#Score (5 page)

“Lighten up, I’m only kidding. People judge me all the time. The best part is when I get to prove them dead wrong. Someone once told me I was ‘just a face’ when I was thirteen yards away. I ended up jumping three feet up to do a scissor kick and it sailed right past him, scoring our last point and winning the game. There’s a reason why people always say never judge a book by its cover.”

At this she leans in, her chin in her small hand and the glitter in her dark blue nail polish reflecting across the table. There’s a smile, wider than the ones I’ve seen so far, and she looks up at me from under a thick set of dark lashes. “I have no idea what that means, but I still think you’re too cheerful. Stop giving the rest of us complexes.”

She’s definitely not my type. Not with those bangs, the ripped-up jeans, or the plain white shirt and long black sweater, or even the constant sarcasm. She’s not a bubbly beach babe with a huge rack and blonde hair, not my usual style at all. But she has something else going on for her that I’m still not understanding. Maybe it’s the way she’s quiet, or how she tries so hard not to fall for my slickness. The sexy pout and the pretty almond-shaped eyes don’t hurt either. But there’s this air of unknown about her, sort of like a chocolate in one of those boxes that don’t label the insides. And believe it or not, I have a major sweet tooth.

I know I shouldn’t care, and that it’s getting late and I’m definitely losing my buzz here. But I’m making her smile, and it’s enough to make me stay for now.

R
amona

I
f breaking
and entering wasn’t bad enough, we add hitchhiking with a group of strangers to the list of weird shit for the evening.

Benji hops out of the van, holding his hand out for me to take it. I roll my eyes and push past him, wondering why I made the brilliant decision to see this night through. It would’ve been so much easier just to call a cab and go home to relax, but instead I’m climbing out of a van that reeks of weed and stale Cheetos.

"Thanks for the ride, Angelo," he says to our chauffeur, a guy with huge gauges in his ears and dark eyes. "Appreciate it."

Angelo gives us both a nod and his friend closes the door before they take off, leaving us on the side of the road.

Benji turns around to face the narrow boardwalk that cuts across the sand. "Wow. I really wish I had been here earlier to see the sunset. But that looks fucking insane."

I try to see the world through his eyes for just a moment, wondering what it must've been like growing up somewhere completely different. All I've known my whole life is L.A., and it's pretty much a one-in-a-million type of place. I don't know why, but I'm wondering just what kinds of things remind him of being home.

"The sunset’s killer, I'll give you that. Besides that? There's nothing really that remarkable about being here. Unless you are obsessed with movies or television."

In a not-at-all surprising yet also still shocking move, Benji throws his arm around my shoulders, squeezing me before walking off over the boardwalk and into the still-warm sand. "You say potato . . . "

I allow myself a little smile as he is facing away from me, unable to help myself.

The Ferris wheel on the Santa Monica pier is still lit up in bright lights, spinning around in a lazy fashion. I've lost count of how many times I've come out here to the pier, especially when I was still in college. I would paint the sunsets, sheet after sheet. I never did get it right, but I haven't given up just yet.

"Holy shit, that's cold." Benji laughs, splashing in knee-deep through the dark waves. "I thought it was supposed to be warm here in California?"

I slip off my shoes and carry them as I walk closer to him, the wet sand squishing between my toes. "In January?"

He shrugs his shoulders at me, and I'm convinced that his wide grin is a permanent fixture on his stupid, handsome face. "I don't know, I guess so? That's what everybody says about California. The land of dreams, the sun’s always out, everyone's happy. That kind of stuff, you know? Maybe I’m just a Southern boy who doesn’t know any better,” he adds, his accent laughably thick near the end. “That's why I'm hoping to get drafted by the Universe. I mean I'm pretty damn sure to get it, but you never know. Those team managers can be pretty shiesty sometimes."

I snort at him. Is that how everyone else looks at California, or is that just Benji's weird fantasy? "I've got news for you, California is not all it's cracked up to be. And there are plenty of places in Northern California where there's snow, so I don't know where you get this idea that it's always hot. You live out here for too long and nothing seems real."

