False start play, p.8
False Start Play, page 8
“Very clever. But don’t you think you’re tempting fate by not just giving me your digits?” she asks with the tiniest hint of annoyance in her voice.
“Why, Miss Summers. I would not have pegged you as the superstitious type,” I tease and bring her hand to my lips.
“Not superstitious, just practical.” She pulls her hand away and raises an eyebrow so I hold up four fingers, followed by three.
“You’re tedious.”
“Okay, okay, here you go.” I tell her the rest of my number, and she does her thing. My phone vibrates in my pocket, and I pull it out, shooting her a suspicious glance. One new text, and it’s from Laine. No words. Just a whirl of a hundred little sparkling hearts. Followed by a second text with just a poop emoji. She’s quick.
As we walk along, the silence between us is comfortable, but my mind is anything but quiet. The closer we get to the party, to the house Brandon shares with Penn and his little sister, the bigger my sense of unease. I’ve got to come clean, tell her I’m not Jerry Levrier, and I don’t really play much tennis.
Because I’m Hunter Williams, through and through. And my football is my life.
What if she’s pissed? What if she’s not pissed but decides that she doesn’t want to date another football player? Or worse, what if she forgives me for unintentionally deceiving her, but then after we spend more time together, she decides that she’s just not that into me? Been there, done that. She’s got everything going for her–beauty, intelligence, ambition…and here I am, a has-been quarterback with an uncertain future.
“Hey, what’s on your mind?” Laine asks, her gaze shifting from whoever she’s been texting to me, concern etched on her face. “You’ve been awfully quiet.”
I start. How am I supposed to answer that? I opt to share one of my immediately lesser concerns with her, just not the one that involved raging indecision and the least attractive emotion in the world, raging insecurity. “I’ve been thinking that I need to amend my earlier declaration of luck. I’m lucky, except for the fact that Dr. Nguyen wants me to have another operation on my ankle. That’s pretty much the opposite of lucky.”
“Ouch,” Laine says sympathetically, her brow furrowing with concern. “That doesn’t sound fun at all.”
“It’s not,” I agree, trying to tamp down a sudden surge of bitterness. “I followed Dr. Nguyen’s advice the first time around, gave my all and then some to rehab. Now I’m back in the exact same place, except she’s saying this is my only option if I want to compete again. Ever since she brought it up, I’ve been wondering if it’s even worth it, this second surgery.”
“Hey,” Laine gives my hand a reassuring squeeze. “You should trust your doctor. Did you know she works with the San Francisco Sentinels during football season? She’s up there with the best in the business. Maybe you just need to be a little more cautious this time while you recover?”
“Ha,” I snort, trying to lighten the situation. “Cautious? Me? That’s not really my nature.”
“Maybe not,” Laine concedes. “But we all have different approaches to life, right? You’re more of a leap-before-you-look kind of guy, while I tend to think things through before taking the plunge. You could try it on for size. You might like the feeling it gives you.”
“Is that your polite way of saying I’m reckless and you’re boring?” I tease, raising an eyebrow at her.
“Absolutely not,” Laine protests, her cheeks flushing pink. “I just prefer to live my life a little more...strategically, that’s all.”
“Oh okay,” I begin. “So you’re more like a chess player, carefully planning your moves ahead of time—which is great, by the way. You’ve got everything under control, and you know exactly where you want to go. Whereas I’m—”
“Whereas you,” Laine interjects playfully, “are more like a skydiver, jumping out of planes without a parachute and hoping for the best.”
“Exactly!” I exclaim, impressed by her ability to read my mind. “I’m all about living in the moment, chasing the thrill, and not worrying too much about what comes next. But I’m not gonna lie, it might get me into a spot of trouble every so often.”
“Like with your ankle?”
As if she willed it to be, I take a little misstep right after the words leave her mouth.
She’s not wrong. My ankle is throbbing. I’ve been ignoring it throughout the day, and now it’s telling me to sit my stubborn self down somewhere fast. She looks up at me, her eyes full of genuine concern, and I realize this is one of the many reasons why Laine has so quickly worked her way into my heart. She listens. She cares deeply.
