Better than Perfect (30 page)

But not my performance.

Coach Smart nods in agreement. “You're the first female accepted to our program, Ashtyn. We knew there would be challenges, and you faced them head-on. That takes courage, and I admire that in my players.”

Coach Smart takes time to go over my stats with me and I cringe. “Your stats this week are not impressive, Ashtyn,” he says.
“The feedback from the scouts and coaches wasn't what you were probably hoping for, but Coach Bennett secured an interview with the Northwestern coach next week. No promises, but at least they agreed to talk with you.”

Just the thought of being able to talk to a Big Ten football coach should make me excited and happy. I don't know what's wrong with me. It's like as soon as Derek told me he was moving to Texas, suddenly everything feels so . . . off.

“No matter what happens, all of us at Elite have faith that you'll accomplish whatever you set out to do.” Coach Bennett smiles warmly and holds out his hand. “We will definitely be following your team stats this coming season and wish you all the best.”

I shake both of their hands. “Thank you both for the opportunity,” I say, then gather my duffel from the dorm and wait for the limo to pick me up. I got a call last night that Mrs. Worthington is chartering the corporate jet.

I sit on the small airplane next to Derek. His grandmother insisted on coming with us. She says she wants to help Derek pack his stuff up. I heard Derek protest, but she just ignored him.

It's hard not to feel Derek's presence beside me. When we arrive home, Julian runs up to Derek with a big smile and my sister brings out cookies with the words WELCOME HOME in yellow frosting. I can't eat them. All they do is remind me of the night at his grandmother's house when Derek finally revealed everything he's held inside for so long.

“I'm Brandi. You must be Liz!” Brandi says excitedly. Mrs. Worthington flinches when my sister calls her Liz instead of
Elizabeth or Mrs. Worthington, but Brandi doesn't notice. “It's
so
nice that you came here for a little visit. Derek, isn't having your grammy here just
the best
?”

“Not really,” he says.

Mrs. Worthington whacks him with her purse. “My grandson is lacking in social graces, but I intend to fix that.”

“Where's Dad?” I ask, changing the subject.

My sister points to the den. “Watching television.”

I peek into the den. “We're back, Dad.”

He nods as if I'd just come back from going to the grocery store.

“Derek's grandma's here, too,” I add, then gesture for him to get up and greet her.

He gets up, meets Mrs. Worthington for a brief moment, then walks back to the den and starts watching TV again.

“Not a social fella,” Mrs. Worthington mumbles as she walks around inspecting the rest of the house.

“My dad's kinda introverted,” I explain.

“Hmm.” Mrs. Worthington takes one bite of Brandi's cookie and spits it out in her napkin. “Dearie, are you trying to poison us, or just break our teeth?”

Brandi laughs. “I admit I'm not the best baker.”

“Obviously.” She pats Brandi on the cheek. “We must get you some cooking lessons, dearie. Before you kill my grandson.”

Brandi giggles, thinking that Mrs. Worthington is joking. I don't think she's joking at all, but it's probably best that my sister is clueless.

A low bark echoes through the house before Falkor comes running up to me and gives me slobbery kisses. “And this is Falkor.”

“Eww. Ashtyn, dear, please . . . get that animal to stop giving you a tongue bath. It's very unsanitary.”

Derek kneels down and Falkor abandons me without a second thought. My dog rolls onto his back while Derek rubs his belly and tells Falkor how much he missed him.

After Mrs. Worthington is settled in my bedroom and the rest of us are in the kitchen, Derek breaks the news to my sister and Julian that he's moving to Texas.

My sister's smile fades.

“But you're my brother,” Julian cries out. “I don't want you to move to Texas. Don't leave!”

My sister looks shocked and her eyes are glassy. “I'm sure Derek has thought long and hard about his decision, Julian,” she says in a dull and sad voice. “He needs to do what he thinks is best.”

“Sorry, buddy.” Derek reaches out to Julian, but my nephew ducks out of his reach and runs upstairs. Derek has a grim look on his face as he follows Julian upstairs.

