Boyfriend Bargain Page 11

  I recall the moment I found a lip-smeared phone number in his pocket and called it, and the girl on the other end had no qualms about detailing her make-out session with Bennett at Remi’s Bar, a local music spot where his band plays.

  At his next gig, I showed up at Remi’s unannounced and saw for myself, both of them in his Land Cruiser, her straddling him in his seat, her dressed shoved up around her waist.

  Part of me wanted to pull a Carrie Underwood and take a Louisville Slugger to that car.

  But I didn’t.

  I walked away.

  And I haven’t stopped.

  Maybe it was because of how I watched Mama cry to my father. I watched her beg him every time he left us to go back to his real family. Her tears made me swear I would never be the girl who got her heart broken.

  He must read the emotions flitting across my face. “Please. Just give me another chance. Everyone deserves that.”

  He made me cry for weeks. He made me think I was less than, like there was something about me that wasn’t good enough.

  And I can’t forgive that.

  I won’t be the girl who accepts a guy who cheats on her.

  I won’t be the girl who accepts a liar.

  Taylor and Poppy follow me as we get up and walk out of the Tipsy Moose.

  16

  Zack

  “You’re quiet, Zack. How do you feel about the upcoming game?” The question comes from Dr. Cole, my sports psychologist. A stocky man with a goatee and discerning eyes, he’s leaned back in his leather chair, pen and notebook in hand. He has a long list of elite athletic clients ranging from NBA basketball players to superstar tennis players. We’re in his spacious office in the city, and he’s been talking for the past few minutes about my progress—or lack thereof.

  I think back over these past weeks with him. My therapy is a cognitive behavioral treatment where I practice relaxation training and stress reduction.

  I’m staring out the window, my mind drifting to Sugar and that kiss last night. She’s consuming me, the way her lips pucker when she’s thinking, her lashes fluttering against her cheeks after I kiss her. This crazy thing we have is mutual, which scares me and exhilarates me at the same time. I guess what Veronica said is true; my bedroom has been a revolving door of girls since freshman year, but I never lied to a girl or cheated while we “dated”. The truth is, hockey is number one with me, and there’s never been a girl worth sharing that spotlight with.

  I know, we just met, we just fucking met, but something about her—

  “Zack?”

  I look up at Dr. Cole. He’s giving me a quizzical look, and I realize I’ve been silent too long. I clear my throat. “I’m practicing my breathing, doing self-talk, setting goals, eating right, running, lifting in the gym, writing letters. I’m doing everything…” I stop and stare down at my hands. “But I’m already dreading the next game. I’m terrified I’ll spiral. The dread is always lingering, right there below the surface, and if one little thing sets me off…”

  He nods at me. “You’re a topnotch athlete, and you didn’t get that way with just your physical attributes. You have the good mental control, and now you just have to polish your adaptability. You love a challenge, right?”

  I rub my jaw. “You make it sound easier than it is.”

  He gives me a sympathetic, wry grin. “Life is never easy for a person with anxiety. These feelings may never go away, which is why you need to steel yourself against the dark thoughts, be prepared, and hone your methods of coping like a blade against a stone. Use those things that give you dread. Face them. Accept them. Overcome them.”

  I take a deep breath. I can face them, even accept that I have a problem, but overcoming? Yeah, that’s the heart of the issue.

  The truth is, part of me has always been anxious; it’s just that lately, it’s winning.

  The first time I took the ice my freshman year at HU, I got dizzy and clammy and thought I might pass out, but I hung on and shoved it away. I used the energy, wrestled it, and poured it into my game and I won, I fucking defeated the anxiety. I’ve always been able to beat the darkness—until now.

  He must see something in my expression. “How are you feeling about Willow this week? Anything different?”

  I level my gaze at him. “She’s dead because of me. She’s never going to college or getting married or having kids…” I halt, my gut churning.

  “And you still blame yourself?”

  My jaw tightens, anger and grief bubbling. “Therapy isn’t going to fix a mistake I made, sir. I killed her.”

  “A car accident killed her.” His reply is swift and sure.

  “Because I wasn’t there,” I insist.

  He puts his elbow on the desk. “You’re not a mind reader and you can’t control people. Even if you had been at that party, she would have left eventually. She would have taken the same curve in the road. You are not an all-knowing deity who can decide someone’s fate just by showing up at a party.”

  But…

  I wasn’t there. If I had been, maybe she would have waited until the rain stopped, maybe I would have driven her home, maybe we would have resolved all our shit—

  I pinch the bridge of my nose. Stop. Stop. Stop.

  “Zack?”

  I inhale a deep breath and look up at him.

  “You deserve hockey. You deserve happiness.”

  He’s been saying those words to me since the day we started this.

  I look back out the window.

  “I want you to repeat those words to yourself when you wake up tomorrow. Then say them again when you go to bed. Say them whenever you feel like you’re spiraling down that hole. Okay?”

  I give him a nod, but I’m not sure I agree with him. Magic words won’t fix me.

  I watch a couple on the street at a bus stop. They’re young, maybe my age, and there’s a suitcase between them. She leans her head on his shoulder and stares up at him with big eyes. He smiles down at her and kisses her…and I’m wrapped in envy.

  I want that, that…that…love.

  I could have that.

  I could.

  But do I deserve it?

