Slammed (14 page)

LUCY

Amber’s busy stuffing clothes of various dark shades into her suitcase, the swarm of excitement downstairs making it clear break is upon us.

I pick up one of her shirts and toss it over. “You headed back home for holidays?”

“Back to little ol’ Rosie, yep, World’s Most Boring Town.”

“Can’t be that bad, can it?”

“The highlight of the year is the annual boot-throwing competition. I think that says it all. Sheriff is kind of hot, though, or was. Heard he moved on. Smart guy. And you?”

“Going to hit the road with Nate, see where it takes us and all that.”

She stops packing and nods in approval. “Wow, haven’t we become the free spirit?”

I smile a little to myself, pressing my sock monkey up against my face. He wears my ribbon around his neck. I don’t have much need for it any more. “Yeah, I guess I have.”

“Don’t think I don’t know about the nasty business you got up to in here that night.”

Crap.
“Sorry?”

She holds her fingers up in a vee, tongue licking between them. “Quite the magic mouth that man of yours has.”

Yes, he does.
I’m blushing so bright red I may as well be a jalapeno. “You were awake the whole time?”

“Yeah, kinda was. Happy for you and your front bum, but… yeah. Changing subject, whatever happened to Creepy Guy?”

Even though he left in disgrace, Dad was able to pull some strings, make sure Dave-lan supercreep was barred from stepping foot within fifty miles of Manning. “Dad sorted it.”

“How are things with Daddy Dearest?”

“Better.”

“So he’s all good with Nate then?”

If only. “Not exactly.”

“Keep chipping away. You’ll get there. He won’t be able to resist that princess pout of yours forever.”

“You didn’t hook up with any guys during semester? I can’t remember you bringing anyone around.”

She laughs. “Guys? You can have the boys, sister. It’s straight pussy for me.”

“Pussy?” I almost choke on the word. “You’re a lesbian?”

“Muff-diver, neodyke—call it what you will.”

Wow, that is new. I’m thinking about all the times I was strutting around this room naked, the showers…

Amber sees the look on my face. “Oh, don’t worry. You’re not my type.”

I give her a cheeky grin back. “Why not?”

“Too skinny. I like some cushion for the pushin’.”

“Son of a bucket.”

She throws a QOTSA tee at my face. “You keep coming out with chestnuts like that and I’m just going to disown you.”

“Speaking of ownership, could I ask one more tiny favor?”

She rolls her eyes. “Here we go.”

*

We’re back at the canyon. Wispy clouds roll and tumble in the sky, the light patchy around us. There’s no bike this time, no heart-pumping pursuit from the cops—not in Amber’s Honda Civic with more rust than paint and tires like licorice strips.

Nate links his fingers with mine. His bad arm is still strapped up. The forecast from the doctors hasn’t improved, but Nate’s demeanor has. He’s come to a certain peace with the whole thing.

The windshield’s cold behind my back, the sky endless ahead.

“Lucy,” he says, looking down at his arm, “thanks, and I mean it. I can’t get through this without you. I know that now.”

I remember that day, the fight that stripped us both bare, but deep down I knew it was just for show, that we’d find our way to each other again. Nate Compton is my world.

“The worst part was the way you looked at me, like it was the last time. I’ve never felt so empty, so lost. It was as though I was floating in the middle of an ocean and you were right there ready to save me but just out of reach. I don’t ever want to feel that way again, Lucy. I don’t care what happens. I don’t care that we’re stepbrother and stepsister, whatever that means. I don’t care about what we’ve been through, only that we’re together going forward. Am I making sense?”

I bring his hand up to my face, nuzzle into it and close my eyes, wanting nothing more than this moment to last forever. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m here, with you. That’s all that matters.”

He sits up, eyes lit by the moon. “I’m scared, Lucy. You have to know that. If I can’t play ball, who am I? Nate Compton the Semi-Studious—doesn’t have much of a ring to it.”

I smile, my serious façade breaking. “I think you’d look kind of hot in glasses, pen and calculator in your pocket.”

“You’d still jump me if I was a nerd?”

I lean forward and kiss his cheek, his lips. “Nate Compton, I’ll jump you if you’re a jock, a nerd, the freakin’ janitor.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“You don’t think I’ll drag you down, because sometimes I think I will, that I’m like a disease that spreads to anyone who gets close to me. You remember what he used to say to me in the home, our foster father? He said I was trouble, over and over again. He said it so much I started to believe it.”

I exhale in a shuddery pant of frustration. “You said it yourself, that’s in the past. The only thing you need to worry about now is moving forward, with me. Together we’ll fucking kill it.”

He jumps back. “Whoa, easy there, Samuel L.”

“Come on. You love it when I talk dirty.”

“Only because you’re so sweet.”

I feign sticking my fingers down my throat. “Vom.”

He laughs and presses his forehead against my own and suddenly I’m drowning in those eyes, his breath warm on my lips. “Seriously, I love you, Lucy Middleton, and it’s easy to say. I fucking love you, your ‘fiddlesticks’ and ‘fudge nuggets’, the way you make your bed, the way your ass looks in the shower. I love the mole you call Cupid on your inner thigh, the way you lick your lips when you write. I love your smile and your soft fingers, the way they open textbooks, the way they…” His smile turns suddenly tender. “I fucking love everything about you.”

“What about my newfound proclivity for expletives?”

“You’re swearing at me right now, aren’t you?” His finger brushes my lips.

“It doesn’t go down well with everyone.”

“You’re still hung up about your dad?

“He’ll come around.”

“I damn near knocked him out, not that he didn’t deserve it.”

“He’ll have to. Nothing can break us apart now.”

