Authors: Lynne Jaymes
I laugh and squeeze my thighs tighter. Nothing
with Jake is ever quick. “I don’t have time.”
He utters a growling, guttural sound from his
throat. “You can’t tease me like that.”
I push him away with both arms and look into
his eyes. “Better to leave you with something to look forward
to.”
“I don’t think I can wait two whole days,” he
says, lunging for me, but I hop down onto the floor. As much as I’d
like to tumble into bed with him and spend the afternoon there, I
can’t afford to be late again.
“Crap. I have to go,” I say, eyeing the clock
over the stove. My shift starts in fifteen minutes and the café is
at least a ten minute drive from here on the other side of
town.
“Don’t go,” he says, keeping my hand in his.
“Quit your job and stay here with me. I’ll pay for
everything.”
“Right,” I say, knowing that his football
scholarship barely leaves him enough money to eat some
days.
“I mean it.” Jake keeps holding my hand and
looks seriously into my eyes. I can feel the moment shift between
us—what was fun banter a few seconds ago now has a weight to it
that I can’t deny.“I’m going to play pro ball next year and I’ll be
able to take care of us both.”
I search his clear, blue eyes, feeling my
heart pound in my chest. “What are you saying?”
Jake hesitates, then picks me up and buries
his face in my neck. “Just that I don’t want to lose
you.”
I laugh, trying to lighten the moment. Jake
didn’t ask me to marry him, but every day it feels like we’re
getting closer and closer. “I’m only going to Grand Junction for
the weekend. You’re not going to lose me.”
He sets me down, but his face is still
serious. “I mean that. I love you Jenna.”
“I love you too.” My eyes flick to the
clock—now I only have ten minutes to drive to the cafe, stow my
stuff and wrap an apron around my waist. “But now I really have to
go.”
“Are you coming back after work?” he asks,
following me out to the living room.
“No.” I grab my backpack from beside the door.
“I’m already out on the highway, so I’m just going to go to Grand
Junction straight from work.”
“Drive carefully.” Jake leans down and gives
me a tender, but heartfelt kiss, taking my bottom lip into his and
running his fingers through my hair. I don’t know what’s gotten
into him today, but I can’t say that I hate it.
“I will,” I say, finally disentangling myself
from his hands.
“Text me when you get there.”
I grin as I open the door. He already sounds
like a nervous husband. “I will,” I say again, kissing him quickly
before shutting the door behind me.
For a late summer afternoon, the café is
slammed when I get there and I spend the next several hours taking
orders and delivering food, even bussing tables when the guys get
too busy in the back.
“Behind you!” Courtney yells, a tray of
desserts in her hands.
“Thanks,” I call, swirling past her with my
plate of pancakes for table five. I glance at the clock and can’t
believe it’s almost six already. I look up and see that my
replacement is just walking through the door. After four hours of
non-stop movement, I’m going to be glad for the quiet of my car on
the long drive.I type the last check into the computer and feel the
exhaustion creep over me.
“Jesus, that was crazy,” Courtney says,
brushing her blond hair back from her eyes. “I thought all of these
people were supposed to be at home enjoying their
summer.”
“Yeah, but we made up for it in tips,” I say,
grabbing the box where we pool our tips for each shift.
“Good thing,” Courtney says. “I just put a
deposit down on an apartment on Belle Street.” She glances at me
out of the corner of her eye. “It’s a two-bedroom if you’re
interested.”
I stop counting the bills into piles and stare
at her. “You know that I’m getting a place with Jake.” At least I
hope I am. After today’s display of affection, I’m almost sure of
it.
She shrugs like it’s no big deal.I know that
she’s never liked Jake even though she’s never given me a solid
reason why. “Just sayin’ it’s there.”
“Well thank you. I expect to be invited over
for a housewarming at the very least.”
“I can never turn down an excuse for a party.”
She grins. Courtney is known for being able to out-drink most guys
we know.
