Blaze, page 20
I shove him off.
“What the fuck?” he says, as I settle in, scanning for the remote.
“What?” I suggest. “You going to knock me out with that plastic fucking pap stick of yours?”
Colton looks at his crosse. “I should belt some sense into you with it is what I should do.”
“Hut!” calls Hunter from the kitchen.
I turn and catch the beer mid-air with one hand. Another comes at flying at Colton. He collects it in the scoop of his lacrosse stick. “See, I told you this was useful.”
Hunter laughs from the kitchen, using the side of the counter and the butt of his hand to open his beer. “Useful for fucking yourself in the ass maybe.”
Colton tosses the crosse aside and falls down beside me, cracking his own beer open, Hunter jumping over the back of the sofa, all three of us seated as the game comes on. In one-hundred-inch 4K, even Jess Hostetler of New York Giants fame looks attractive.
I take a swig. “I found my angel from last night.”
I don’t need to look at Hunter to know he’s rolling his eyes. “Here we go with your fucking fixations again. We all know where this is going.”
“And where’s that?” I suggest.
“You pump them, you dump them, and look for the next,” finishes Colton. “We all know that third leg you call a cock can never be sated with one pussy.”
“One. Singular,” adds Hunter.
But I’m thinking about her, about everything, and I’m thinking otherwise. There’s something different about this one, and it’s not her crazy, shape-shifting hair or slate eyes, that ample chest so criminally hidden by a token Abbotsleigh sweater straight from the gift shop. The moment she opened her mouth, I was sold.
I take another swig, barely concentrating on the game and hoping the other two can’t see the way the crotch of my jeans is turning into the Pyramid of Giza. “I’ve got a plan.”
Colton elbows me in the side. “You slapped a Post-It on her ass, didn’t you?”
I look at him, don’t say anything.
“Holy shit, you did,” laughs Hunter. “Wrong move, brother.”
“They all love that shit,” I retort. “I figured her out the moment she sat down.”
“And how’s that?” queries Colton, leaning forward and pinching his chin in introspection.
I sit forward to match, playing detective. “Okay. She was wearing one of those shitty Abbotsleigh sweaters, so she’s a transfer.”
“Hardly a difficult deduction, Sherlock,” says Hunter.
I hold a hand up to silence him. “Secondly, she was wearing Cons and had a Ramones sticker on her folder, which means she’s got a rebellious side, or at least wants one.”
“She might be reformed?” adds Colton.
I shake my head. “The home screen on her phone was the House Stark symbol, which means she’s got a geeky side, too.”
Colton slaps his thigh. “Come on. Everyone like Game of Thrones.”
“You only like it because you get to see Daenerys’s tits.”
Colton shrugs. “Better than getting a woody watching Kit Harington get his sword out.
Colton and Hunter high-five each behind my back. I stand, pushing them apart and trying not to spill my beer in the process. “Back to the fucking program.”
They look up.
“And?” questions Colton.
“And she’s trying to maintain a low profile, sit up the back, avoid eye contact, which means…”
“Not every girl wants your dick,” says Hunter, reaching over to punch Colton in the arm, who punches him back.
I crouch, looking between my brothers. “And that’s where you’re wrong. Every girl does want my dick.” I smile. “Some just don’t know it yet.”
*
I have to sprint to the administration building to make it there before the pep rally. Usually I abhor this fucking place, but I need answers.
I make my way past the girl at the front desk, the one who was into Girl Guides roleplay. If the Girl Guides Association of America found what we did with those cookies… Jesus.
I head down into the lower, subterranean level of the admin building that was once a bomb shelter and find who I’m looking for.
I lean over the desk.
Jason Rogers, one of our offensive linemen, looks up from his cell. He works down here in Records in his time off. “Cayden,” he says, surprised. “Fuck, man. What are you doing here?”
“I need a favor,” I start.
