Game On (28 page)

She shakes her head, her long hair brushing my arm. “You drive me crazy.”

My lips curve into a slow smile. “You may have mentioned that once or twice.”

“Yeah,” she says. “But at least it's not the bad crazy.”

I chew on my lower lip, holding back a full-blown grin. “I can work with that.”

~

Blake lives with his aunt and uncle on a cotton farm, way out by the county line. The place is huge, complete with a massive storage barn and wide-open field that goes on for acres. Flames from the bonfire stretch toward the sky. Pretty sure most of the junior class is here, along with half of the seniors. Screw Randy's place—Blake's on his way to being the next party master of Lewis Creek.

I may have brought Bri to the party, but Becca's holding her hostage on the other side of the bonfire. Which I can't argue with, I guess; we technically came as friends. So I sit on the edge of Kellen's tailgate, watching the others down beer while whimpering a little inside. The number one condition of my parents letting me come tonight was zero alcohol. Hell, they'll probably have a breathalyzer waiting for me when I get home.

I miss beer.

Someone
cranks the music up, blasting it even louder across the field. Over by Bri, Blake grabs Becca and pulls her close, both of them grinning while moving to the music. I want that. I want that even more than beer, which is saying a lot. My gaze shifts to Bri. The fire casts its glow against her face as she talks to a junior girl, one from the soccer team. She looks amazing: jeans that fit her just right, boots that reach her knees, and her hair spilling across her white t-shirt. She glances over. Catches me watching her. Smirks.

Busted. But screw it. I'm goin' in.

I hop off the tailgate and start in her direction, weaving through half the damn people from school to get there. Her friend quirks her lips as I come up behind Bri. Leaning down, I ask, “Dance with me?”

She turns her head just enough to say, “I don't dance.”

“Everyone dances.”

She spins on her heel, looking up at me with wide, innocent eyes. “And why would you want to dance with me?”

Because she's gorgeous. Because I want to grab her hand, to pull her against me, to look at those eyes all night. To hold her all night.

Because I'm crazy about her.

Instead of telling her that, I step forward. Run my hands down her arms, until they settle lightly on her wrists. Lean in and whisper, “Please?” beside her ear.

Her gaze locks on mine, her lips curving into this smile that nearly knocks me off my feet. “Since you asked so nicely.” Her hands slide into mine.

Hell. Yes.

A
new song starts, some country song that I don't even know. Don't really care to know. Because when she guides my hands to her hips and those hips match the music beat for beat, I'm 99 percent sure I'm having a freakin' religious experience.

I keep up with her step for step, move for move, so in sync that I can't help but think where else I want those hands. Where I want
my
hands.

I'm vaguely aware of the song ending. She gazes up at me, her chest rising with each breath, her lips parted slightly, those eyes sparkling, and dang it, it would be so. Damn. Easy to just do it. Just lean down and do it.

Kiss her.

Kiss. Her.

Before I can make a move, she presses herself against me. Slips her hand into my hair. And even though her touch is soft as cotton, it sets every inch of me on fire. She pulls me down to her, and then her lips are on mine, somehow both gentle and insistent, and the most perfect freakin' thing on the face of this earth.

I grab her hips and hold her closer, closer, closer, and damn it, why can't she be
closer.
Her arms circle around my neck, and she's pulling
me
closer, like she's dying to breathe and I'm pure oxygen.

I'll help her breathe as long as I live.

My fingers dip beneath the hem of her shirt, trailing along the skin there. She backs away just enough to drive me crazy, so crazy that I'll scream if it means bringing her lips back to mine.

But then she smiles, a smile that's full of so many things at once that I can't even pinpoint all of them because hello, no blood left in the head at all. That smile stays in place as she says, “I've been waiting a really, really long time to do that.”

Somehow,
I manage to say, “Then let's do it some more,” before pulling her back to me.

Her smile grows against my lips. And it's officially official: the girl is trying to kill me. But what a way to go.

