Embrace (Evolve Series #2) (8 page)

Chapter 10

Flag on the Play

~Laney~

I
t’s been a long few weeks.

I took Dane to his cabin for his birthday weekend (with
Valentine’s Day mixed in) and it was heavenly. I’d ended up getting him a book
of vouchers that I made myself, being broke and all, but he seemed to love it.
So far he’s cashed in the ones for “pick the movie tonight” and “sit back and
watch my striptease.”

On my wrist is my Valentine’s present, a beautiful
silver cuff bracelet inscribed with “Love: friendship set to music.”

That man.

It was
his
birthday, but I’d been pampered
and tempted to the point of never coming back. Dane always makes me feel
special, loved, but oh the other things he gives me. One whole day, he forbade me
from wearing any clothes, hid them from me in fact, and we fell asleep that
night in front of the fireplace, sticky with sweat.

 I kinda have trouble even walking when I think back
on it.

We’re closing in quick on the start of softball
season and the team looks great! That also means, however, that my 11 pm curfew
is in effect most nights, much to Dane Kendrick’s dismay. Coach is pretty
lenient though, so Dane will live.

The best news? Evan and I talk every Thursday in
Algebra class, not exactly like the old days, but much better than not so long
ago. He’s made fast friends with Sawyer, and even Zach now, and I couldn’t be
happier about that. One great guy deserves another two!

Tate is all healed up and back at the dorm, which
means my breath of sunshine roommate is back. I don’t think I realized just how
much I’d missed Bennett until she came back.

All in all, the spring is shaping up nicely! Things
are finally starting to feel normal again.

The only untouched left is my mom. I wrote her a
long letter, but it has yet to even be stamped. Or sealed, for that matter. I
don’t know the rules. Can she even receive letters? Not that it matters, since
I’m nowhere near ready to mail it, but writing it was therapeutic, and dammit,
I’m proud just for that! My dad says I should send it, as does Dane, but it’s
not up to them.

So, it’s with a pretty happy heart that I grab my
gear and head out to the flag football game. We’ve been practicing our butts
off and Zach, it turns out, is quite the drill sergeant, but I’m pretty
confident me and my girls are about to bring home the banner!

Dane’s waiting in his car when I head out the door
but quickly scrambles out to grab all the stuff in my hands and load it up for
me, treating me to a soft kiss first. “Hey, baby, you ready to score?”

It’s like the tenth time he’s used that line, he
thinks it’s so cute. It kinda is.

Rolling my eyes at him, I get in the car, immediately
turning on my “pump me up” music, “Let Me Clear My Throat” by DJ Kool. I mean
really, is there any other choice? He’s chuckling as he takes the driver’s seat
and acts like he’s gonna turn the music off, barely getting his hand pulled
back when I move to slap it. The sun roof is open, as the air is, as usual,
unseasonably warm, and I feel good.

T
he rules of the flag football tournament
are simple: you win, you keep playing. No round robin, no break, no pool play—your
win, your field, until someone knocks you off of it. This could be grueling for
lesser women, but three wins in and the Lady Eagles softball team isn’t tired.
If anything, we’re hungrier with each win; pumped, primed and ready for the
next battle!

Game four is against none other than the Lovely
Larks. I see Whitley prancing to the middle of the field for the coin toss, so
I matter-of-factly tell my team I’ll Captain this game and make my way there.

I don’t even try to hide my bitchy smirk as I stare
her down. “Winners’ call,” the ref, an upperclassman named Xander, and I only
know that because he’s felt the need to tell me four times throughout the day,
says as he sends the quarter in the air.

“Tails,” I say, my eyes never leaving hers.

“Tails,” Xander confirms.

Statistics say you should always pick heads and my
dad has given me that sermon more times than I care to count, but I always go
with tails. I knew that’s how it’d land just as sure as I know I’m about to school
Whitley’s ass. I have no idea where her and Evan stand. We don’t broach the
subject in our blossoming Algebra conversations, but I know what hasn’t changed—I
still hate her.

~Dane~

I realize that taking over my father’s business
ventures at a young age had put me out of touch with playing any team sports
since high school, but I’m almost positive the word “flag” in the title of
“flag football” carries some literal meaning.

Which is why I’m puzzled watching my girlfriend
tackle Whitley for the third time. The first time she did it, Sawyer, sitting
beside me, laughed his ass off, muttering something about a “spitfire.” So I
thought, no big deal, it did kinda look like she just lost her grip on the
flags and fell, taking Whitley down with her.