I glance at the clock. “I’ve got to go.” I
fish around in my bag for my phone—Mom likes me to call when I’m on
my way so that she doesn’t worry. “Crap.” I dump out the contents,
but my phone isn’t there. I pat down my jeans and look in the
pocket of my apron.
“What’s the matter?” Courtney asks.
“My phone. I can’t find it.”
She glances around at the back counters. “Have
you used it since you got here?”
I think back. “No. I don’t think so. We’ve
been so busy.”
“It’s probably in your car.”
“You’re right.” I wave goodbye and walk out
into the gravel parking lot. The air in the car must still be over
100 degrees when I open the door, but a quick search tells me my
phone isn’t there either. I vaguely remember having it in the
kitchen when I got home with Jake. I must have left it on the
counter. I slide into the driver’s seat and quickly decide I have
to go back for it—it’s going to take me twenty minutes out of my
way, but a whole weekend without a phone is unthinkable.
Jake’s car is still out in front of the
apartment when I pull up and I smile, thinking about him having a
nice, quiet Friday night in while I’m gone. I really don’t deserve
him. The TV’s on when I unlock the door, but the living room’s
empty as I walk in. I turn left and head into the kitchen, relief
rushing through me as I spot my phone right on the counter where I
left it.
I hear Jake in the bedroom and walk quietly
toward the back of the apartment. I’m already twenty minutes behind
schedule—maybe I should take him up on his earlier offer, after
all, it is going to be a long weekend apart. I pull my t-shirt over
my head so that I’m just wearing my jeans and the red lace bra that
he likes. I can’t wait to see the look on his face when I walk
in.
The bedroom door is open a few inches so I
push it all the way. It takes a few long seconds to comprehend what
I’m seeing. Jake’s home all right, but he’s definitely not alone. I
don’t recognize the girl who’s flat on her back with her legs
against her chest and her feet in the air on the bed. Our bed.
She’s naked from the waist down, and Jake has his pants around his
ankles, his gorgeous sculpted ass bare to the world as he pounds
into her over and over again.
I’m trying to say his name, but the only sound
that comes out is a strangled cry as the girl on the bed who is at
this very moment having sex with my boyfriend, looks over at me
with casual curiosity. I turn and race out of the room, but I know
that image is going to be with me for the rest of my life. I
frantically try to find my keys so that I can get out of
there.
“Jenna! Baby!” Jake calls from the bedroom,
just as I find my keys on the bookcase by the door.
I’m halfway out the door when he grabs me
roughly by the arm. “Wait!”
I spin around to face him, full of a
combination of fury and hurt that twists from somewhere so deep
down that I don’t think I’ll ever find the source. “For what? So
that you can finish fucking your slut in my bed?”
“It’s not like that,” he says, but his words
are somewhat marred by the fact that he’s fumbling to pull up his
jeans at this very moment.
“Oh yeah? All that bullshit in the kitchen
today? You couldn’t wait for me to leave.” My mind flashes on all
of the text messages that he’s been getting lately. I’m betting not
all of them are from guys on the football team. I wonder how many
girls there are. Something tells me that Ms. Feet-in-the-Air isn’t
the only one. I’ve been such an idiot.
“That’s not true!” Jake insists. His voice is
steady, but I see panic in his blue eyes.
I decide to call him on it. “So what is true?
Go ahead and tell me. I’m listening.”
But Jake has nothing left to say. Because
there isn’t anything to say that can save us. I take one last look
at Jake, standing in the doorway looking at me with confusion in
his eyes. Slamming the door behind me I’m suddenly alone in the
hallway, breathing heavily with my hands shaking.
I’m halfway down the stairs before I realize
that I’m still wearing my jeans and the red bra.
The First Glance
I stand to the side and watch the guy in front
of me at the plate—Mitch something. His locker is next to mine and
he’s been pretty cool to me since unofficial practice started a few
days ago. Opening dayis still months away, but Coach wanted us to
get together and hit some balls and lift some weights before things
really get going.
