Page 16 of Power Play

“It’s beer,” he says. “I can get another.” But as he gets closer, I can tell he has already partaken. I hold my hands up.

“I’m good,” I say. One broken rule at a time, please. He takes another step closer to me, and I inhale his cologne. He’s got long brown hair that hangs in shags off his head and crystal-blue eyes that make every female he comes in contact with stare like magnets—another reason why I couldn’t believe he was asking about me. Me, of all the options at Crooked Creek High School. Me, the coach’s daughter. Off-limits. No-fly zone.

But I’m starting to think, as he’s coming closer, reaching his finger out to rub my arm, that maybe that’s part of my allure.

The forbidden fruit.

“Lo,” he whispers, the beer on his breath even more pungent now, “I’m so glad you came tonight.”

I raise an eyebrow.

“You are?” He lifts his eyes to mine through long, thick lashes, and I feel my stomach flip. I’ve only recently learned what it means to be “turned on” when I accidentally found some of my mom’s old romance novels. And I’m pretty sure this is the start of it. He nods and comes even closer so that we are chest to chest. He reaches down with his beer-less hand and takes mine in his.

“Lo, you don’t know how long I’ve just watched you,” he whispers. “How I wait longer after practice just to watch you talk to your friends after volleyball. The way you talk to people, how you listen to them so intently. I know everyone else is afraid to talk to you,” he says. I swallow.He’s been watching me?Oh, God. I hope he hasn’t seen me pick a wedgie in my volleyball shorts.

“Because of my dad,” I say with a knowing nod. He knits his eyebrows together and shakes his head.

“No, Lo,” he says. “Not because of him. Because ofyou.You are so intimidatingly beautiful. You have it all together, all the time. No one else thinks they have a chance. And they don’t think I have one either. But I knew if I never told you how I felt, then I’d never forgive myself for not at least shooting my shot,” he says. My eyes are wide. I almost want to laugh. He thinksIam intimidating? I don’t know how to process it all. I want to tell him he’s crazy, that I’m the most un-intimidating person in the world and that he’s wrong.

But I know I’ll never forgive myself if I don’t shootthisshot.

I press up on my tiptoes and press a soft kiss to his lips. His eyes dance with delight as we come apart, and I can feel my heart beating behind my too-tight sundress.

He bends down and kisses me again, and I feel the fireworks going on around us. Like there isn’t another soul in the room.

And then he takes my hand and looks at me.

“Can I take you upstairs?” he whispers. My heart is thundering in my chest, making my whole body vibrate. But I nod slowly, my body totally separating itself from my brain and moving without consideration of thought. He takes my hand and sets his beer down on a console table. He leads me through the crowd of people that seem to be lining every inch of the house and up the stairs. We go down a long hall to the last bedroom, and he opens the door. It’s empty, and the bed is made and neat. It looks to be some sort of guest room. He closes the door behind us and turns to me slowly. He smiles, and then I smile. And then he’s on me like a fly on honey. He’s kissing me harder now, with a little more, uh…passion. I feel his teeth graze my bottom lip as he sucks it into his mouth.

I wrap my arms around his neck, hoping for a little more of the innocent stuff. I’ve only been kissed two other times in my whole life. If I’m about to have sex for the first time, I want it to be a little more like a Nicholas Sparks movie and a little less like…whateverthisis. But he’s going at it, running his hands through my hair, grabbing my butt, attempting to feel my breasts through my tank top and bra. In the next moment, he breaks apart from me, pulling his t-shirt off over his head. I ogle his body for a minute. He’s got the quintessential jock body with the V at the bottom of his abs and everything. But then he’s unbuckling his jeans, and I start to feel that sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach.

He takes a step toward me, and I instinctively hold my hand out, as if to keep some distance between us. He cocks his head and smiles, and I realize he’s not taking it as a hint. He’s taking it as a challenge. He lunges for me again, kissing my neck and sliding his hand down my ass until he reaches the hem of my dress. He bunches the fabric up in his hands slowly, then I feel his palm press against the inside of my thigh. I dip my hips back, taking a step away from him.

“Hang on,” I say, breathy from the kissing. But he takes another step toward me. I can taste the beer on his tongue, and now, instead of seeming older and mature, it’s starting to disgust me. “Wait, Thad,” I say again. But there’s no waiting. He swings me around like a ragdoll, tossing me onto my back onto the bed. “Thad,” I say again, and I realize he’s reaching into his pants and taking himself out.

“Thad,” I say again, but it’s like he can’t hear me.

“Shh, it’s okay, Lo,” he whispers, “I’ve got you.” I put my hands down to my crotch, trying with all my might to block it. But he’s so much bigger than I am. And so much stronger. He holds both my wrists in one hand above my head as he reaches in and pulls my thong to one side.

“Thad,” I plead, and it’s not until I hear the sob leave my mouth that I realize I’m crying.

CHAPTERSEVEN

levi

I haven’t been huggedthis hard in a very, very long time. I laugh as Tyson squeezes the life out of me, right on the stoop of his townhouse. It’s the first time I’ve been back in Crooked Creek for longer than a few hours since I got drafted seven years ago. I’m long overdue for a little bit of a break here. Home.

And my first stop—and where I’m crashing—is my best friend, Tyson’s. We have a long weekend full of drinking, video games, and seeing old friends. My flight landed later than expected, and I’m fucking starving. Tonight, I just want to eat a whole pizza and crash on Tyson’s couch. We have a bye week, and our next game is here in D.C., so I took the liberty of coming home for a quick soul cleansing.

I’m not trying to complain about the fucking amazing life I lead, by any means. The money, the sweet Spokane apartment, the women that come with the job. But it’s a lot, and there’s not much space to breathe.

I can breathe here in Crooked Creek.

“Dude, already set up for you,” Tyson says, leading me inside. “The guest room is ready—I even washed the sheets.” I laugh.

“You shouldn’t have,” I say.

“Pizza is on its way, beers are on ice, and—oh, fuck. Make yourself at home. Let me grab this call real quick,” he says, answering his phone and walking into the kitchen. I kick off my shoes, grab a beer from the cooler that’s sitting on the ground next to me—apparently, walking to the kitchen to grab one would have been too much effort—and plop down on his couch. I pop the top off, put it to my lips, and throw back a big, long swig of it.

---