Page 13 of Give You Up

“Then give me that chance. Help me get closure, Syn.”

I place my palms on his chest, ready to give him a firm no, that we are beyond closure after years apart, but he grabs my wrist and brings my right hand to his face.

“These rings are different. Where are the ones I gave you?”

A smooth gold band. A silver braided band. A band with an opal. Three stackable rings. One chance. One wish. One listen.

“You promised me all three. Where are they?”

I tug my hand out of his hold. “I gave them away.”

“Who? When?”

“None of your business.”

“I’m going to ask again, Syn, and you give me the answer, or else.”

“Or else what?” I challenge.

I am done being the shy girl. The girl who followed his greatness around like a lovesick puppy. The girl who gave up on living a life with him because she knew she’d only get hurt when Taron Vaughn’s star status rose, and he left his past behind for the chance at a shinier future.

“Or else I will fuck up any guy who comes near you. I’m done with staying away from you, Syn. Done with you hiding. I found you, Pixie Dust. Wherever you hide, I’ll find you every time. Make no mistake about that.”

Alpha male some?

And there go my panties because they arewet.

8

Syn

After I left Taron standing under that tree without answering his questions, I made it to the stadium on my own with him trailing close behind me.

Was he serious with his threat to hurt any guy who comes near me? Good luck going through with it. Guys do not line up for my attention, and if they do, once they hear of Dare and me, they leave me alone.

On wobbly legs, I enter the stadium and duck into the women’s restroom. After splashing my face with cold water and wiping off the beads of sweat on the back of my neck with a damp paper towel, I make my way to the guy standing on the sideline.

I’m assuming he is a part of the coaching staff, with his navy-blue polo shirt, khaki shorts, and a whistle hanging from around his neck. He’s pacing, holding on to a clipboard as he watches the guys on the field. I walk up and introduce myself, ready to get started.

“Hi, my name is Syn. The head librarian, Cindy, sent me here.”

“Nice to meet you. Name’s Hank. What has she told you so far?”

“Nothing other than to show up at the team’s practice.”

“Good. That’s good.” He cups the back of his head. Not in a way that shows he’s uncomfortable but more like he’s easing me into the idea of whatever it is I’ll be doing.

“You have one job on this team. It’s simple but complicated. You will be Taron Vaughn’s personal assistant.”

“What?”

Without batting an eyelash, he rattles off the job description.

I blink in rapid succession. “Wait, back up. Taron Vaughn’spersonal assistant? Go where he goes? Pose as his girlfriend if push comes to shove? And there is more? A formal JD he’ll e-mail to me once he gets mypersonale-mail address?”

Why is my orderly world careening into crazy territory with Taron’s arrival? He is most certainly to blame, upsetting the balance of the universe when he showed up at Bayside the same time as me. I look around the bleachers. Set my hands on my hips. Ask Assistant Coach Hank the same questions I asked Cindy.

“Am I being punked? Is this a secret casting call for an episode of the Twilight Zone? Because this has been the weirdest day in the history of my weird days.”

---