Even though we’re just messing around, I can
tell that Mitch isn’t much of a hitter. I’ve seen him pitch though,
and he’s got a wicked fastball, so I’m sure he’s going to be
sticking around. He manages to pop a few balls into the outfield
and walks off the plate with a grin.
“You’re up,” he says as he passes me in the
batting circle.
“Right,” I say, setting the bat on my shoulder
and walking to the plate. I pause and wipe some of the sweat out of
my eye with my sleeve. We’ve had heat waves in San Francisco
before, but August in Texas is no joke.
We’ve taken some rounds in the batting cages
so far but this is the first time I’ve faced a live pitcher with
the Garvin State team. I can feel the dugout behind me get quiet as
everyone else stops to watch and I flex my fingers in the batting
gloves. The guys have been pretty cool the past few days, but I
can’t say I’ve really made any friends here yet. It’s a pretty
tight group and as the only new starting player on the team, I’ve
got a lot to prove.
“Hey,” the catcher says with a nod of
recognition.
“Hey,” I say back, trying to get a hold of my
nerves. Yes, this is just practice but I can’t afford to blow this
at bat. Every little thing counts as I try to find my spot on this
team.
I turn to face the pitcher, this guy named
Rowan that I’ve seen in action a couple of times already. He’s tall
with wickedly long arms and several killer pitches. I’m glad he’s
on our team and not the competition. He sets his arm and then
stares past me at the signs the catcher is giving him. I know his
pattern—lead with a fastball before getting fancy, so I’m ready.
Keeping my eyes on him, I watch the little white ball leave his
handand time it exactly right—not too early so that I’m reaching,
but not so late that I miss it. I swing the bat hard, but instead
of the crack of it meeting the ball that I’m expecting, there’s a
thud as it lands in the catcher’s mitt.
“Rowan’s curve will get you every time,” the
catcher says, smiling as he tosses the ball back to him.
Shit. The first pitch that actually counts and
I whiff it. I glance down at the catcher, trying to stay cool.
“That was just a practice swing.”
He squats down in position again, the pads on
his legs creaking. “Maybe this time you should practice actually
hitting it.”
I don’t say anything, just watch Rowan. He
winds up, but instead of the fastball that should be here, it’s
another curve, arcing just outside of the strike zone. I don’t look
at the catcher as he throws it back to Rowan. I can tell the second
the next ball heads my way that it’s the fastball I’ve been looking
for. I try not to think about it too hard, just let my body take
over as the bat connects with the ball and sends it soaring down
the left field line. That would be at least a double in any
game.
“Nice,” the catcher says, taking a ball out of
his pocket and throwing it to Rowan. We repeat the process over and
over, and by the time I step off the plate, most of the balls are
in the outfield and I think I’ve got at least a little more respect
from my new teammates.
Nobody says anything directly to me as I walk
into the dugout, but I’m sure everyone was watching. I grab my bag
and find the Gatorade that I shoved in there earlier.
“Those were some nice hits, son,” Coach Castro
says from his position against the fence.
“Thank you,” I say, trying not to read too
much into it. Coach was the one who brought me here in the first
place. “Sir,” I add at the last minute. Most of the guys on the
team are from Texas and they always call the coaches ‘sir’. I’m
trying to follow their lead no matter how stupid it sounds in my
mouth.
“I’m looking for a good lead-off man this
year,” he says, spitting a wad of saliva into the soda can he
always carries. “Think that could be you?”
“I hope so sir.” My voice is a lot cooler than
I feel. A good performance this year means scouts in the stands for
the pros. Only the one thing I’ve wanted since I was a little
kid.
Coach walks onto the field and I turn around
to face the bench that lines the back wall of the dugout. We’re
supposed to keep our bags and shit off the bench, but most of the
guys don’t, and there’s no place for me to sit. I stand there
trying to figure out my next move when one of the guys shifts just
slightly and sets his bag on the floor without meeting my
eyes.