Give Me You (24 page)

“I
t’s a contract for next season but you’d be leaving this summer to start training with the team. It’s not a million dollars but it’s an excellent offer, Skylar. It’s a foot in the door with a highly respected coach.”

Stan Weinstein has been a friend of my family’s for years and my sports agent for two. Six months ago, I would’ve loved to have gotten this call from him.

We put my highlight reels out to every team we could get an address for my senior year of high school. We had a couple of smaller teams interested but nothing panned out so I ended up at SoCal. And now apparently one of those teams, an international one based in Brazil, has made a legit offer.

“Can I have some time to think about it?”

Like, until Corin speaks to me again at least.

“You have a week,” he informs me. “Then they’ll move on to the next candidate, a kid from Portugal with a great deal of promise. Think fast.”

“Yes sir,” I tell him.

I stare at my phone.

I’ve called her a million times. I’ve messaged. I thought she just needed time.

Unfortunately that’s the one thing I’m out of.

It’s after midnight when Corin comes home. I’m sitting by the door of the apartment she rents from Jax. The apartment where we’ve played video games for hours and ordered and eaten more pizzas than I can count. The apartment where I fell in love with her—even if I didn’t realize it at the time.

I’ve been here so long my ass is asleep and numb and I struggle to stand with any semblance of dignity.

She doesn’t even look a little happy to see me. “What are you doing here?”

“I was hoping I could get a Mortal Combat rematch. Unless you’re scared.”

The last word ruffles her feathers. “I’m not scared in the least. But it’s late and I’ve been on my feet all day.”

“New job?” I point at the shirt she’s wearing. It’s a diner we went to with Landen and Layla before they left. I vaguely remember her mentioning putting in an application.

“Yep. Super glamorous, but some of us have to work to pay for tuition and textbooks. Can’t all be soccer super stars. Excuse me.” She nudges past me while finagling her keys to get to the right one.

“About that…” I begin as Corin opens the door and walks past without inviting me in. At least she didn’t slam it in my face. “Can we talk? Five minutes—that’s all I ask.”

She leans on the door and gives me a world-weary look reminding me that she does not have time for my shit.

“I’ll make it quick. Here. This is for you.” I hand her the compact unwrapped box I got her for her birthday. It’s the entire seven seasons of The Gilmore Girls on DVD with a bow on top because I didn’t have any wrapping paper. “I meant to grab them from your place in New York but I got, um, sidetracked.” I clear my throat and continue. “The night of the auction, Fallon over did it at the club and ended up in the ER with alcohol poisoning. I wanted to say hell with her and drop her off but it felt wrong and honestly, you make me want to be a better person. I couldn’t imagine returning to you and telling you I’d done that. I can see now that I should’ve made an effort to get in touch so you weren’t worried.”

“Thank you for this. And I wasn’t worried. Though I was hurt. It doesn’t matter,” Corin tells me, waving a hand as if it’s water under the bridge. “It just reminded me of that girl I used to be. What happened in New York…it was like I went back there and became that same girl all over again. But I’m done with that. I hope Fallon’s okay.”

“She’s fine,” I answer quickly, “and I’m sorry if anything I did made you feel that way.”

“It’s over with. I’m not interested in dwelling. Just moving on, you know?” I nod and she continues. “Anyways, I’m tired. Was that all?”

I square my shoulders and brace myself for the oncoming rejection. “Yeah, there is.” I clear my throat and think of the best way to tell her about the team in Brazil.

“So…”

“I got called up. To the pros. A team out of Brazil. I leave at the end of this semester.”

She doesn’t flinch or even change her facial expression, but I see something flash in her eyes. Pain, maybe. Surprise, definitely. But it’s brief and before I can register the actual emotions, she pulls the walls back down.

“Well, that’s…awesome for you. Congratulations.”

No hug. No come inside to celebrate. No ‘I’ll miss you.’

Okay, then.

“All right, well I just wanted to tell you. So now you know.” I feel like a dipshit. I shove my hands in my pockets.

“Goodbye, Skylar,” she says with so much finality I feel like she’s socked me in the gut.

“Wait, Corin,” I plead, pressing my hand to the door before she can close it. “Just…if you need anything, or you decide you want to hang out, or if you just want to talk, call me, okay? Anytime, day or night.”

She nods but her demeanor says hell will freeze over first.

Fuck.

I
t’s been a week since Skylar dropped a bomb on me. A long week.

He’s leaving.

Two months of school, technically less if he takes finals early, which I’m sure he’s already arranged because he’s Skylar.

First Layla, then him. I’m starting to develop a complex. Befriend me and you will need to leave the country.

I’m happy for him. I am.

At least I’m trying to be.

I miss him.

He told me the truth about Fallon and I believe him. Deep down I know I shouldn’t have run back here that next morning without talking to him. But I’d humiliated myself with the damn messages. I turned right back into that girl I was trying so hard to leave behind. It’s like I picked her up and put her back on by going back to New York and the thought of that was horrifying.

My memories from our time together in New York keep repeating over and over in my head like a song the radio won’t stop overplaying. The cuddling, the tears, the honesty. Breakfast and flowers.

His mouth on me.

Knowing I will probably never feel the way he makes me feel again is heartbreaking.

I still have his shirt—the one from his room that I slept in the night of the auction. It’s draped across my chair and after I’ve showered, I do the stupidest thing possible.

I put it on.

Pulling my knees in under it, I lower myself onto the futon in the half-empty common room. My wet hair lays heavy on my back as I breathe his scent in.

Why did stupid Fallon have to show up and bid on him? In a way, I know I’m the one that convinced him it wasn’t a big deal. But it was. God it was.

I chew my thumbnail and let my eyes drift around the room. Those stupid red stilettos catch my eye and I hate seeing them. They remind me of what he said the night we fell asleep playing video games. He brought up the damn shoes and then psychoanalyzed me.

Screw this. I am not, will not, and cannot be this girl. Standing abruptly, I decide to do what I always do when the going gets tough. I’m going dancing. And I’m wearing my red fucking heels.

Take that, Skylar Martin.

The club is packed, and yet, I feel strangely isolated. Probably because every one else is with someone, at least one someone, and I’m alone. If Layla were here she’d be with me.

But she isn’t. Because she took a risk—one you convinced her to take, Connelly.

Yeah, yeah. My stupid subconscious is my worst enemy sometimes. It’s a wonder I can even hear it over the pounding techno music.

A few guys give me inviting head nods as I walk past. I’m channeling Sandra Dee in my tight black dress under a leather jacket. The only thing I’m wearing that isn’t black are the red stilettos. Making my way toward to center of the dance floor, I stop and order three shots before I shake my ass for the world to see.

After the third one, the room goes fuzzy and I stupidly check my phone to see if he’s called.

He hasn’t.

Why would he? You basically told him to fuck off.

Aren’t internal thoughts supposed to be in first person? Mine aren’t. Mine are more like having an inner bitch that likes to scold me and put me down. No wonder I have self-esteem issues.

Making my way through the throng of couples bumping and grinding reminds me of the night Skylar and I danced for the first time. God, how he could move. Sensual and rhythmic, as if he anticipated my every move and could match it, was prepared for it.

That’s how he’d be in bed. But you’ll never know.

I switch my bitchy inner monologue off.

But when I start dancing, an unwelcome truth invades my brain.