The second time, even Sawyer toned down his
snickering and agreed with me it looked a bit suspect, especially when the
official blew a whistle in Laney’s ear and moved the Larks up several yards.
Zach had benched her after that one, but with a lot of her pacing and
arm-flailing in his face, which was quite a show for us spectators, he put
Laney back in.

But now, a third time? Laney is still laying on top
of Whitley, showing no signs of getting up, until the ref runs across the field
and throws the flag (not that Laney acknowledges flags), giving Whitley a
moment of reprieve to once again brush herself off and adjust her clothing and
hair. Evan and Zach both call time loudly and quickly march simultaneously onto
the field, toward my girl.

“Go get her,” Sawyer groans as he bumps me with his
shoulder. “I’ll bring the car around.”

So, ever the level-headed one in our relationship, I
jog down the bleacher stairs in my quest to contain one very fired up Laney Jo
Walker. If she wasn’t so damn adorable, with her cute little football pants and
black streaks under her eyes, I’d be upset right now, because I know why she’s
attacking Whitley. She feels powerless over the situation with Evan, so she’s
going for the easy, direct hit on the girl who’s been sniffing him.

Laney’s been great about things lately, slowly
having friendly words with Evan in their class together, and I can see her mood
lightening each week. It’s giving her some sanity, some resolve and closure, so
she’s my happy, witty sparring partner again, not talking about the woe is me
that is Laney and Evan all the time. Because of all this, I’m gonna take it
easy on her. I’m not gonna berate her for her real intentions and what that
means. But I am gonna drag her off this field and take her home where she can
really take her frustrations out…on me.
Yes, please.

Keep a straight face. Keep a straight freaking
face.
I chant the mantra in my head as I open the gate and jog over to
gather Laney “Killer” Walker. Whitley looks like a hot mess—steam is rolling off
her, there are bits of the ground in her hair and her clothes are covered in
grass stains. Evan is on one knee in front of her, using a water bottle to wash
the dirt and blood off her legs. Laney, however, is glowing, bouncing on the
balls of her feet from side to side, literally begging not to be thrown out.

“You bout ready to go, badass?” I ask her, reminding
myself again about the whole straight face thing.

“Oh, thank God,” Zach huffs out, finally relaxing
his shoulders, which have been pulled up to his ears since the first quarter.

“I don’t see what the problem is,” Laney says in a
sugar-coated voice, which I’m sure hurts her throat. “She’s the quarterback. Of
course I’m gonna gun for her. I can’t help it if the grass is slippery. And,”
she holds up one finger democratically, like the point she’s about make will
really bring it home for her, “it’s hard to stop forward momentum.”

“Which is why football players are able to do it
every day, Laney?” Zach is trying so hard not to get mad at her, visibly struggling,
with clenched fists at his sides, to restrain himself. “Anyone who pummeled the
QB
after
the ball left his hand,
repeatedly
, would never see the
field. We won’t even talk about the flags you’re simply supposed to pull!”

I have to turn my head and feign a cough to
camouflage my laughter at Zach’s reply. She really thought she had him.

“But—” She starts to whine and actually stomps her
foot, but I’m way ahead of her. Before the next word leaves her mouth, she’s
over my shoulder, flailing and slapping my butt and back. “Put me down, Dane!
The game isn’t over and my team needs me!”

“Ha! You cost your team thirty yards in penalties,
hothead. I’m surprised they’re not clapping right now, thanking me! Now stay
still,” I swat her ass hard and she yelps, “or I’m gonna drop you.”

Sawyer’s pulled the car right up to the exit, and as
soon as we come into his line of vision, I see him throw his head back and
laugh hysterically.

“Open the door!” I yell, which thankfully he hears,
jumping out to open the back door for me since my hands are full.

“There she is, ladies and gentlemen, the MVP!” he
teases her.

“Shut it, Sawyer!” she hisses.

“I’m gonna throw her in here, then you stand in
front of her door while I walk around. When I’m in, I’ll lock the doors, with
yours open, then you hop in and gas it. Got it?” Sadly, I know Laney, and it is
completely necessary to have a covert op planned out if we don’t want to chase
her down again.

“All over it,” he salutes me.

“Hear that, baby? We got it all figured out, so no
escape attempts.”