He places his cell down shaking his head. “No fucking way. Do you know how much shit I got in last time for giving you that girl’s details? I need this job, bro.”
I get down to his level. “Did I or did I not hook you up with Sandy’s friend last week, the one with the purple heart tattooed right above her…”
Jason nods, looking down the hall to make sure no one is coming. “Yes.”
“And did you or did you not have a great time?”
He breaks, smiling. “She was fucking wild, just like you said.”
“In which case,” I continue. “I’d say you owe me, wouldn’t you?”
Jason shakes his head, but he’s in. “What do you need?”
“There’s a girl, a recent transfer.”
Jason nods, now in business mode. “Not many transfers here at Abbotsleigh.” He stands. “Wait here.”
I watch him disappear into the back room where the computers and servers are located. He returns in less than a minute with a single sheet of paper, checking the hall again before placing it on the desk between us.
I read over it. “What am I looking at?”
Jason points to the thumbnail in the top corner. “This your girl?”
Even in inch-by-inch black and white she looks incredible. “Sure is.”
Jason runs down the sheet with his finger. “Here’s the thing. Her name’s here at the top—Indiana Lewis.”
“Indiana Lewis,” I repeat, enjoying the way it sounds in my mouth, thinking of the enjoyment I’ll get hearing my name come out of hers.
“You can see her DOB there, her major. But here’s where it gets weird. Under ‘Reason for transfer’ here, there’s nothing—zip.”
“And that’s unusual?”
Jason looks up at me. “Hell, yeah. It’s weird as shit. Even weirder, there’s no record of which college she transferred from, no former address or details. It’s all blank.”
I look over the sheet, but he’s right. It’s almost completely empty. “What does that mean?”
Jason shrugs his shoulders, shaking his head. “Beats me, but I can tell you this is no clerical error. No way.”
I’m wracking my brain trying to work out why. “What are the usual reasons for transfer?”
Jason takes a breath, eyebrows jumping. “Change in financial aid, scholarship, dissatisfaction with previous school environment?”
“So something may have happened at her last college, something no one wants on her record, right?”
Jason shrugs again. “Could be, man. I don’t know.”
I tap a number at the bottom of the sheet. “What’s this?”
Jason looks down. “Emergency contact number.”
“No name, no address?”
Jason shakes his head. “Doesn’t look like it.”
I take out my cell and punch in the number.
Jason looks down the hall nervously. “What the fuck are you doing?”
I hold a finger up, bringing the cell up to my ear.
There’s one ring, just one, before a beep signals a messaging machine.
I wait a moment before hanging up.
“Well?” says Jason.
“Answering machine.”
“Did they give a name?”
I look at my cell, at the number. “Nothing. It went straight to the machine.”
“Weird.”
“Yeah.” I reach for the sheet of paper, but Jason pulls it away, scrunching it up and dropping it into the bin beside his desk. “Not this time, bro.”
I smile and reach up to give him a fist bump. “Alright, and thanks. I appreciate it.”
“Any time.”
I start to walk away.
“Can you put in a good word with Coach,” Jason calls. “Maybe get me off the bench a bit more this season?”
“I’ll see what I can do,” I reply, my voice echoing down the hall, but all I’m thinking about is the mystery of one Indiana Lewis.
CHAPTER FOUR
INDY
The pep rally makes it immediately clear how far I am from NYU. Out here in the country a bonfire rages into the night, embers spiraling up into the sky like rogue fireflies. I can feel the heat of the fire on my face, the glow of it illuminating the entire, boisterous spectacle before me. And it is a spectacle. While NYU had a cheer team and drumline, you couldn’t exactly light a fire like this in Central Park.
I scratch my back, taking a step back, away from the flames.
Keep it together, Indy. This is not the place to lose it.
“What do you think?” asks Lucy. She lights a cigarette beside me, blowing smoke out into the heated air.
I cross my arms, watching on. “It’s… loud.”
She laughs, smoke puffing from her lips. “And it’s only going to get louder as the night draws on.”