Chapter
Twenty-Five

Eric

After a sleepless night, lying wide awake in bed while the sun comes up is nearly as bad as a hangover. We'll call this the Made-Out-Half-The-Night-But-HAD-To-Take-The-Girl-Home hangover. All so the girl's dad wouldn't hunt me down like a dog.

But it's completely worth it.

I don't know where this leaves me and Bri. I don't know where the hell we're going from here. But I do know one thing: I'll never doubt Blake's plans or parties ever again.

I roll out of bed and pad down the hallway to the kitchen. The house is quiet, except for Emma scream-singing in her room. I yank the fridge open, its cold air blasting my legs, and spot the goldmine.

Millionaire pie.

My brother's coming home for Spring Break this weekend, so Momma made three pies, because he and I can scarf one down in ten minutes flat. I pull it out of the fridge and grab a paper plate. If I couldn't spend the night with the girl, at least I can get pineapple/pecan/whipped cream in my stomach. Pie's a universal cure.

The front door closes, just loud enough for me to hear. My head snaps up right as tiny footsteps barrel down the hall and a flash of Transformers PJs fly by the doorway. Grabbing my plate, I head into the living room. Grace is squatting beside the door, her hand over Emma's mouth. She's still wearing the same clothes as last night, when she left before I did, but that's not
what
sticks out. It's the black mascara smeared under her eyes. The streaks in her makeup. The redness still lining her eyes. Which means someone made my sister cry.

After she was gone for the entire night. With a football player who clearly has a death wish.

“Grace, what the hell happened?”

“Shh!” she says right as our parents' door swings open. Her eyes widen, terror plastered across her face. As it should be. I've been in her place plenty of times, and it's not pretty. And I would say that she
should
get in trouble for being with that asshole maybe-maybe-not boyfriend of hers, but shit obviously went down last night. It looks like she's dealing with enough trouble already.

Momma walks into the living room, calm and composed as ever, with Dad behind her. That's the thing about Momma: she'll be pissed as a snake and have fire in her veins, but she won't show a lick of it. It's some kind of Southern momma voodoo. But as soon as she spots Grace, her expression softens. And instead of handing out a lifelong ban of everything under the sun, Dad clears his throat and says, “Go wait in your room.”

Grace shoves past me on her way out of the room. Her door slams closed. And that door slam reminds me of exactly why Bri and I tip-toed around the line before dancing over it last night.

Falling for someone can be downright terrifying. And as much as I want to dive right in, maybe slow and steady is the way to go here.

So I finish my pie (top priority). I take my shower. Get changed. Walk outside, where the spring air is at its peak this morning, cool and crisp with a breeze that feels like heaven itself.

Bri's
about to slide into her car when she spots me. Her hair's pulled into a topknot, she's wearing zero makeup, and it's clear she's exhausted from being out late.

And it's satisfying as
hell
to know I'm the reason for that. Sue me.

Crossing her arms, she tilts her head to the side, a smirk playing at her lips. “What're you doing here? You can sleep now, you know.”

I meet her at the edge of the driveway. “See, I
could
sleep. Or, I could ride with you to the center and make sure you don't undo all the baseball genius I've instilled in those kids.”

Her smirk grows into a full-blown grin. “Eric Perry likes kids?”

I shrug. “What can I say? Even I surprise myself.”

~

Brett's Jeep is in our driveway when Bri and I make it back from the center. She pulls in behind her dad's truck cab and cuts the engine. She glances over at me, and then back to her house. “Tell Brett I said hi, okay?”

I nod. “Will do.”

She presses her lips together. “Do we need to talk about last night?” she asks.

Shit. Damn it. What the ever-loving hell, no, we don't need to talk about last night. Talking gives her a chance to tell me that the entire thing was a mistake, or that “she had fun,
but
…”

Unless she wants to say good things. Because in that case.

I clear my throat. “Is there something you want to talk about?” I ask. What she doesn't see is that I'm legit crossing my toes for good luck here.

She chews her lower lip. Looks at mine. “I had fun.”

Fun. She had fun.

Fuck.

