It Was Me (10 page)

EIGHTEEN

“It's a no-brainer, West.”

We were back in the casita, sitting across from each other at the dining room table. Abby was munching on chips and salsa her mom had set out, drinking a diet Coke. Mine sat unopened in front of me.

I'd filled her in on my meeting with Coach Childs. Her parents had asked how it had gone and I'd been purposefully vague with them because I wasn't sure what I was going to do. I'd just said the meeting had gone okay. They either accepted that or sensed that I didn't want to talk about it because they hadn't asked me anything else about it.

Abby, however, did not follow their lead and was all over it.

She grabbed a chip and dunked it in the bowl of salsa. “This is what you've been wanting,” she said. “What you should have had two years ago. And yeah, it's not the same school as before, but still. It'll give you the opportunity you deserve.”

She was saying all of the right things, all of the things I'd expect her to say. But I could hear the words she wasn't speaking. It was all there. In her eyes, in her expression, hell, even in the tone of her voice.

She didn't want me to go.

“I can't believe they're going to pay for everything.” She took a sip of her soda. “I mean, that is incredible.”

I played with the tab on the soda, barely lifting it with my thumb nail.

“West.”

I didn't look up.

“West.”

Abby was staring at me.

“What?”

“I've been talking for, I don't know, an hour? You haven't said a single word.”

“It's been five minutes.”

“Well, it feels like an hour.” She smiled. “Talk to me.”

I shrugged. “I don't have anything to say.”

Abby frowned. “What do you mean, you don't have anything to say?”

I spun the can of soda on the table, the beads of moisture making it slide easily across the wooden surface. “I mean that I've told you everything. There's nothing new to say.”

She sighed and reached her hand across the table, covering mine, bringing the spinning can to a stand still. “There's a lot to say. I want to know what you're going to do. When all of this is going to happen. Do you move here immediately? Like, next week? Or later in the summer?”

I pulled my hand away. “I never said I was taking it.”

She stared at me blankly. “What?”

I finally popped open the can and took a long drink. The bubbles burned my dry throat. “You heard me.”

She opened her mouth to respond, her eyes wide, but the door to her parents bedroom opened and both her mom and dad emerged. They'd changed out of their swim suits and were both wearing shorts and polos, red for her dad, a light purple for her mom.

“We're going to grab some lunch,” her mom said.

She'd pulled her hair into a ponytail and, with a fresh tan and little make-up, she looked like a slightly older version of her daughters. I stared at her, probably a little longer than I should have. Not because I had the hots for her but because it was like looking into the future with Abby. But it was a future that suddenly didn't seem quite so certain.

Her dad grabbed his visor and settled it on his head. “You guys want to come? We're headed to that salad place.” He patted his stomach. “Need to watch what I'm eating.”

His wife leaned against him and kissed his cheek. “No you don't,” she told him. “You're perfect.”

He turned into her and kissed her swiftly on the lips. “No. You are.”

Annika strolled into the kitchen, a ridiculous straw hat perched on top of her head. “I don't know if I can stand any more PDAs.”

Her dad shot her a look and then grabbed his wife, kissing her again.

Annika rolled her eyes. “Awesome. Not.” She pulled a pack of gum from her matching straw purse and unwrapped a piece. “Are we doing lunch or not?”

“We are,” her mom said, pulling away and straightening her shirt. She looked at me and Abby. “You two want to join us?”

I immediately shook my head no. The last thing I wanted was to sit at a table with the four of them and field more questions about next fall. And I certainly didn't want Annika barging in on the conversation.

Annika smirked. “I'm pretty sure I know what's on their agenda this afternoon...”

Abby's cheeks flamed red.

“They have a lot to talk about,” Mr. Sellers said, his voice firm. He stared hard at his daughter. Annika, not Abby. “Let's go.” Then he turned to me and said, “I don't think I have to tell you what I do—and don't—expect from you while we're gone.”

I nodded. “Yes, sir.”

Abby and I both watched as the three of them gathered wallets and purses and cell phones. Annika was the last to file through the front door, her short white skirt swaying as she walked. She turned around and smiled sweetly at us. “Have fun
talking
.”

The door closed and Abby picked up immediately where she'd left off. “Tell me.”

I shifted in my chair, my fingers drumming on the table. “I never said I was taking it,” I repeated.

“Why wouldn't you? We've already established that this is an amazing opportunity. It's not something you walk away from.”

“I know.”