“Like my ankle. Thanks, Laine.”
“Alright,” I concede. “I’ll listen to Dr. Nguyen. After all, what’s one more scar in the grand scheme of things, right?”
“Exactly, and you never know—maybe this time around, you’ll come back even stronger than before,” Laine cheers me on. “And I don’t think I’ve told you this yet, but I find scars to be incredibly sexy.”
“That’s good news, because I’ve got scars to spare.”
Even though she managed to make me smile, the truth is, I’m scared. Scared of going under the knife again, scared of the recovery process, and scared that my future is pinned to the outcome. Feeling the weight of all these insecurities gnawing at me, I decide it’s time to lighten the mood.
“But hey, it’s not all bad news, right? I mean, it led me to finding you, right? That’s an indisputably huge check in the win column. And if all else fails…I can always fall back on my winning personality,” I jest, wiggling my eyebrows playfully.
Laine laughs, her eyes crinkling at the corners as she responds with equal humor, “Oh, absolutely. You’ve got buckets of charm, charm for days!”
“Charm for days? I like that.” I wink, feeling a warmth spread through my chest at her lighthearted reassurance. The energy between us shifts as we continue walking, our conversation now peppered with laughter and teasing banter.
The feeling that my luck is finally starting to change for the better has run its course. We’re one street from Brandon’s party, and I’m thinking more about of the tangled mess I’ve made of today than the mess I’ve made of my body.
I’m thinking more about the fact that I have about two hundred steps to make the most important confession of my life.
TWELVE
LAINE
“I never thought—”
“Laine, I’ve—”
We speak at the exact same time.
“You go, Laine,” Jerry replies, ever the gentleman.
“I just wanted to say, that I never thought I’d see the day when I enjoyed being a tourist,” I confess as we walk to campus. “I’ve always thought that looking for those little authentic and out of the way places was the way to go. But running all around the city, ticking off every box for those splashy, big San Francisco sights…that was the most fun I’ve had in years.”
“See? Stepping out of that well-controlled comfort zone wasn’t so bad, was it?” Jerry nudges me playfully with his shoulder.
“Not at all. In fact, this might go down as the best date ever.” A well of emotion bubbles up unexpectedly. My words are completely true, but not quite the complete truth. I really like this guy. Like a lot. “Thanks for sharing all of that with me.”
“Believe me, the pleasure was all mine, sugar. I’m just glad you get to go back to your friend and tell her that you did exactly as ordered.” He laces his fingers through mine and lifts my hand to his lips, for what must be the twentieth time today.
I could get used to that treatment.
“Are you kidding? That’s the worst part of this entire day. Cassidy is going to milk this I told you so for months.
“Laine, there’s something I’ve been trying to tell you…” Jerry begins.
But as we turn the corner, if he’s still talking, I don’t hear a word. It’s easy to pick out our destination, even from a block away. One house glows as bright as a red carpet reception at a movie premier.
Music spills out from the swanky fold-back, floor-to-ceiling glass doors. Party people crowd the generous deck, drinks in hand, dancing, flirting, and getting their groove on. It’s an all-out bash—it’s the place everyone wants to be on warm, spring Friday night.
It’s where I used to want to be every night.
It’s Penn’s place.
I turn to Jerry, confused. He raises his hands slowly, palms down, like he’s some Cesar Milan, serene dog psychologist approaching a rabid rat terrier. My warm and fuzzy feelings of five minutes ago have been replaced with a pricking pang of realization.
“You knew. You knew this was Penn’s house, his party.”
“Now hear me out, Laine—”
“Hear you out? Are you kidding me? After hearing me rant about Penn Mitchell, my awful ex-boyfriend this morning at the tennis courts, you decide to take me to a party at his house? His house? A house full of people who probably think I’m a horrible, awful person because I broke the heart of their favorite guy. What in the world were you thinking? This is the most f-ed up way to end what I thought was an incredibly romantic first date…maybe the most romantic day of my life. How incredibly inconsiderate, Jerry. “
His carefree smile disappears in an instant. “Laine, I’m sorry. I wanted to tell you, but I didn’t think it would be such a big deal. Penn’s not even here tonight.”
