Kicked: A Bad Boy Sports Romance (47 page)

I sat on the living room couch after convincing Addi to go back to bed. My heart was pounding and my body was … furious. I wrapped my arms around myself and tried to still that aching pulse inside of myself. When it refused to dissipate, I tried retreating to my bedroom and touching myself before I realized this wasn't
just
about sex. I mean, it was but it wasn't. I wanted to be held, touched, kissed.

“Shit.”

I sat up in bed and then, in a sudden, desperate ploy, reached out for my phone and called Max. He answered after one ring.

“Hey Abi,” he said, sounding wide awake and full of energy despite the late hour. In the background, I heard voices and music, a dull distant throb that made me wonder where he was at. “What's up?”

“I, uh,” I felt suddenly stupid calling up my brother's best friend. For all I knew, they were out at some club together. Still … “I wanted to know what you were up to. You know, if you were free?”

Max laughed as I bit my lip and wondered what I'd said that was so funny.

“Are you
booty calling
me, Abigail Ingram Sharp?”

Oh my God. I so totally was.

“No!” I said indignantly, crossing my left arm over my abdomen. “I just … I wanted to ask you if you knew where Flor was?” Nice. Tie everything in your life back to your stepbrother. I stared into the darkness of my room, trying to let my eyes adjust to the murky gloom.

“Yeah, he's right here. Want to talk to him?”

Before I even knew what was happening, the phone was being passed over and Flor's sharp voice was cutting through the line.

“Who the hell is this?” he asked, in usual Florian fashion. I swallowed hard and tried to come up with a good lie on the spot, fidgeting with the sheets and biting at my lower lip.

“It's me,” I said and then clarified, “Abigail.”

Florian snorted at me.

“I know your voice, Abi,” he said and my blood thrilled. Why did the simplest things from him get me so excited? “What is it? It's late. Don't you have school tomorrow?” I pursed my lips tight and felt that familiar anger at him bubble up. “And why are you calling Max's phone?”

“I tried yours, but you didn't answer,” I lied, hoping to God that he either didn't have it with him or it was dead. After a moment, he responded and I felt my stomach drop to my feet.

“Uh, I don't see any missed calls from you. What's wrong? Are you in trouble or something?” I sat there for another ten seconds or so in silence, listening to the clamor coming from the other end of the line. Of course he'd think there was something wrong. It was three in the morning and I was dialing him out of the blue. “Is it Mom and Dad?” he asked again, alarm lacing his words. My stomach plummeted to my feet like it was encased in ice, shattering around my toes.

“No, it's not Mom and Dad,” I said quickly, not bothering to correct him.
Stepmom.
“I, uh, I … ”
This is so stupid. Why am I sitting here and lying like this? I'm an adult for God's sake.
“Actually, all I really wanted was to talk to Max.”

I could practically feel Flor's frown through the phone.

“Why?” he demanded, and I could tell he already knew.

“Because I want to see him. We broke up a few months ago, and I … I miss him. Can you please give him the phone back?”

“No.”

And then Flor hung up on me.

I sat there for several seconds in silence before dialing Max's phone again. No answer. I sent a quick text telling him to call me and then tried Flor's phone. Not surprisingly, he didn't answer either. I sent him a text, too, this one warning him not to freak out about this. Knowing Flor, he'd take the whole situation and just let it blow up in all our faces.

Relaxing back into my pillows, I closed my eyes and waited, only to fall asleep and reawaken to the sound of someone knocking on the door. Immediately, I assumed it was Florian and had a small freak-out. I wasn't in the right state of mind to deal with his shit.

I took a deep breath, marched to the front door and flung it wide only to find … Max.

“Oh,” I said, a little shocked to see him alive and well. “It's you.”

“Of course it's me,” he said, coming into the apartment and grinning at me. “Who did you expect? I mean, you
did
booty call me?” I blushed as Max grinned and stepped up close to me, too close. I looked down at the tattoos on his arms, a good portion of them Florian's work, and tried to keep my breathing steady. “I would've called, but your asshole of a brother threw my phone in the garbage.”

My head snapped up and I met Max's brown eyes. He was smiling and leaning close to me, making my pulse race. I would never admit this to anyone, but I knew, just
knew
that one of the reasons I'd gone out with him was because he reminded me of Flor. No matter how hard I tried to deny that, my heart knew better.

“He threw your phone away?” I asked as Max laughed and glanced around the apartment, taking in the furniture, the empty beer bottles from earlier, the rumpled couch.

“Yeah, uh,” Max began, leaning back and shaking his head. I watched as he ran his fingers through his hair and grimaced a little. “Whatever you said to him, he was pissed. I didn't want to get into it at the club, so as soon as I realized he was mad, I left and came over here.”

“I didn't ruin any hot dates for you?” I blurted, wondering if Rhonda had been at that club with Florian. I don't know why I cared anyway. If not her, then it would be someone else, someone that he picked seemingly at random, just to torture me. Or at least it felt that way.

“You're the only hot date I need,” Max said, reaching out and taking me by the hips. My body thrilled at the touch and even though I knew he was full of shit, that I was falling back into the trap I'd gotten out of just a few months back, I couldn't help myself.

I hooked my arms around Max's neck, kissed him hard and fierce, and then led him into my bedroom.

CHAPTER SEVEN

I was sitting in my forensics chemistry class trying to ignore the girl sitting next to me. She kept whispering things under her breath that made me want to stab my pencil into her leg to get her to stop.

“Hah,” she growled, pushing her blue ballpoint pen into her notebook, “this class is a joke. If the professor can't even get his units of measurement right, how can he expect to teach us anything? A mole is actually six point zero two
two
– not six point zero two – times ten to the twenty-third power.”