She picked up a chip, studied it, then dropped it back in the bowl. “Is this because of me?”

I didn't answer right away.

Abby cleared her throat. “You can't walk away from this because of me.” Her voice was even, controlled. But it didn't matter. She couldn't hide what she was feeling, what she was thinking. Not from me. “Tucson isn't that far from San Diego. We can make it work. If you want to.”

I shook my head. “If I want to?” I glared at her. “You're the
only
thing I want, Abby.”

“That's not true,” she said. She picked up the can of soda but didn't drink it. “You want to play baseball. You've wanted to for a long time. You need to give it a shot, West. See what happens.” She hesitated. “I want you to do it.”

“No, you don't.”

Her eyes shot to mine and I could tell she was pissed. “Don't tell me what I do or don't want.”

“I know you,” I said, my voice low. “I hear what you're telling me. But it's not what you're saying.  I can see it in your eyes. Hear it in your voice. Tell by the way you're sitting there. It's not what you want.” It was my turn to reach across the table for her hand. “And it's not what I want, either.”

She started to protest but I stopped her.

“I want you, Abby. Only you. And if playing ball means I have to give you up, I won't do it. That's the no-brainer for me. Period.”

It was. I'd thought about it a lot. Hell, it was the only thing I could think about. I'd hyper-focused on both scenarios. I pictured myself playing ball and the adrenaline hit me full-force. I knew it'd be fun. I knew it would help secure a future for myself. But then I pictured myself without Abby. Alone in Tucson. Shoved into some dorm, starting over without her. And the pain of that clawed at my gut, made it hard to breathe.

She picked up the chips and salsa and stood up. “You're making a mistake.”

I followed her into the kitchen. “No. I'm not.”

Her back was turned to me as she poured the unused salsa back into the jar. She opened the refrigerator and stowed it inside. She slammed the door shut and swiveled around to face me.

Her eyes were bright with tears. “I don't want you to go,” she whispered. “But I don't want you to not go, either.”

I reached for her and pulled her close. She collapsed into me and I could feel her shoulders shake and it was all I could do to fight back my own tears. I hated that she was crying, that she was upset. And I hated that I was the cause of it.

“Shh,” I whispered into her hair. I rubbed my hands across her back, gently massaging her through her thin tank top. “It's okay. We'll figure it out.”

She lifted her head and looked at me. A tear trickled down her left cheek and I lifted my hand, used my thumb to gently wipe it away. Jesus, I didn't want her to cry.

“I don't want to figure it out right now,” she said, her voice soft. She wrapped her arms around my neck and kissed my jaw and I felt myself immediately respond.

I tightened my grip on her and tilted my head down so my lips were close to hers. “We don't have to.”

I kissed her, my lips barely touching hers and she sighed against them. I knew what she was feeling, what she was thinking, because I was feeling them, too. The doubt, the worry, the fear. I didn't want her to feel those things. I just wanted to make her forget them. And there was one sure-fire way I knew I could.

I shifted my hands so I was holding her waist, my fingers splayed wide. I kissed her hard, my tongue forcing its way into her mouth and she groaned. I let my fingers trail slowly up her ribcage before cupping her breasts.

“Mmm,” she murmured. She thrust her hips into mine and I met her, grinding my cock into her.

“Bedroom,” I whispered. “Now.”

We stumbled down the hall, me walking backwards, my lips still attached to hers. I lifted her tank top over her head just as we fell backwards on to the bed. Five seconds later, her bikini top was on the floor and my head was buried between her tits, licking and sucking the smooth expanse of skin. Abby writhed underneath me.

“I want you,” she breathed, bucking into me as she pulled on my shorts.

There was nothing I wanted to do more than just bury myself inside of her, slam into her and fuck out my anxiety and frustration, but I didn't. I reached for the hand that was tugging on my shorts and held it tight. She fought me, trying to pull away, but I held fast. With my hand wrapped like a vise around hers, I covered her breast with my mouth, sucking gently.

“Oh my God,” she said, reaching for me with her other free hand. I lifted off of her and laid down next to her on the bed. “West...”

“You're gonna wait,” I told her. I lifted my head and looked at her. Her eyes were dark, her mouth open, her lips wet.