It might be a trick of the dim lighting, but he looks like he's actually contemplating what I'm saying. But then he splashes me with his hand, soaking the bottom half of my pants.

"Are you freaking kidding me? How about let's not catch hypothermia, 'kay?" I growl at him, instantly backing up ten feet to get away from the insanely cold water. I really should've brought a jacket with me.

"Why are you always so grouchy?"

The question shouldn't surprise me because it's not the first time someone’s asked me that, but coming from Benji, it almost feels like I've been caught. "I don't know. I just didn't like to get wet, okay? Why is that such a big deal? I could ask you why you're always so damn happy." My tone is harsh and I realize it a moment too late, pinching the bridge of my nose and sighing. "I'm sorry. I don't know why I’m in such a bitchy mood tonight. I actually had some fun . . . with you."

He cocks an eyebrow at me, and I immediately regret saying anything at all. "Is that so? You actually had . . . fun?" The smirk on his face is infuriating.

I cross my arms across my chest. "Yeah, yeah. Don't let it go to your head or anything."

When Benji holds his arms up in protest, I have to stop myself from grinning at him again. Dammit, why does he have to have this kind of effect on me?

"It's a little too late for that, Cinnamon, but okay." He turns back towards the water and sits down, wrapping his muscular arms around his knees. I pretend not to notice how his biceps flex.

"We would go to Myrtle Beach every now and then, back home. And there's a big Ferris wheel just like that one over there, maybe even bigger. But it’s different here somehow. Like I'm staring at the opposite end of the world. It's kind of cool, actually."

I sit down quietly next to him, crossing my legs and staring out at the ocean. It's hard to tell where the sky stops and the water begins. The horizon line is something intangible, not even a real thing, but it's something artists like myself have always tried to capture one way or the other. "Well, technically you are, right? I mean you're from the East Coast . . . South Carolina, right? You're facing the completely opposite end of the world when you're on the beach along the East Coast. Sunsets are pretty cool or whatever here, but I've never seen the sunrise over the water. Have you?"

Benji nods his head. "Yeah, I have. But never a sunset. I'll have to check that out before I leave to go back."

For some reason a sharp pain pricks at my chest when he mentions going home. It's silly, I know it is. Why the hell should I even care, right? Except I do, for some reason. I don't believe in any of that goofy fate nonsense, but I do believe in people. And I do believe that deep down under all his ridiculous ego and machoism, Benji's a good guy. And I haven't had the pleasure of meeting very many like him before. "When do you go back?" It's weird how I’m almost whispering, as if I'm disturbing someone, but there's no one around.

"I'm supposed to go back this weekend. That's how long we have the hotel for, anyway."

"Have you been able to get in touch with your brother yet? I mean wasn't that the whole point of you going out looking for him?" I know that we've already passed the point of the night where he gave up looking and just decided to hang out with me instead. I try to pretend it doesn't matter to me that he did that.

Benji pulls his phone out but doesn't do anything with it, just letting it sit in the open palm of his hand. "I probably should . . . but I don't feel like it anymore. Cal and Josh are big boys, I'm sure they can handle themselves."

"I don't know, L.A.'s a pretty big place. Those country boys might get lost if they're not careful," I say to him, playfully nudging his shoulder with mine. I don't know what's gotten into me, but it's about time I stop thinking about things. At least for tonight.

"Ha. Hardly. Cal's been living in San Francisco for the past two years, and Joshua grew up right outside of Chicago. If anyone's the country boy, it's me. And I don't know if you've noticed, but I'm not exactly the country type."

His soft, barely-there drawl says otherwise to me, but it's sort of cute so I don't pick on about it. Yet.

"I'd like to go there one day. Well, not there as in a specific place, but somewhere different, like the South, hell, even the Northeast would be cool. Anywhere besides this hellhole, if I'm being honest."