Her eyes widen as realization seems to hit her. “No, no, no! Oh God, that's not what I meant.” She grabs my hand, her own cold as ice, which is about what my heart feels like right now. “Like, I had
fun
-fun. Fun I'd want to do every night of the week, fun.”

I rub my face. That makes my heart defrost a little, at least. But I'd be lying if I said it still didn't sting. And it's not her fault—it's not—but now…

Dang it, dude.

I squeeze her hand and step out of the car, taking a deep breath of fresh air. “We'll talk later, if you want?” I say. I point to my house. “My brother's home, and—”

She cuts me off with a nod. “Yeah. Yeah, definitely.” But she says it with a wince, and I don't know if it's because she regrets what she said, or if it's because she meant it and sees that it was a straight shot to my core.

The sun's shining, but the living room curtains are closed when I walk inside, making it dim. My parents, both my sisters, and my brother are all squished together on the couch, watching something on TV. He's only been home a couple times since leaving in August, but every time he's back, it's like he never left.

He grins as I shrug out of my jacket. “Jailbird! How's it goin'?”

I roll my eyes. “Yeah, fu—screw you.”

Momma lifts an eyebrow, but says nothing. I walk over to the couch and shove Brett over, making room for me in the corner. That movie about the girl who goes to Harvard after breaking up with her boyfriend is on the screen. Guessing Grace had something to do with that.

“When'd you get home?” I ask Brett.

He
shrugs. “An hour ago? Somethin' like that.” He looks at me. “You've got some explaining to do, by the way.”

“If y'all are gonna talk,” Grace says, “you need to leave. I'm trying to be normal for a while.”

Brett slings one arm across my shoulders and the other across Grace's. “Normal doesn't exist around here, Gracie Beth.”

“I hate you,” she mutters, but I can hear the smile in her voice.

I shrug his arm away as he leans over and whispers, “I'm meeting Jay and Braxton tonight at the field. Then we've got a football player's front porch to cover in cow shit. You in?”

Normal may not exist around here, but I'll take as close to normal as I can get.

~

The school's ball field is dark by the time Brett swerves his Jeep into the parking lot. The lot, lit only by a couple of street lights, is deserted except for Austin Braxton's truck and Jay Torres's car. It feels like ages since I've been here with these guys. Back when they were home for Christmas, the field wasn't open to outsiders. Lewis Creek High is serious when it comes to their field, even if the veterans are in town.

Brett cuts the engine. Instead of stepping out, though, he leans back against the headrest. “I need to know one thing,” he says. “Matt Harris: has it been worth it?”

I don't hesitate in saying, “Completely worth it.”

He shakes his head. “You know what I mean. I know he had it coming, but was it worth the shit that came after? Getting arrested? Giving up your Saturdays for weeks?”

I wouldn't necessarily consider giving up my Saturdays “shit” when that meant more time with Bri, because that was a win in my book.

I
shrug a shoulder. “I don't mind.”

“Ho-ly hell,” he drawls. I look over, catching him gaping at me. “You like her.”

“Like who?”

He shoves me. “I shared a room with you for seventeen years. You can't hide shit from me.”

“I shared a room with you for seventeen years and never knew you were gay. It happens.”

He stares at me for a moment. “That just means I'm a better actor than you. The Eric I left in December would've had to be dragged kicking and screaming to volunteer work.”

Okay, so I like the girl. A lot. A lot, a lot. And I thought she liked me, but now I'm all confused because I may just be
fun
for her, too. She may not have meant it the way it sounded, but when words like that get in your head, there's no getting them out.

Instead of snapping at the guy on his first day back in town, I climb down from the Jeep and slam my door closed.

Braxton and Jay are already on the infield, with Braxton on the mound, throwing balls into Jay's mitt. And just like that, I'm back to junior year, to playing spectator, to wishing it could be me pitching with that much confidence during a game of
catch
, for crying out loud. Confidence about my arm, about my place in this town—hell, about my future. Braxton's set for the next few years. I still have no clue what the heck I'm going to do.