We’re suddenly swamped by a group of boys wearing horse head masks. “Trojans!” they scream, stomping off to the fire.
The fire.
I take a step backwards, and another, Lucy watching quizzically. “You alright?”
“Fine,” I nod, but it’s starting to come back.
I don’t want it to.
The drumline marches in front of the fire, silhouetted like devils. I tense. It wasn’t so long ago they were lynching people out this way. College football? It’s a religion out here complete with disciples and grand concrete churches, big corporate money and millions—a religion of which I am not a believer.
I bet Cayden Beckett could make you believe…
I’m busy silencing the voice in my head when I see him, ol’ Blue Eyes Big Arms himself.
He’s staring right at me.
Lucy flicks her cigarette in his direction. “Here’s the man of the hour now.”
Cayden Beckett saunters over with two others in tow, all of them in Trojan’s jerseys, the firelight licking the sides of their faces. People jump out at them, shake Cayden’s hand or clap him on the back. There is no question. This is his territory.
He stops before me. “Indiana,” he says, eyes dropping, voice honey sweet. “Thanks for coming”.
I’m less concerned about how he worked out my name and more worried about why the way he said ‘coming’ is making my stomach tumble over itself and my cheeks burn.
Thank god for bonfires.
“Lucy dragged me along,” I reply.
Lucy nods to him and the two others in turn. “Becketts.”
I look between them. “You’re brothers?”
The one that looks the youngest, with moppy hair and baby-face features, steps forward. “I’m Colton. You must be Cayden’s mystery woman.”
I reach forward to shake his hand, but he flips it and takes my own, leaning down to plant a kiss on the top of it. He smiles as he lifts. They’re all smiling, like some kind of Calvin Klein billboard come to life.
The one on the outside steps forward, pushing Colton away. “I’m Hunter, the brains of the operation.”
Hunter’s stockier than the other two. I don’t see quite the same cheekiness in his eyes as I do the other two.
He steps back, leaving only Cayden.
“And you’re Cayden,” I say, feeling naked again under his gaze, “Cayden Beckett.”
“You’re not wearing my jersey,” he notes.
“I didn’t want to get it dirty,” I retort, my quippage game suddenly on point.
He winks. “Let me know when you do.”
I roll my eyes. Enough of this asshat. “Are you serious? You can’t tell me this crap actually works on real women, with, you know, actual breasts and curves.”
Colton bends over in laughter, hand on his brother’s shoulder. “I like this one, Cay. She’s feisty.”
Cayden simply nods. “To answer your question, Indiana…”
“Indy will suffice,” I cut in.
“To answer your question, Indy, yes, it does. Ain’t that right, boys?”
Hunter nods in agreement. “You’d have to look long and hard to find a female on campus that hasn’t been privy to The Damage’s special form of training.”
“Christ almighty,” adds Lucy, stomping out her cigarette with the heel of her boot.
Now I’m laughing, addressing Cayden. “You can’t tell me people actually call you that, like you’re ‘The Rock’ or something.”
He takes a step forward. I hold my ground. “They do. I’m a god around here, the quarterback of the mighty Abbotsleigh Trojans, beloved by all.”
“Trojans!” someone shouts, hearing their cue.
“League champions, ass-kickers, and general legends of the game,” he finishes.
I note the way he says ‘the game’ as though he’s remarking on a great art form. I hardly think a bunch of muscly guys throwing a rubber sack around qualifies as great anything.
“So, yes,” he says. “People call me The Damage, but you…” He takes another step closer, close enough for me to smell the clean-cut draw of him. “You can call me whatever you want.”
I’m over this. “Okay, asshole,” I spit out, choosing my title, “One, I am not your property. Two, scoring with every girl on campus does not make you any more appealing to me, and three—” But I’m out of ideas. “Football’s stupid.”
‘Football’s stupid’? That’s the best you can come up with?