She grumbles something under her breath as I toss
her in the back and slam the door, running hastily around to the passenger
seat.

“Okay, Sawyer, go!” I yell, turning to look at Laney
pouting in the backseat with her arms crossed at her chest, a scowl on her face
and her eyes purposely looking anywhere but at me.

Stone silence fills the car as we make our way down
the street. At the first stoplight, Sawyer plugs his phone into the radio. I’m
grateful for the upcoming distraction, but only for a split second, when I see
him adjust the rearview mirror with a smirk. Whatever he has planned, he wants
to be able to see Laney’s reaction—God help us. Seriously, being with the two
of them together is like a bad Heckle & Jeckle cartoon. But right at the
moment the music starts, he’s reeled me in. I slap my leg and bust out
laughing. “Mama Said Knock You Out” blares through the speakers, and when I
shift to look at how pissed Laney is, she’s air-punching, singing every word with
a beautiful smile.

Leave it to Sawyer.

Chapter 11

Balls of Steel

~Evan~

L
aney: Don’t say no right away. The Crew is
hanging out tonight at Dane’s house. I know it’s weird, but Sawyer and Zach,
your friends, will be there so we’d all love 2 have u. Please.

Where do I start? There are so many things wrong
with this, I don’t even know where to start. If somehow Laney took my civility
in Algebra to mean “may I please hang out with you and your boyfriend at
his
house
?”, then I really need to work on my delivery.

“What’s wrong?” Whitley sits across from me, peeling
away most of the bread from her sandwich.

I eat lunch with her almost every day, and except
for the whole picking her food apart thing, she’s great company. My favorite
thing about her? She’s always humming. She doesn’t even know she’s doing it,
she’s completely lost to the music in her head. I find it especially precious
that the song she chooses always fits the mood or scene too—it’s like she’s
scoring the soundtrack of our day moment by moment. One day we were walking
together after class and a downpour came out of nowhere, soaking us to the
bone. Whitley hummed “Umbrella” by Rihanna the whole time we were running to
the car. I didn’t comment on it out loud, mostly because I was busy running for
cover, dragging her behind me, but I laughed inwardly at how cute it was.

“Evan? Hello?”

“Sorry.” I shake my head and grin at her. “What’d
you say?”

“I asked what was wrong. That text you got obviously
didn’t make you happy. Your face looked like you smelt a skunk.”

Whitley’s a very down-to-earth girl once you look
past the fancy, never-chipped manicure and the bread picking, and a straight
shooter. I’m more than used to that and like it, so I go ahead and hand her my
phone. We’ll see what she thinks, since I’m having trouble wrapping my brain
around it.

“Hmm.” She chews her lip and takes her time looking
up from the phone at me.

Now I may not be the most perceptive guy on the
planet. I’ll never be able to name the artist when you show me a painting, I
don’t see meaning in brushstrokes and colors, and chances are I’ll never be
able to distinguish between all the different shades of pink, which Whitley
swears are legitimate, distinct colors, but I damn well know one thing when I
see it—piss and vinegar. And the girl sitting across from me is giving me a
look right now that’s full of just that.

She smirks and licks her lips. “We should go.”

Told ya. Piss and vinegar.

“Why in God’s name would we do that, Whitley? I
don’t exactly care for Dane and he hates me. Laney hates you, you hate her.
Last time you two were together, she tackled you
three
times! Flag
football is
NOT
a contact sport! So let’s all hang out together on
purpose? Why do I even need to explain what a bad idea that is?”

 “I don’t hate anyone and neither do you. And I know
Dane; he doesn’t hate you at all. I think we should go and see what happens. If
you want to leave, we’ll leave. But I think we should at least try, show we can
handle it.” She runs one finger in a circle around the rim of her drink. “Unless
you don’t want to be seen with me…”

I laugh out loud, knowing exactly what she’s doing.
“Nice try, woman. You really think that’s gonna work?”

She peers up at me, blue eyes shining and treats me
to a slow grin. “Did it?”

“Yeah, it worked,” I grin, but in defeat, “we’ll
go.”

Game. Set. Match.

“Wonderful!” she squeals, jumping up and coming
around to hug me. “I’m proud of you,” she says, running her fingers in the
front of my hair and pushing it back off my forehead where she lays a soft
kiss, “playing all nice.”