“Not a big deal? Then why didn’t you tell me?” Hurt and frustration rise in my voice, and I hate that all this emotion is boiling up and out of me. “Were you trying to keep it a secret or something?”
“Of course not,” he replies defensively. “We were just having such a great day, and I didn’t want it to end. I thought when you heard Penn wouldn’t be here, we could have a good time…without worrying about your ex.”
“Jerry, it’s not about Penn,” I snap. I swallow, struggling to find softer words. “It’s about being open with one another…it’s about honesty. You know how I feel about him, about the whole football scene, and you still brought me here without telling me. You could’ve given me the option to bow out gracefully.”
With a heavy sigh, Jerry closes the distance between us, his face full of regret. “You’re completely right. I should’ve told you and given you a choice. That was really thoughtless of me, and I’m so sorry, Laine. Let’s get out of here. Let’s just leave. We can go anywhere you want. Name the place.”
I look into Jerry’s eyes. They’re full of sincerity, suspiciously shiny, the picture of remorse. The heat of my anger evaporates like flash paper in a magician’s hands. Part of me wants to stay mad, is still reeling from walking around the corner and realizing this rude revelation. But the larger part of me, the one that relished every second of our day together, wants to forgive him and move on.
I close my eyes and focus on breathing…in with the good air, out with the negative feelings. When I can trust my voice again, I open my eyes. “Alright. I accept your apology. But next time, no surprises. Okay?”
“Deal,” he agrees. His smile returns but looks as shaky as I feel. He extends his hand to me.
“Deal,” I echo, placing my hand in his. “Let’s see if we can salvage the rest of this night.”
Jerry steps close and takes both of my hands between his. “I’m so sorry, Laine. I wasn’t thinking. Let’s go someplace where we can talk. I have some things I need to tell you.”
I nod my head, wanting to get away from the too-familiar scene as quickly as can be.
The good-time sounds of laughter and music grow louder still, as the front door of the house opens. Pretty girls in sundresses and sequined skirts pile out, hanging on oversized, corn-fed football boys. Their squeals of excited, alcohol-infused enthusiasm fill the space between us and them. I turn away. The last thing I want is to run into anyone who knows me, who might think the worst of me for calling it off with Penn and then showing up at his house with some new guy.
“Hey, Lainey! Hey,” a familiar voice calls from the doorway. A voice that could cut through the din of the loudest party.
I turn and see Tessa, my most-trying sorority sister, standing beside none other than Brandon the Beast Bauer, Penn’s roommate and closest friend. Shite. Double shite.
I haven’t seen Brandon since the Phi Pi Spring Fling, the night Penn and I split. Irritation over being singled out chafes me, especially in front of Brandon, but before I can retreat with Jerry, Tessa click-clacks down the steps and throws her arms around me.
The hug is unexpected. It feels real, and oddly reliable. I hold on like she’s a lifeline and I’m treading water in tank of sharks.
“Laine, what are you doing out here? I’m so surprised to see you at Brandon’s little impromptu party. Good for you, girl. A Phi Pi sis can’t be denied.” Tessa steps back, throws me a smile and throws an elbow into Brandon’s ribs. “It’s good to see Laine out at your party, isn’t it Beastie?”
Brandon grunts at the assault to his mid-section and shoots her a toothsome look that says he’s going to eat her up like dinner and dessert. He turns to me and gives me a surprisingly graceful half-bow. “Laine, it’s a pleasure to see you again at the Pigskin Penthouse. We’re having a little gathering in honor of the Crimson Cats’ Spring Scrimmage. I’d love for you and your friend to join us, have a drink, and hang out.”
I open my mouth to tell him thanks but maybe another time, when Brandon presses past me and raises his huge hand up for a bro-clasp.
“My man. You actually showed.” Brandon, who rarely shows enthusiasm for anyone, greets Jerry like a long-lost brother, meeting his hand and clapping him on the back. “I honestly thought you’d welch out on our bet, Hunter. Really great to see you show up, man.”