She squirmed as I lowered my head again, this time letting my tongue glide down her stomach. Her skin was a combination of salty and sweet and I took my time kissing her, licking her. Her body was absolute perfection and I knew every contour, every curve. The barely-there freckles that dotted her stomach, the gentle rounding of her abdomen—I loved that she wasn't rail thin—the small mole that marker her left hip. I ran my fingers over her shorts, the soft fabric catching on my fingernails and she inhaled sharply. I tugged on them and she lifted her hips, shimmying out of them. I tossed them to the floor and then yanked her bikini bottoms off and plunged my fingers inside of her. She moaned and pressed her thighs together, trying to draw me deeper inside of her.

“Now,” she said, her voice ragged. “Now.”

I didn't need an invitation. The promise of making her wait disappeared because I knew I couldn't. I needed her. I lifted off of her and pushed my shorts to the floor. I hovered over her for a minute, my eyes locked on hers. Then, quickly, I shoved into her and her eyes widened and she gasped.

“Yes,” she chanted. “Yes. Yes.”

I stood at the foot of the bed and adjusted her so she was closer to the edge and slammed into her. Over and over, my hands holding her thighs. She closed her eyes and I watched her as I fucked her. I'd promised to make her wait and I wanted to take my time but I couldn't. I just wanted to empty myself into her. I ran a hand up her leg, massaging her as I moved it closer to her clit. I flicked at it gently, rubbing her, creating a rhythm, and she arched her back, whimpering.

“Come with me,” I whispered, picking up my pace, driving into her over and over. “Come with me.”

“Yes,” she said, her voice raw. I crashed into her, barely hanging on. She opened her eyes and I could tell. “Yes. Now.”

I already knew. And I was already there.

NINETEEN

We didn't stay in bed long. I'd completely disregarded Mr. Sellers' orders and the last thing I needed was to have him come back from lunch and find me in bed with his daughter. But it was more than that.

I knew I had a phone call to make.

Coach Childs answered immediately. “West.”

I paced the living room floor. Abby was in the shower, pouting just a bit because I'd declined her offer to join her. She'd stroked me a little before climbing out of bed, getting me half-aroused, whispering what she'd do to me in the water, and I'd almost caved. But then I'd reminded her about her mom and dad and she'd relented, realizing I was right. We didn't have time. But that didn't stop her from tightening her grip on me and pumping me just enough to get me to full attention before flouncing off to the bathroom, a wicked smile on her lips as she disappeared. It was all I could do to not follow her and shove her up against the shower wall.

Focus. I needed to focus. “Coach Childs,” I said.

“Wasn't expecting to hear from you so soon,” he said. He added quickly, “Not that it isn't a good thing. Assuming you have good news, I mean.”

I took a deep breath, then slowly expelled it. “I'm not sure that it is.”

There was silence. Then Coach Childs cleared his throat. “No?”

I sat down on the couch, my knee bouncing up and down as I spoke. “I'm not sure this is the right time for me.”

“I'm not sure I understand.”

My knee jackhammered away. “Look, it's a great opportunity. It really is. And I'd love to play ball for Arizona. But it's just not the right time.”

“There might not be another time, West.” He spoke in a clear, calm voice but I knew what he was telling me. This was a now or never type thing. “You understand that, right?”

I swallowed. “Yes, sir.”

“Who are you going with instead?”

“What?”

He sighed. “You heard me. Who gave you a better offer?”

“No one,” I said quickly. I thought about the unanswered voice mails and texts lined up on my phone. “And that's the truth. I haven't spoken to anyone else.”

There was a pause. “I don't understand...”

I felt the heat rush to my cheeks. I didn't want to explain that all of this—me backing out—was because of a girl. As much as I loved Abby, it just wasn't something I was gonna explain. Not to him, not to anyone.

But I didn't need to.

“Wait a second,” he said. His tone had lightened considerably. “I'm pretty sure I know what this is about.”

I didn't say anything, just waited.

“You got a girl, don't you?” he asked. “A girl in San Diego. She's with you, isn't she? Came to the try-outs.”

I nodded, forgetting for a second that he couldn't see me. “Yeah, I have a girlfriend.”

“And you don't want to leave her,” he said, amused. “Is that it? That's the hang up here?”

“It's something I've been thinking about, yes,” I admitted.

I heard him pound his fist on the table. “Well, Jesus, West, why didn't you say so? You need us to find a spot for her here?” He didn't wait for an answer. “Is she in school now? What kind of grades does she pull? I need to know just how many favors I need to call in to get her here.”

“What?”

“If the only thing stopping you from playing for me is a girl, “ Coach Childs said. “Then we're bringing the girl here. It's a done deal.”