And I am being honest, which is not what I expected to do. I'm not dishonest, I'm just usually not this open with anyone. It might be because of the drinks, or might just be because I know Benji's a total stranger to me. After this night ends, I’ll never see him. There goes that stupid pain in my chest again.

Benji stands up and stretches his arms overhead, reaching down to help me up. We make our way down Santa Monica boardwalk, all the way up until we get to the pier. It's late and everything's already pretty much shut down, but we walk to the end anyway and look out over the deep water below.

Benji jokes about the way the media has proclaimed him, his brother, and their cousin to be this sort of weird trinity in the sports industry. I don't know what that must be like, having grown up an only child to two only children. I don't know anyone else in our small family. It used to upset me when I was little, but it doesn't bother me anymore.

We stand there on the edge of the pier talking, but I start to slowly realize that Benji has lost that edge of drunkenness to him. Part of me is waiting to see a shitty, more sober side of him finally peek through, ready to drop my ass and find some cute chick to hook up with before the night’s over.

But he doesn't, that never happens. In fact, I'm pleasantly surprised when the funny drunk boy turns into a funny guy who doesn't even need to be drunk to get me laughing until my sides hurt. Believe me, Benji is no perfect guy, not by a long shot. His ego is ten times bigger than his biceps, which are fairly big, just saying. He's clearly never read The Feminine Mystique and his laugh is loud, piercing through the night and leaving me waiting for the police to finally pull us off the pier and tell us to get the hell away because we’re disturbing the peace.

Even still . . . he is pretty smart for a jock, and he's one of the only few people I know that can actually handle my sarcasm, and there's a lot of it to digest. When I pull out my phone and realize it's almost three o'clock in the morning, I gasp, unsure of how I managed to spend this much time with Benji, a stranger, and actually enjoy myself. Oh, if Brie and Michael only knew.

In between Benji being insanely gorgeous and irritatingly funny, he glances over at me from time to time, and I have to wonder what's going through his mind right now. It's like he's looking at me as though I'm a puzzle or something, which maybe I am to him. I'm almost one hundred percent sure that he does not hang out with artsy-type girls like me. I must be like an entirely different species to him. The idea makes me really wish my shirt wasn't half-covered in faded red daiquiri.

"What?" I finally ask him. Whatever the case may be, I hate being stared at.

"What, what?"

I shake my head and back up, looking right at him. "Oh no you don't. I
mean
what are you looking at me like that for? Do I have something in my hair?"

His grin slides into something more thoughtful as he leans against the fencing of the pier, never taking his eyes off of me. "No. I was just looking at you."

It's definitely not the answer I'm expecting. "Well stop, dammit." I try to sound firm but I just laugh in the middle, throwing the whole damn thing off. Clearly this is going well.

"You want me to stop looking at you?" There's a tension in his voice, and it sends a chill up my spine.

"I mean . . . if you just wouldn't stare so hard. It's kind of freaking me out."

Something starts filling the air between us, and as if by magic an invisible string starts pulling us closer together, and I'm pretty sure neither one of us are moving.

"Do you want to hang out with me tonight? I mean back at my hotel room?"

And I'm frozen in place, stiff and unable to move even my eyelids. I can't blink. I'm not some naïve little girl, I know his meaning behind those particular words. That they still scare the hell out of me. How do I answer? Should I even answer?

"Okay," I say, but I'm pretty sure I just squeak it instead. My throat is dry even though the wind coming off the ocean water is salty and moist. Did I really just agree to this? Who am I even?

Benji's leaning in, his face blocking out the Ferris wheel behind him, and all I can see is the intensity in his eyes before he closes them. I’ve been kissed before, thousands of times by a few different people, but absolutely
none
of that prepares me for the way Benji kisses the left corner of my mouth, then the right, then slowly drags his lips to cover mine. My mouth moves even though my brain’s fried, and I taste Benji in all his glory, his full lips making me want to drink him in.

I part my mouth and his tongue slides past my teeth, gently caressing my tongue until we’re exploring each other's mouths. When his large hands spanning across both my hips, he pulls me toward him and I finally get to see just how broad and strong his shoulders are as I place my hands on them.