“You think? It’s bad enough he was kicked out. This whole thing with you is just fuel on the fire, I suppose.”

There’s something Nate’s not telling me. “You’re hiding something.”

“Am not.”

I poke him in the ribs. “Am too.”

“Okay, he spoke to me.”

“Dad?”

“Yeah, came by the hospital when you were asleep.”

“What did he say?”

Nate looks to the canyon, distant. “He said he was sorry, about the arm, the thing with you, about the grades, but most of all for leaving me at the home that day.”

“He means it, Nate. Honestly, he’s a great guy. He was, he
is
a great father.”

“Who, as you said, I almost sent to the ER.”

“Nate, no… Don’t do it to yourself.”

“I can’t help it. What the hell am I going to do?”

I stroke his hair, let it fan through my fingers. “You’re going to get up tomorrow and we’ll figure it out together.”

“Basketball is all I have. At least, it was, and you know what? If I have to sacrifice it to be with you, I will. I couldn’t play without you anyhow. It would be like walking around that court empty inside, a shell.”

“God, Nate.” I draw him into a tight hug. “There is more to you than stupid basketball.”

I can see the way he turns defensive at the word ‘stupid.’

“I didn’t mean that,” I correct. “I mean, it’s not stupid, but it doesn’t make
you
. You are not one and the same.”

There’s a grunt of disapproval.

“That passion, that perseverance you have on court? It doesn’t have to end there. You can be great without that ball in your hand.”

His lashes flicker down and I can see in his eyes the toll this conversation is taking, the bittersweet pull of it in equal parts relief and sadness.

He hugs me tighter. “You’re right. You are abso-fucking-lutely right. I’m going to change. Sleep, or maybe sex first,” he winks, “but tomorrow… brand new day. I’ll work it out, come up with a play. It sucks I’m out of the team, yes, but there are other opportunities.”

“Other teams.”

“Yeah, but you know what? I don’t think that’s what I want. You’ve shown me I
can
get through college, how to write and think. I want to make a difference like you, maybe become a social worker.”

“For real?”

“For real.”

“I imagine there’d be a lot more job satisfaction in it than throwing an orange ball through a hoop.”

“I imagine there would, but it’s not going to be easy.”

“I know that, but I have a secret weapon, don’t I?”

“You do?”

He pulls me to him, his hot lips pressed against my own and my desire rising fast. “I’ve got you.”

I break away. “Just as long as you don’t turn me bad in the process.”

He smiles. “Sometimes being bad is good.”

Our tiny television glows in the corner, the apartment Antarctic as always, but we are surrounded by friends—actual friends, and mostly Nate’s. The air’s cold here in Chicago, but there’s a certain warmth in the room that radiates out from the man of the hour,
my
man.

Nate grips my arm a little tighter, a giant whoop rising from our guests as he takes the stage on screen. He had no idea, of course. That’s the thing about the NBA lottery. You just don’t know what’s going to happen, but he did it alright—first round, third pick.

It wasn’t easy. He didn’t play ball for almost a year. It was a constant string of medical appointments, two surgeries, endless physio and staring at white walls in waiting rooms. There were dark times—a lot—but we came through stronger than ever.

I turn to Nate and his whole face is alight with that same burning fire it has whenever he takes to the court. It wasn’t a question of ‘if’ he’d be back, but ‘when.’ He denied it for the longest time, put his mind to study instead, but in the end he couldn’t resist the game that had given him so much. He owns the court. The ball is an extension of his hand, the hand that runs into the small of my back late at night, between my legs, what lies between them always hungry and wet for more, never quite sated.

He takes my hand and squeezes. I still have the ring he gave me that night, his mother’s, but now it’s on a different finger. That’s the commitment he made to me. That’s how far we have come in the last two years.

I notice the cap he’s wearing on TV, the yellow and purple.

“How do you feel about Los Angeles?” he whispers, his breath hot at my ear.

Truth is, I don’t care where we are. Yes, this apartment isn’t much bigger than my room at Manning, the heater is busted and we can only afford a double bed, but every second spent with Nate is worth it.

He got there in the end. He got his degree. I saw how Dad squeezed his hand just a fraction too hard when we told him the news, but that’s just Dad. It took
him
a
long time to come around, but he did. He’s working upstate at a school for the disabled. Says it’s the most rewarding thing he’s done since raising me.

And me? I still have my collection of HEA Disney movies on the shelf. I swear now, too, but only when the occasion calls for it. I’ve got the bar soon, but I’m ready for it. With Nate by my side I’m ready for whatever the world wants to throw at me. Hell, bring it on.

Nate guides me into our room and presses me up against the back of the door. His hand moves between my legs. My breath catches. He wrenches my panties aside while the party kicks on, the reverberations running down my back.

“What are you going to do?” I ask, my pulse thrumming. I can feel the satin heat of his cock against my leg, the way it throbs there.

He smiles, that damn cat-that-got-the-cream grin. “Whatever I want. I’ve got a team, I’ve got my degree, and I have you on tap twenty-four seven.”

He runs a finger inside my velvet depths. I bite down into his shoulder and release, speaking directly into the soft cup of his ear. “You’re going to play?” He has to. We both know it.

“We’ll see,” he coos, “but for the first time in my life I have choices. Believe me when I say that’s new.”

His finger slides in to the second knuckle and draws back, my breath leaving with it in a long exhale.

“I only know one thing for certain,” he continues. “Wherever I am, whatever I do, I want to do it with you by my side.”

I run my hand down the front of his pants, find him hard and ready. My head burns with possibility, that dirty devil on my shoulder making himself known. “Say, have I ever shown you my three-point play?”

###