Sidelined (34 page)

“Your tits are never that big,” Leah gasps.

“Push-up bra,” Ryann replies.

“And if your eyes are that shiny, then I want to know what you’re smoking,” I reply.

“Photoshop,” she grumbles. “The abs are Photoshop, too. I need to join a gym.”

“Doesn’t your new apartment building have a gym downstairs?”

Her eyes brighten. “Hey, it does! Well, that makes my life easier.”

I laugh and put the magazine back in the stand. “Well, now, you’re fucked. You know that, right? First it’s magazine covers, then billboards…”

“Then a pap’s camera so close it’s practically up your vagina,” Leah adds, walking backward out of the store.

Ryann laughs. “Yeah… I had that last week. I’m surprised Cal didn’t come arrest me for kicking the bastard.”

I snort. “My brother won’t arrest you. I’d make his life a living hell if he tried it.”

“Good to know you live on the ‘hos over bros’ philosophy.”

My giggles explode from me. “That’s because ‘bros’ are fuckfaces.”

Leah winces. “Still stuck in cock-limbo?”

“I’m limboing one way more than the other.”

“Magic cock!” Ryann says a little too loudly, drawing the looks of some people around us. She whispers hurried apologies and runs out to my car.

I roll my eyes. “It’s not all about cocks, you know.”

“But cocks are a huge influence.”

“Well, yes,” I admit. “A small and/or useless cock is a total deal breaker.”

“Does Jack have either?” Leah asks, turning in the front seat.

“Um…I didn’t make the magic cock thing up.”

“Is he better than Mr. Rabbit?”

“He has a mouth,” is my only response.

Leah reaches back and high-fives Ryann. “All hail Jack’s magic penis.”

“No, let’s
not
,” I reply. “The guy has enough ego issues without you all hailing his cock.”

“Do you hail it?” Ryann leans forward.

“Sure I do. But I’m not the only one hailing sexy bits, so it works.”

“I want a magic cock,” she sighs, resting her cheek on my seat.

I reach back and lightly tap her face before dropping my hand again to change gear. “Just fuck Cole.”

“La la la la la la!” Leah shouts, putting her fingers in her ears. “Future brother la la la la la!”

I snort. “When is the wedding?”

“Three months,” she replies, folding her arms across her chest. “They aren’t hanging around, and Alex is kicking Cole into his own place and moving in with my mom.”

“Cole’s a big boy now.”

Ryann giggles. “Yup.”

“Ry! Seriously!” Leah groans. “I
know
there are some serious sexy scenes in Chasing Tucker and I do
not
need that kind of visual!”

“Sexy scenes? I thought it was a romantic comedy?” I frown.

“It is,” Ry tells me. “But so is being in the same room as you and Jack when you’re sassing each other and I’d bet my left ovary you two have sex as soon as we leave.”

Grinning, I reply, “Not all the time. Sometimes, we get food first.”

She shakes her head then looks back to Leah. “And yeah, there are sexy scenes, but I only have a tiny idea about that part of Cole. You know the sexy scenes aren’t, well, sexy, and the one time it might have gotten a liiiiiiittle sexy”—she holds her hand up and pinches her finger and thumb together—“he called quits on the scene and took a fifteen minute break.” She sighs. “So close.”

“La la la la la!” Leah sings again.

I laugh. Sheesh—she doesn’t want to listen to this, but she had no problem telling me how hot
my
brother was when we were sixteen. And since Cal is actually my brother, I definitely did not want to hear it. I still don’t.

It’s disgusting.

“Don’t you have a date in an hour?” Leah deflects the conversation onto me when I pull up in my apartment’s parking lot.

“It isn’t a date,” I argue when we get out of the car. It’s Mitch coming over for some screwed-up reason I’m not even sure I give a shit about.”

“Then why don’t you just tell him you’re never getting back together?”

“I have a better idea.” Ryann grabs her phone while we stare at her questioningly. She grins when the first beats of Taylor Swift’s “We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together” pump out of her phone. It echoes in the stairwell, and I shake my head. “Or save yourself the hassle and play this through the keyhole!”

“Ha!” Leah points at her then me. “That is a fucking brilliant idea! But then you’d miss seeing his face when you tell him, and I kinda wanna have that experience through you.” She sighs. “Best friend problems. The struggle is real.”

I grab a cushion from the sofa as I sit down and throw it at her. “Shut up.”

Ry stops the music with a snort. “True that, Lee.”

“You, too.” I hit her with another cushion.

“You have too many fucking cushions,” Ry snaps, hitting me back.

“Right.” Leah looks at the array of red cushions around her. “But they’re comfy. So, what do you think Mitch wants to talk about?”

“Hopefully, how he’s suddenly changed his mind and would be happy to leave me to live my happy little life without him?” I answer hopefully.

“Yeah, because that’ll happen. Again, I ask: why don’t you just tell him you’re not getting back with him?”

“Because,” I sigh, “I’m not entirely sure I want to be with Jack.”