Okay. Now I see why I agreed to this.

B
enji

I
left
my wallet at the hotel room. It's the whole reason I slipped in line with the cute blonde at the club. The reason why I had to bail out on the drinks (not that I ever did that, but still), the reason why we sneaked into the mini golf course, why I suckered Sienna into offering me some free food and drinks, and definitely why I opted to hitch a ride with a van full of guys with my small yet feisty companion.

When I finally admit the truth to Ramona, she laughs, asking me when I started my life of thievery. It's cute how she laughs at her own jokes, kind of like how I do it, but she has this really cute way of crinkling up her nose and laughing that reminds me of a rabbit.

Thankfully for my broke ass, Ramona calls an Uber. It’s embarrassing for me to have her pay for me in a way, but I guess these things happen. “It’s 2017, Benji. It’s really okay,” she says as soon as I start to argue with her over it. So I shut up and deal with it.

It only takes us fifteen minutes to get back to my hotel room. Fifteen minutes where I have to push everything aside and try not to jump her bones right there in the car.

The night desk attendant gives us a small wave as we come inside the sliding doors to the hotel, unable to keep our eyes off of each other. It's weird, I mean of course I’ve made out with a ton of girls, but this whole not making out but staring at each other until we can't help but make out thing? Way hotter. Way,
way
hotter.

I nearly break my finger jabbing it into the elevator button, silently begging it to hurry the hell up so we can get behind closed doors for even just a small moment.

Our room is on the tenth floor, but it's still not enough time for me. As soon as the doors close in front of us, I've got Ramona's back against the mirrored wall, hiking her leg up around my waist. My jeans are stretched to the fullest, outlining my bulging cock and barely constraining it between me and her. Ramona's a little grabby thing, sliding her one hand between us and running it over my thickness. I swallow the gasp she lets out with my mouth when she realizes my nine and a half inches are ready and waiting for her.

I'm winding my hands through her hair, tilting her head to one side so I can trail my tongue around her ear and down the side of her delicate neck.

She's breathing heavy, little puffs of air that hit my forehead as I lower my mouth down to her collarbone, letting my tongue dip into the little nook of it. I bet if I were to shove my hand down the front of her underwear she'd be soaked right now.

The stained white shirt and jeans aren't showing off nearly enough of Ramona's soft skin, and I'm dying to know what she's got hiding underneath it all. I can tell she probably doesn't dress in anything that reveals more of her warm brown skin than this right here, and I have to wonder why. Unless she's got some horrible skin disease or scars from some traumatic surgery, I don't get why she'd want to cover up. From what I can tell just by feeling around, she has a sexy body, thin and petite in a way that reminds me of a bird . . . but sexy. I don't think birds are sexy, but I
do
think this girl is screwing with my damn brain.

We keep kissing until the elevator dings and the doors open to our floor. Her first instinct is to jump back but I hold her tight against me, not giving even the tiniest fuck if anyone notices that my hand is grabbing her ass.

For the first time tonight, I see Ramona in a bright light. Not the crazy neons in The Ruins, not the total darkness of the golf course, not the dim lighting in the pub or at the beach. Now I can see every detail about her, and funny enough, I notice a few tiny splotches of yellow paint in her hair, right behind her ear that I didn't see before. I smile, thinking about what she told me. She's apparently an artist, working on this huge canvas that spreads almost all the way across her bedroom wall.

Shit. I'm reading way too much into this whole thing. I roll my eyes at myself when we get to the room, and I'm suddenly glad I did end up picking up my room key before leaving. I'm missing something . . . there's something I'm forgetting . . .

But it's no matter, because I lean back down and kiss her lips again, trying to put the taste to a picture in my mind. She's not wearing anything on her lips, but they have an almost sweet aftertaste. It's new. Usually I kiss a girl and she tastes like her lipstick or even worse, lip-gloss.