“Uh huh,” I mutter, leaning over to pluck the orange
flower that just caught my eye. “Here you go, troublemaker.”

T
he last time I was at this door, I got
handed my heart—mangled, battered, and broken. This time, I’m carrying a bottle
of wine and dressed all fancy-like because the little pixie with her hand laced
through the crook of my arm said to.

She put me in khaki pants and a light blue button
down shirt, tucked in of course, and some brown churchy shoes that she’d run out
and bought for me. The pants are stiff, the collar on this fucking shirt is seriously
inhibiting my breathing, and the shoes look like I ought to be walking up to
the front of the pulpit to get baptized. I look like a fucking idiot until I
stand next to her in her gray pants and light pink sweater, perfect blond hair
straight down her back and pulled from her face in a ribbon. When I stand next
to her, I look like the other half of the picture she wants to paint.

I’m already in a mood and the outfit isn’t helping,
but when Dane opens the door, dressed how he wants to be and Laney is behind
him, comfortable in yoga pants and a jersey, I feel like a whole different kind
of ass.

“Hey, guys, thanks for coming. Come on in,” Dane
politely greets us and steps back for us to enter.

Laney moves with him, and because I know her like my
own skin, I know exactly what she’s doing. Right now she’s deciding if she’s
pissed that I brought Whitley without asking her or if she wants to bust a gut
laughing at my clothes.

The latter is the obvious right decision, but I’m
relieved she restrains herself.

“Thanks for having us,” Whitley responds cheerily,
taking the wine from me. “We brought you this.” This she says to Laney, handing
her the bottle with a sincere smile.

My ugly mood tapers a notch because that was a
classy move.

“Th-Thank you,” Laney manages to say in a shocked
stutter. “That was sweet, Whitley. Would you, um, like to come with me and we
can try a glass?”

“Yes, please.” She lifts her face to me and pats my
chest. “I’ll be right back, Evan. You want some?”

“Are you gonna be okay?” I lean over and ask quietly
in her ear. She gives me a subtle nod that she is, so I straighten and answer
loudly, “how about a beer instead?”

“I’ll grab that for you,” Dane offers, so I part
ways with Whitley and awkwardly follow him.

“Hey, there he is!” Sawyer jumps up from the couch
as we enter the room and comes over to give me a one armed hug/back slap. “Glad
you came, man! Dane never lets us come here, so you picked the right night.
This place is killer.”

“Don’t get used to it,” Dane grumbles, returning to
us and handing me a beer.

Not that I’m thirsty, or have to drink beer all the
time, but I’m gonna chug this bitch because it’s exactly the relaxant I need
right now.

The doorbell rings, so Dane excuses himself, leaving
Sawyer and I alone. The second he’s gone, Sawyer starts in.

“So you gotta be feeling awkward as fuck right about
now, huh? I’m glad you came, though. Shows me you got some balls. I feel even
better about being your friend now,” he says with a laugh. “I see you
remembered how to get here okay.”

“Even if I hadn’t,” I down half of my bottle,
wanting it to kick in before Dane gets back, “Whitley knows.”

He coughs and bangs his chest. “Whitley? As in,
Whitley came with you?”

“Yeah,” I respond casually with a one shoulder
shrug, “why?”

“Fucking balls of steel!” He laughs loudly, slapping
me on the back again. “Damn, dude. This is gonna be hella fun! Where is she?”

“In the kitchen with Laney.”

It’s the only, and probably the last, time I have
ever seen Sawyer Beckett speechless.

“Guys,” Zach says as he walks in, Avery on his arm,
“what’s up?”

“Hey, Zach.” I shake his hand and turn to Avery.
“Avery, nice to see you.”

She smiles. “Hi Evan, how are you liking it here?”

“Not bad, I—” I stop because the look on Zach’s face
distracts me. “What is it?” I ask.

“Look at Sawyer. What the hell is he doing?”

I had totally forgotten about him, but follow Zach’s
stare to find Sawyer poking his head around the doorway to the kitchen, holding
up his phone. I creep up behind him, Zach and Avery following, and tap him on
the shoulder. “What are you doing?”

“Shhh,” he spits out, turning back around to face
us, “I’m filming. Any minute now…”

“Any minute what?” I ask in a hushed voice.

“They’ll go at it, and this time I’ll have it
recorded. I’m gonna sell this shit to Girls Gone Wild and be rich. You ever
watch those chick fights? High dollar stuff, man.”