The air feels like it has thickened around me, as if I’m slowly drowning in a pool of honey.
Those six letters stick in my throat.
“Hunter?”
THIRTEEN
LAINE
Hunter?
Not Jerry?
My mind tries to piece together the puzzle in front of me, but my heart thuds through my spine, my ears, my head, muddling my thoughts.
Not Jerry. Hunter?
Not Jerry. Hunter.
Not Jerry.
Hunter.
The blood rushes so loud in my head, I can’t hear Tessa talking beside me. Her lips pull back in what looks like a squeal as Brandon’s arm wraps around her waist, and Jerry-Hunter leans too close to me. His face is distorted and etched like a Japanese Oni mask we saw in Golden Gate Park. All three of them have pixelated, as if I’ve zoomed in too close on a photo, and now they’re just splotches of melding color and light.
I dig my nails into my palms to jolt myself back to reality, before I slide to the sidewalk in an embarrassing crumble. BU tattoo, broken ankle, football physique…I’m such an idiot. From morning to night and every minute in between, I’ve been hanging out with Hunter Williams.
Kissing Hunter Williams.
Former Wildcats quarterback, that Hunter Williams. The football player replaced by Penn, now replacing Penn. Sliding into my world like some sort of secret mid-season trade. The cold truth sits like a cannonball in my stomach—this perfect dream of a day has been nothing but an illusion.
“So, Hunter. Great to meet you.” My voice crackles full of raw bitch energy. “My name is still Laine. Still Laine Summers.”
“You don’t know each other? My bad, I thought you came together.” Big Brandon Bauer steps between us, Tessa swinging like a gate around his arm. “Laine, meet Hunter Williams, South Carolina charmer and the best kind of guy. Hunter, Laine Summers, whip smart and definitely out of your league.”
“Brandon, stop teasing. Hunter’s totally dreamy, don’t you think, Laine?” Tessa leans heavily into Brandon as she playfully swats at him.
We ignore them both, eyes locked on one another. Hunter, not Jerry, takes my arm and turns us away from Brandon, from Tessa, from the sounds of happy party people having happy party times.
The fuzziness sharpens into too-crisp clarity when Jerry-Hunter touches my arm, re-igniting the embers from my earlier agitation. I’m red hot and royally pissed. I call back over my shoulder, “We’ve actually met, but this is the first time I’ve been properly introduced.”
“Uh, yeah, about that…I’ve, um, I’ve been trying to find a way to tell you.” He looks over his shoulder then back at me with concern.
I don’t want his concern.
“Laine, are you okay?”
“Okay? Am I okay? You lied to me…about your name. Your actual name.” My emotions are whipping into and frothy and explosive inferno, which I detest. But if anyone deserves to be showered in an explosion of molten emotion, it’s him.
And maybe me, a little. I’m kicking myself so hard.
How could I have been so blind? Broad shoulders, scruffy beard, the tattoos, the ankle injury, that charming southern drawl—all big, crimson and gold clues leading to the identity of the former starting quarterback for the Buckley Wildcats. How did I not put it all together? And why in the world did I assume that his name was Jerry? Like it’s a normal, everyday thing for a guy in his twenties to walk around with his name scrawled across the front of his ratty t-shirt. Like he’s an overgrown and impetuous kindergartner who went wild with the box of markers.
But why didn’t he correct me?
“Explain. You lied to me about your name, Hunter. Why in the world did you let me call you Jerry all day long? You let me call you Jerry after I kissed you. What else have you lied about?”
“Look…Laine, I—” Hunter starts, but I cut him off.
“Save it for the next girl you string along on some false flag romantic adventure,” I snap, feeling the sting of his betrayal squeeze my chest like a shop class clamp. “I can’t believe I trusted you.”
I turn away from him, my chest tight, so tight I can’t take a breath. I can feel my face flush and my eyes are welling up with tears, and I would sooner die than have him see me cry. I want to run away, leaving Jerry…Hunter…all of him far behind. I suck in a stuttering, embarrassing breath and shut my eyes hard against the tears. And start walking.