I stomp my foot a little to send it home, Lucy snorting beside me, speaking to Colton. “I’m with you. I like her.”
Cayden simply nods with the knowing smile that he’s making me wet simply by standing here, that his sheer presence alone will bring on an orgasm via osmosis.
Think again, buster.
“One date,” he says. “To change your mind.”
I haven’t been on a date in years, not that I’m about to let on. The drums beat and boom in the background.
“Why in hell would I agree to that?”
He points to me. “Because I’m going to let you choose where we go and what we do.”
Clever. He thinks that by giving me control I’m somehow going to agree to this madness.
You could? Would it be so bad? You’ve been through so much shit. It might even be fun.
Ha.
I picture a little comedian in my head, microphone stand in hand.
But this could be fun, my small revenge for the Post-It incident. “My choice? Anything? Anywhere?”
I’ve reeled him right in with that one. His eyes narrow with sexual possibility. I can see him conjuring up the many ways he’s going to take me already. He’s fucking me without even getting his clothes off.
“Whatever you like,” he replies, eyes shifting. “I’ll do anything once.”
We’ll see about that.
I look around. There are stalls set up to the left of the bonfire, various student societies looking for fresh members at this, the most hallow of social college occasions.
The cheerleaders chant in the distance, the drums boom, boom, boom-ing.
“Okay,” I agree, noting the surprise on not only Lucy’s face, but Cayden’s brothers’. They didn’t think it was going to be this easy.
News flash. It’s not.
Cayden claps his hands together, that perfect jawline firm. “So, where are we off to?”
I smile. “SDS.”
“SDS?” he repeats, looking to his brothers, both of whom seem as clueless as he is. “What the hell is SDS?”
“The Suck Dick School?” suggests Colton.
But Lucy knows. She giggles beside me, lighting another cigarette. She points it at Cayden. “Oh, you’re going to have fun.”
*
We left not long after the World’s Most Awkward Exchange. I saw Lucy off on my way to the dorms, coming in to the room to find Naomi still up, flicking through her cell on bed.
“You went to the pep rally?”
I sit on my bed and start to untie my shoes. “Yes, Mom.”
She rolls her eyes. “Sorry, it must be the maternal instinct in me coming out.”
“No, you’re right, and yes, I was at the rally with Lucy, the bartender from The Lab.”
Naomi nods. “The one with the bird tattoo?”
“That’s the one.”
“Do you have any…?”
“Tattoos?” I laugh. I shake my head. “I do not. Why, do you?”
Naomi lifts her shirt to reveal a small baby dinosaur to the right of her belly button.
I pull off the last shoe and sit cross-legged on my bed. “Oh. I didn’t mean any offense. It’s cute.”
Naomi laughs. “Cute? It looks like shit. I can admit that. Something about young and foolish something, something.”
“Hey, at least you’re not like that girl in Blindspot, covered head to foot.”
Naomi smiles. “You’re right. There are far worse tattoos.” She pauses for effect. “But not many.”
We both laugh at that.
Naomi places her cell down, tucking her legs under herself. “You don’t like tattoos?”
I instantly think about Cayden, and start picturing his hard chest and abs again, the small fire between my legs suddenly a blazing inferno. “I suppose some guys can pull it off. I mean, they probably won’t look so great in fifty years, but I think by then a droopy tattoo is the least of your worries.”
“You’ve got your eye on someone, an inked-up mystery man?”
I don’t know how the hell she picked up on that. Am I that obvious? Still, I feel like I can trust her. Maybe it’s the maternal thing again, that I’m projecting my missing mommy issues onto her.
Cue the violins, Indy.
“There’s this football jock who I can’t seem to shake.”
Naomi takes it in, drinks me in with her coffee-bean eyes. “Another one, hey? We can talk about it if you like? I heard you had a run-in with a guy in the bar the other night.”
“Wow, word really gets around.”
Naomi taps her nose. “I’m good at sniffing these things out.”