I curled my fingers around my pencil and did my best to ignore her.
A mole is
actually
six point zero two two one four one seven nine, but this is called rounding, you annoying bitch.
The worst part of it all was that I didn't think she was actually trying to talk to me anyway, just babbling to herself. In fact, even though we'd had to do several labs together this term, she had yet to actually speak directly to me. Oh, and last week, she'd nearly spilled a beaker full of hydrochloric acid on my bare arm. I almost sort of, kind of wanted her … dead. Okay, so maybe not dead, but at least I wished she'd drop out. If I hadn't had calculus right before this class, I'd have come early just to make sure I didn't have to sit next to her. As things stood, I always ended up cutting it close and grabbing the last seat. Next to the camouflage wearing weirdo in the corner. Being a nerd was okay; acting like a know-it-all when you didn't really know much of anything was hard to stomach.

I sighed and reached into my purse, pretending to get another pencil but checking my phone instead. Max had been great to me for our first few days back together, but already he was back to his old shit. Not calling, not coming over, making me wonder how I'd ever let this happen again. I sighed when, as was now the usual, there wasn't a single message on my phone. Addison, even though she wouldn't admit it, was still kind of pissed at me for what happened with Dorian. Flor hadn't spoken to me since that night … I felt weirdly alone in that classroom, surrounded by strangers, full of shame.

I didn't want to feel that way anymore; it was killing me inside.

I squeezed my pencil so hard that it snapped in two, drawing several sets of curious eyes over to me. I shoved the broken pieces into my purse and held my breath until the professor started up his lecture again.

I was a smart, modern, powerful woman and I didn't need this, didn't need to obsess over any boy, much less my stepbrother. I had a brain and I had dreams and I
knew
how ridiculous this all seemed, but Flor had somehow managed to get under my skin and, like a drug, he'd gotten me addicted.
Love
is
a drug, in a way, isn't it?
I thought as I stared down at the empty notebook page and tried to come up with something, anything, to make myself feel better about this whole situation.

The only thing I could reasonably come up with was the truth.

Maybe, just maybe, if I told Flor how I felt, this would all go away. I didn't want to admit it, but deep down, where my darkest desires lived and breathed, I hoped that something
else
might happen, that maybe this wouldn't go away but actually become something. I told myself that was the addiction talking, slammed my notebook closed and, even though everyone in the class was once again staring at me, I marched out of there with my head held high.

I could do this. I
would
do this, and something would change. No matter what it was, it was better than living with shame.

My confidence only lasted so long as it took me to get to Flor's studio.

I found a lucky parking space across the street and leaned on the wheel, watching men and women dressed in ink go in and out the doors. I waited for a good long while, but I didn't see either Florian or Max. Not surprising since a single tattoo could take all day and I knew that they took their smoke breaks out back, but I was starting to lose my gusto. Going into the shop and getting Flor – especially if Max or Rhonda was there – would be a hell of a lot harder. I had banked on him coming out at some point, to grab food or get something from his car, but after about an hour I realized that wasn't going to happen and sat up, putting the key into the ignition.

A knock on the passenger side door made me jump and I glanced over to find Florian leaning down and staring at me with a frown on his face and a loose tank that gaped at the neck, revealing way, way more of his skin than I needed to see.

Shit.

“What the hell are you doing in there, stalker?” he asked me, reaching down and testing the door handle. I had the strongest urge to hit the lock button, like Flor was some sort of raptor from
Jurassic Park,
intent on destroying me both body and soul. I swallowed as the door swung open and he scooted inside, leaning back and giving me a look that I didn't know how to interpret.

“Is it Mom and Dad?” he asked, causing me to roll my eyes.

“Why do you always ask that?” I snapped, wishing he'd do something
other
than refer to my dad and his mom as
our
parents. “If something was wrong with them, you'd know it.” The words came out more sharply than I'd intended and I flushed, curling my fingers around the steering wheel.

“How's
Max
?” Flor drawled, like he didn't give a shit. I knew he did, knew it bothered him more than he'd ever admit.

“How's
Rhonda
?” I snapped back.

More silence, but I didn't dare look over at him.
I can't believe I left class early for this. What the hell am I doing here?
I kept my hands on the wheel, my eyes forward. I knew my breath was coming in quick, staccato bursts, but I couldn't seem to stop; my nerves were on fire.

“How are you?” Flor asked suddenly, his jeans squeaking on the leather seat of my Taurus.
The car your dad bought for you.
I felt another surge of guilt and anxiety, enough that it was almost crippling. This is what I'd come here to avoid, to surpass. Dad never had to know what I said to Flor. I could ask Flor to keep a secret and, considering he'd probably freak when I told him, he'd keep his word, if only to avoid the embarrassment of talking about it.

“I'm … ”
Just say fine and go,
I thought to myself.
Just say you were thinking of getting another tattoo or something. Make up an excuse like you've always done!
I bit my lower lip, worried it between my teeth so hard that I tasted blood.

Flor's fingers found my chin and brushed across my jumping pulse.

“You're hurting yourself, Abigail,” he said, and his voice was unusually soft. I turned my head slowly, so very slowly, to look at him and found those ridiculously green eyes staring back at me, like two perfect emeralds. He adjusted himself, crossing his arms over his chest. I watched the swell of his muscles, drank in the set of his strong shoulders, the tattoos that danced in a colorful collage from the edge of his tank top all the way down to his hands, ending in fingers fit for the God of Ink himself. They were long and strong and I felt if I could just feel them on my skin once, just
once,
that my body would know the ultimate reaches of pleasure.