I pull away from her just long enough to stick the room card key into the slot on the door, smiling at her when the little light turns from red to green. "After you," I say to her, smacking her fine little ass as it sways from side to side when she walks by.

I like Ramona. She's sexy in her own kind of way, sticking out from the sea of others I've slept with, the boring ones who don't have much to say except how they love sucking dick, want me to fuck them hard, and all that fun stuff. Don't get me wrong—I love that shit. But tonight has been an interesting time, and I think it's because of her.

If I had to bet, she's probably super smart like Cal, but in a different way, too. Nerdy but the cute, creative kind of nerdy. The kind where she can do anything cool with her hands, but also knows ten different types of Japanese anime.

Maybe I'm just getting ahead of myself here, but I think she's going to be amazing in bed.

I kiss her again, slowly this time. I'm blindly feeling around for the light switch on the way, trying to remember if it's on this wall or the other one. Ramona kicks her shoes back off and starts yanking her shirt over her head while I peel mine off.

Fuck, it feels good to have her skin touching mine.

We bang into the wall behind us, and she lets out a small yelp when the light switch digs into her shoulder blade, flipping it on and flooding the dark room with light.

I start to laugh at her when an unmistakable cough comes from the other side of the room. Right where my brother is standing, shirtless and looking hella pissed.

Joshua is lying on the pullout bed, eyeing me with the kind of satisfied look that makes me want to murder his ass right there. He lets out a whoop when he notices Ramona is not only beside me but also topless.

Ramona lets out a squeak at the sight of them, quick to hide behind me, and bends down to grab her shirt from the floor.

Ah, this was what I was forgetting . . .

"What the fuck, Benji? We've been trying to get a hold of you all night," Cal's voice booms.

Man, this is not how I was planning for this evening to go. "Whatever, man. This isn't babysitting, don't act all high and mighty on me. I just forgot y'all were here. Now if you'll excuse us . . ." I take Ramona's hand in mine and we go back out through the door.

I close my eyes once the door's shut, pounding my closed fist on the door one good time before turning back toward her. She's breathless, still panting from all the kissing just a minute ago.

Fuck, I need to find a way to make this happen. I've got a major case of blue balls. It's even worse than the time I was a camp counselor at the nearby summer camp and one of the MILFs whose husband ran the camp was blowing me like a fucking pro but had to hide because he was coming into the counselor bunk to speak with me.

What the hell am I supposed to do?

"Sorry about that. I guess I completely forgot about sharing the room with them. I knew I should've gotten a private suite instead of sharing one with Cal." Not that I was the one bankrolling the party, or anything.

Ramona shrugs her thin shoulders, not looking at me but at the guy who's just heading into his room for the night. "It's okay. This is clearly a case where the inopportune has stepped in. Maybe even for the better."

Okay, I'm not a fucking idiot, but that made no goddamn sense. "Say what?"

She laughs without any humor, cutting me with this weird, faraway look. "Life is about timing. Carl Lewis."

"Okay then . . . well how about this? We could just go to your place instead and—"

Ramona immediately cuts me off. "No way. I'm sorry, but no, that just wouldn't work. I'm sorry, Benji. I had a really good time with you, even if you're a total miscreant. I hope your SuperDraft thingy works out well for you. If you end up in L.A., maybe I'll even see you around," she talks fast, the words out of her mouth faster than I can listen along. She doesn't look like she truly believes any of it, and she sticks her hand out awkwardly, pulling my hand into some weird kind of half-handshake, half-fist bump.

"What?" I start to ask her, but she's already high-tailing it out of here, leaving me looking like an absolute loser (with a half-hard dick no less) in the middle of the long hallway.

I’m stuck in place. I don't know whether I should run after her, chase her down until we can at least try somewhere else because damn, there's no doubt she's a good lay . . . or if I should say fuck it and forget about her.

It takes me all of two minutes to finally pull my stupid ass together and get over her. Sort of. At least I'm pissed off enough to try. But in the meantime, there's a cold shower that's calling my name.