone leaves me, a world-weary weight settling upon me.
“What’s that mean?” His question is a cutting demand as I crawl forward an inch.
“Nothing. Forget I said anything.”
“No,” he insists in a very un-Mascen-like way. “Tell me. You meant something by it.”
I don’t say anything, and Mascen isn’t the type to push too hard, so silence fills the car.
Until I decide to rip the Band-Aid off and put it out there. “My dad hits me.”
My heartbeat pounds in my ears. Vanessa was the first person I ever shared the truth with. Now there’s one more person in the world who knows.
“Fuck,” Mascen curses into the silence of the car. “Seriously, man?”
“Yeah.”
“Wow,” he mutters, shaking his head. “Shit. I don’t know what to say. Sorry seems weak.”
“You don’t have to say anything.” I stare straight ahead. “It’s not your fault my father is a manipulative, abusive asshole. That’s on him.”