I poke him in the forehead a few times, just making
sure he’s real, while Zach starts hee-hawing and Avery slaps him on the back of
the head.

“Sawyer, you are unbelievable. Come on, Evan,” she
grabs my hand and pulls me toward the kitchen, “this is not a good idea. We
need to get in there.”

Zach’s done laughing, his eyes wide in realization.
“Oh shit, you’re right, babe.” He actually passes us in his hustle to the
kitchen.

Sawyer’s gonna be disappointed, cause all we walk in
on is an amicable conversation. Whitley’s perched on a barstool, giggling,
along with Laney, Dane, and Tate, at something Bennett just said.

“There you are!” She turns and smiles at me when I
walk up beside her. “Where you been?”

“Don’t ask,” I mumble, bracing my forearms against
the back of her stool to stand behind her.

“Evan, have you met my brother?” Dane asks.

“Not officially,” I say, offering my hand to Tate.
“Evan Allen, nice to meet you. Good to see you doing so well.”

“Nice to meet you too,” he says as he shakes my hand.
“Thanks for getting my girl there that night.” He wraps his arm around
Bennett’s waist, pulling her in to kiss her temple.

“Not a problem.” I give Laney’s pretty redheaded
roommate a smile.

“So,” Laney clears her throat, her eyes darting to
each person before landing on mine, “what’s everyone feel like doing? And P.S.,
I’m so glad we did this. I’ve missed you all.” She’s staring at me, her eyes
begging me to return the sentiment.

“Oh, I know!” Bennett pipes in exuberantly, which is
how I think she says everything. “How about charades?”

Collective groans.

“Well fine, nobody else suggested anything.” She
sticks her tongue out at the group.

“Strip poker?”

Any guesses who said that?

“No, Sawyer!” Dane, Zach and Tate all yell
simultaneously.

“You are never seeing our women naked. Ever. Give it
up,” Tate finishes.

Whitley very shyly and almost not at all, raises her
hand.

“Whitley?” Tate points and calls on her with an
amused look.

“I saw a lot of people play this game at a party
once, and they seemed to be having fun. It’s where you line up and drink your
beer then flip your cup over on the table.”

“Flip cup! Hell yeah!” Sawyer whoops and bends
across the bar, giving her a high-five. “Atta girl; good plan!”

“Well the DDs can’t play,” Bennett wisely points
out, “because that game gets you very drunk.”

Tate gives her a curious look.

“Before I met you, honey,” she assures him with a
kiss. “High school.”

“So the first time I let you fools in my house, and
you’re gonna flip cups of beer?” Dane’s not kidding, I don’t think. His face is
pinched, and surprisingly, I see his point.

“Bro, let’s play downstairs in the rec room. It’s
tile.”

Dane nods at Tate’s suggestion. “Bennett’s right,
though, no drivers play or you sleep here. Your call,” Dane reaffirms.

“You play, I’ll watch and drive us home,” I say
quietly to Whitley.

She turns to me, a conspiring grin. “Or, we can both
play and I’ll have the car service pick us up.”

Or that.

“Okay.” I tap the end of her nose. “But why do you
have a service? You have a car.”

“I don’t know, ask my father.” She waves me off like
a car service is a completely normal part of life.

“Let’s pick teams then,” Laney announces loudly.
“Whitley, you captain one since it was your idea. I’ll take the other.”

“Oh, this is gonna be so fun!” Bennett skips to what
I’m guessing is the direction of the rec room and most everyone follows.

“You need help carrying beer?” I ask Dane.

“There’s a full fridge down there, but thanks. Come
on.” He leads the way.

The doorbell rings again, just as we’re passing the
front door ironically enough, so I naturally stop while Dane goes to answer it.

“Hey, Kirb, come on in. You’re late.”

“Sorry, I had stuff to do. Where is everyone?” she
asks, glancing around.

“Downstairs, we’re just headed that way.”

“Oh, hey, Evan,” she sees me and gives a finger roll
wave, her voice full of creepy seduction.

Never gonna happen. Not enough beer on the
planet.
This girl gives me the creeps, and with all I’ve seen and heard
from Sawyer…no thank you.

“Um, hey.”

“How are you?” She’s now beside me, one hand on my
arm.

“Good, you?” I can’t believe I’m doing this, but I
actually give Dane a “help me” look and he grins.