“Okay, now you’re fucking insane.” Ry sits up straight and stares at me. “How can you… Wait.” She leans over and knocks her knuckles on the side of my head. I duck away from her fist, and she looks to Leah. “Empty. Knew it.”

“I’m serious,” I argue weakly.

“I can’t wait to hear the reason for this one.” Leah rolls her eyes. “What? Does he have too many holey socks or something?”

“Ha.” I give her the finger. “No. I just… I like being single.” And for all I know, his ex could be one of those jealousy-inducing, supermodel-esque chicks and he might look at her and wonder what the hell he’s doing with the flighty little girl back in L.A. who can’t even stick to one major.

I guess I still have my blow job skills going for me, so there’s that.

“You like being single. Sure,” Ry says. “That’s the reason. We believe you, honey. Totally.”

“Never said you had to believe it,” I mutter. “Just accept it.”

“Macey?” Leah says softly. “There’s no use in fearing something you have no control over. Fear of what you can control, because that’s when mistakes happen. Anything that happens out of your control happens because it’s meant to.”

I pick at a loose thread at the bottom of my shirt and lift my eyes to hers. “I think not having control of something, knowing what no control can do, is the perfect reason to be afraid.”

“I
need your address.”

“Sending your Christmas cards early?” Bella replies.

“No.” I tuck the phone between my ear and shoulder as I clean the coffee machine. “I’ll be in Denver for a game this weekend and I want to see Lucy.”

“You remember she has a boyfriend, right?”

“No shit. I don’t want to fuck her, idiot.”

“Then what do you want?”

“To talk to her.”

“Jesus, Jack. Move on already.”

“What do you think I’m trying to do?” I grind out. God, this little shit is infuriating.

“Fine. I’ll text you our address. Happy?”

“Tell her to be there at lunchtime on Friday, okay?”

“Okay. Can I go now?”

“Sure. Whatever.” I hang up and drop my phone to the side.

Planning to see Lucy isn’t something I want to do. There isn’t a single fucking bone in my body that has any desire to see her again. If I could let my insecurities go without seeing her, if I could make up a reason for her cheating and believe it, I would. But I need to see her and talk to her so I can find out why she did what she did and convince myself that she isn’t every girl. That every girl isn’t her.

And the person I’m doing it for might not even be fucking mine this time next week.

I can fuck Macey as much as I want. I can do shit like send her flowers to apologize when I’m a dick and tell her that I want her until my face is so blue that I’m a fucking Smurf, but I can’t sway her decision. I can’t make her want me, as much as I wish I could.

And I’m afraid.

No lie. I’m so fucking afraid that she’ll go back to that douchebag and leave me wanting her.

I want her so badly that it physically hurts sometimes. That makes the fear all the more real. I crave her touch in a way I’ve never craved anything, and she’s become as important to me as the game has. She fits into my life as easily as football does, even if she doesn’t know a damn thing about the game. She’s lucky she looks so goddamn hot in a jersey; she really is.

I want things with her that I haven’t wanted in a long time. I want her to snap at me for leaving dirty socks all over the bathroom and for always leaving my towel in a heap on my bedroom floor. I want her to glare at me when I drink orange juice straight from the carton. I want her to roll toward me in the middle of the night and tuck herself into my body. I want to be woken up by her attempt to starfish as she hits me in the face, and then I want to flip her onto her back and moan to
her
about it.

I want to tell her that it bugs me that she watches sitcom reruns on TV until my ears bleed. I want her to know that leaving panties on top of the laundry hamper gives me all kinds of crazy ideas about the exact underwear she’s wearing. I want to throw a washcloth at her when she drops her mascara brush into the sink and doesn’t bother to wipe up the black smudge. And sweet hell, I want to remind her to be kind to my cock and lift the goddamn toilet seat up once in a while.

I want to wake up with her in the morning, push her hair back from her face, and kiss her softly. I want to curl up on the sofa with her and watch her stupid damn TV shows if it’s what makes her happy. I want to come downstairs to a steaming cup of coffee and pull her close to me.

I just want her and everything that comes along with it.

Every time she sees Mitch, the fear that I can’t have that grows. And even if she does push him to the side, there’s the fear that, eventually, she’ll realize she made the wrong choice.

After all, he knows her in a way I can only hope to one day.

I grab my phone from the counter and pull my keys from my pocket. After pressing the button to open the garage, I kick the stand on my bike up and wheel it outside. I shut the garage door with another press of the button, grab my helmet, and swing my leg over the seat of the bike.

When I’m ready, I start her up. She roars to life, and I ride down my driveway and onto the street. I take the turn onto the road that’ll take me into the center of L.A. and toward Leo’s school for his football game.

He coerced us into going tonight with the promise of seeing the future wide receiver for the Vipers. And, well, you don’t argue with a seven-year-old with dreams that big.

Especially not when he adds, “And I’m gonna smash the record for running the most yards in a career!”

Then you shrug, nod, and go the fuck along with it.