“I failed my husband,” Brandi murmurs. Her arms fall to her sides. She looks totally defeated. “I fail in everything.”

“That's not true.” I walk up to her and put my arm around her shoulders, comforting her. “You're a great mom to Julian. He's a great kid, Brandi. You didn't have any help and he's so smart and sensitive.”

She shrugs as she wipes away tears running down her pale, heart-shaped face. “You already pointed out that I've been a shitty sister. I'm obviously a horrible stepmother. I should have just stayed in California.”

“No.” I hug her in earnest now as tears fall from my eyes, too. When she hugs me back, I choke back sobs. Derek will take a part of me with him when he leaves, and I don't think I can face the despair alone. I'm tired and sad and don't want to be strong anymore. “I need you, Brandi. I need my big sister and I'm so, so glad you're back.”

“Are you okay?” she asks, holding me at arm's length, surprised that I'm crying along with her.

I shake my head. “No.”

She wipes the tears from my cheeks and gives me a sorrowful, knowing look. “This is about you and Derek, isn't it?”

I nod, unable to say the words out loud.

She holds my face in her hands. “I'm here for you, baby sister. I'm sorry, I feel like this is all my fault.”

“What's this kumbaya moment all about?” Mrs. Worthington asks as she walks into the kitchen. “I swear I feel like I'm in a funeral home with all the crying going on. You know what heals everything?”

“What?” Brandi asks.

I wipe my tears and wait for her answer.

“Spa treatments.” She takes her phone and dials a number. “Harold, do that Googly thing and find me a reputable spa in Fremont, Illinois. Make an appointment for three people for a massage
and facial tonight.” She hangs up the phone, but then calls back a second later. “On second thought, make it an appointment for four. Ashtyn's father is grumpier than I am and definitely needs help.”

“Liz, I don't think my dad will go to a spa,” Brandi says when she hangs up the second time.

“Yes, he will,” Derek's grandmother says without hesitation. “
Nobody
says no to a Worthington. And if you call me
Liz
again, I might just have to rip those overly dyed extensions out of your head.”

Ashtyn told me I needed a goal. I finally have one, although it's not really a goal but a mission. I've decided to clean the shed before I leave. It was dirty and neglected when I first arrived here, but I gave it new life. I'd already given it a paint job and fixed the broken slats on the roof and walls. This morning I decided to clean the inside of the shed so it'll look brand-spankin'-new. I cleared out everything, and then went to the hardware store to buy new shelves that won't fall off the wall and plywood to replace the old floor. I even tiled the top of the workbench so it was clean and usable again.

I saw Ashtyn leave the house this morning with Victor, who picked her up for practice. She's not talking to me. Julian isn't, either. I told him I'd come visit him every few months, but that didn't matter. He told me to leave him alone and he hasn't looked at me since. That was two days ago.

I stand back and survey my progress. “Not bad for a day's worth of work.” Falkor, panting beside me while vigorously wagging his tail, obviously agrees with me.

“What in God's name are you doing, Derek?” my grandmother bellows from the porch. She walks over to me in the grass that needs to be mowed again. At least the backyard isn't a large patch of weeds and looks halfway decent.

“I'm cleanin' out the shed.”

“Hire someone to do that.”

“Why hire someone when I can do it myself?”

She holds up a powerful finger. “Because it helps the economy. When you hire someone, they have more money to buy things. It's basic economics, Derek.”

I have to give my grandmother credit for creativity. She really does believe the nonsense that spurts from her lips.

“Well,
basically
I'm doin' it myself,” I tell her.

She sighs. “Well, fine. Just . . . wash up afterward so you don't look like a street person.”

I laugh as she walks away. To be honest, my grandmother is damn entertaining, and every now and then she does something that reminds me of my mom—like the way she sleeps on the very edge of her bed or the way she covers her mouth when she laughs. On the other hand, when she acts like a high-class snob, it's completely annoying and embarrassing. While she intends to turn me into a clone of her while I live in her house for the next nine months until I graduate, my intention is to take the snobbery out of her. It'll be a challenge, that's for damn sure.

At five o'clock, my grandmother announces that she's taking the whole family into the city for dinner. Supposedly she made reservations at The Pump Room, which she said is some fancy place where celebrities in Chicago eat. Gus has learned in the past two days that it's better to follow my grandmother's orders than to fight her. I think she's what he needed all along, a crazy lady to make him interact with the family instead of escaping it. I would go, but to be honest, looking at Ashtyn all night across a table and knowing I'm leaving her in a few days isn't what I'd call a fun evening.

I've managed to clean out the entire shed when it's suddenly dark outside. I get a flashlight from the house and put the shelves up, then hang all the tools back on the wall.

“Stop, or I'm calling the police!” a familiar feminine voice says from behind me.

Ashtyn is standing in the doorway, holding her signature pitchfork like it's a weapon. It's dark, but the small glow of the flashlight shines on the metal in her hands.

I give her a small smile and walk up to the pitchfork so it's an inch away from my chest. “You really don't want to stab me,” I tell her.

She lowers the weapon. “You're right.”

I take the pitchfork out of her hand and toss it outside, far away from my foot. “What are you doin' here? I thought you'd gone with everyone else to the city.”

“I decided to stay.” There's no mistaking the seductive tone of her voice.

She steps closer. From the small amount of light, I can tell she's wearing a hockey jersey and nothing else. My eyes rake over her half-clad body, unable to look away.

I swallow, hard. It's dark and the flashlight is losing battery fast. When I met Ashtyn, I had no clue what she'd do to me. Every time I'm near her, I want to push her away and pull her close at the same time. She talks like a jock but has a body like an angel. She knows I'm leaving, but she's here with me now . . .

“Why did you stay home tonight?” I ask.

The flashlight flickers, then it goes completely dark when she reaches out for me and whispers in my ear, “Because of you.”

I sat on my bed for an hour before I gathered enough nerve to come to the shed tonight. I know Derek's leaving, but I want him to remember what it felt like to be with someone who loved him unconditionally. I tell myself not to be emotional, to be happy that we could have this one last night together. I never imagined I'd fall so hard for someone, especially after knowing him for such a short time, but I have.

I never believed in love at first sight, until I met Derek. It's all-consuming and delicious and wonderful and exciting. At the same time, it makes me nervous and self-conscious and emotional. Love exists. I know it does, because I'm madly, deeply, hopelessly in love.

Wrapping my arms around Derek's neck, I feel his hands on my waist as he pulls me close. We kiss, and I open my mouth to deepen the intimacy. His tongue is lost in my mouth and mine in his.

“Once we start this, I'm not gonna want to stop,” he says in a hoarse, deep voice.

“Me neither.”

Without another word, I close my eyes while his fingers hook onto the bottom of my jersey, and slowly, tantalizingly, he slips the material over my sensitive skin and tosses it aside.

It's dark. We can't see anything, but I can hear the sexy rasp of his breathing and feel the slow, sensual feel of his hands on my skin.

I reach out and roam my fingers over the muscles of his biceps and trace the hard, solid lines of his perfect, defined abs and pecs. “I lied to you,” I tell him as my fingers move over the waistband of his shorts and follow the line of hair that leads downward.

“Mmm . . .'bout what?”

“I said I wasn't affected or impressed by your body.” I kiss his neck and the musky scent of maleness envelops my senses. I move my kisses lower, to his chest, his abs, and lower. “I lied.”

He throws his head back, and his hand weaves into my hair as I show him how much I appreciate his body. From the ragged sound of his breathing I know he likes it. A lot.

“My turn,” he says in a strained voice after a while. I let out a surprised shriek when he scoops me up and has me sit on the empty new workbench in front of him.

He kisses me senseless and I move against him, wanting more, wanting him, wanting this night to last forever. Our bodies are slick with sweat now, and we're both panting and struggling to make this last longer, but I sense we're both holding on by a thin
thread. My hands roam over his glorious body while I taste his mouth and he tastes mine.