  17

  Sugar

  The night of Eric’s party arrives the next week and I’m getting ready, my mind already on Z. I’ve seen him a couple of times since the Tipsy Moose, but it’s been brief. We met in the student center for lunch one day, and he took more pictures of us and posted them to his social media. “This will keep the girls away,” he said with a smile, but I knew they wouldn’t. He’s the kind of guy girls will crawl on the floor to be with. As we were leaving that day, me off to the library and him to hockey, Reece and Veronica showed up and Z visibly stiffened, his entire demeanor changing. There’s a weird energy when they’re around, and it pricks at me, makes me wonder what the backstory is there.

  Don’t get your heart broken, Sugar.

  Poppy eyes me critically, her lips spreading into a wide grin as she takes in my figure in the dress I picked out to wear. The color is a deep merlot, silky and stunning and clingy, and of course, it came from her closet. She’s two inches shorter than me and a size smaller across the boobs, but because it’s a halter dress that ties around the neck, we had some leeway. She claps, her face filled with glee. “I wish I had your boobs.”

  “No, you don’t. Have you seen me try to jog? Scary.”

  She tugs her cardigan around her slim shoulders. “I’m flatter than a pancake. I would die to shake those things in some guy’s face and watch him melt…”

  “You’re beautiful, Poppy!” And she is with her shiny, dark, almost black hair and blue eyes.

  She shrugs. “Meh.”

  I grimace as I look at my reflection. “This dress is as subtle as a freight train. It practically screams look at me.”

  “No, that’s the shoes,” she says with a grin.

  We glance down at the strappy gold two-inch heels. They match the delicate gold necklace with a glittering rectang
ular quartz pendant around my neck. My toenails are painted a wine color and my fingernails match, all thanks to Taylor. I huff out a laugh as I look at my long legs in these heels. “I’ll be taller than all the girls and some of the dudes.”

  “So? Hockey guys are huge. It’s perfect.”

  The deep V of the neckline falls far enough to reveal my considerable cleavage, and I tug at it until she pops my hands. “Just leave it. You look like a siren.”

  I twirl around. “If I bend over, my ass is going to show.”

  “Don’t bend over.”

  “Or do bend over,” Taylor says slyly from his spot on my bed. “Get you a little something when no one is looking.”

  I shake my head at them both.

  Taylor applies a thin coat of mascara to his lashes, snaps the mirror closed, and gives me a long look. “Honestly, I know you hate dresses, but you look good enough to eat.”

  “It’s because I’m so dang tall. Nothing looks right on me, so I just stick with leggings or skinny jeans.”

  “Leggings should be outlawed. Just wait until you get that law degree and get a nice job—then you can get your dresses tailored.”

  Poppy plops down in the beanbag chair underneath my window, crossing her legs in the air and swishing her feet back and forth. She sends a disdainful look around my dorm room. “I feel horrible you have to live here. I would have loved to be your roomie, but we all assumed you and Bennett…” She shrugs. “Sorry.”

  “Where is Julia anyway?” Taylor asks.

  “I rarely see her so I assume she’s staying over with someone.”

  I touch my hair, which I curled into soft beach waves that brush against my shoulders. My eyes are accentuated with shimmering grey shadow, and the lids are lined in black eyeliner. I inhale a deep breath.

  “I’m nervous,” I say, putting on more Bad Girl wine-colored lipstick.

  “What’s one party? Just picture yourself in law school next fall, learning all that lawyery stuff,” Taylor says.

  “Those classes will be hard, I assure you.”

  He waves me off. “Why, you’ll be just like Elle Woods in Legally Blonde. All you need is a cute little puppy and a friend who’s a manicurist to teach you how to bend and snap.” He stands and demonstrates. “Bend and snap! See? Easy peasy.”

  I’m outright giggling. “Dude, I can’t even bend over.”

  After picking up some donuts, I drive to Z’s, and I have a hard time finding a parking place. I end up on the side of the road one block over, and I curse myself for not agreeing to let Z come pick me up. While it was kind of him to offer when he texted me today, I like knowing I can leave when I want to.

  The house is lit up as I turn the corner, shivering from the gust of cold wind as I cross my arms over my North Face.

  Finally at his house, I walk up the sidewalk and open the door. It’s loud inside with music blaring over a sound system that I can’t see. Happy Birthday Eric! is written on a gold banner strung up on the wall near the staircase, and black and gold balloons float around the room.

  There’s a coat rack overflowing with jackets, so I fold mine up and tuck it neatly inside the hall closet. “Stay safe, Coat.”

  I feel exposed in my dress, as if I’m on display. Several girls are huddled in a pile on the couch in the den, and I search their faces for anyone familiar I might know, but it’s pointless. I don’t know these people. One of the girls turns around to get a look at me, and my eyes narrow. Veronica. She sniffs, turns her nose up, and whispers to one of the other girls.

  I’m almost to the kitchen when she gets up and cuts me off, giving me an overly bright smile.

  I blink. “Hi?”

  Dressed in a slinky black pantsuit with a silver sash around the middle, she looks sophisticated and snooty. She’s wearing her I smell something bad expression.

  She arches a brow and looks down at the donuts.

  “They’re for Eric.”

  “I see. How thoughtful. I’ll take them and put them on the food table,” she says, pulling them from my grasp.

  “Okay.” Whatever. I let them go. I’m sure at some point, Eric will see them, and I feel awkward carrying them around in the crowded house anyway.

  I go to step around her but she moves in front of me.

  “Yes?”

  She gives me a condescending smile, her eyes running from the top of my hair down to my shoes. “Just wanted to tell you to enjoy yourself tonight. After all, who knows how much longer you’ll be with Z. He tends to go through girls on a regular basis.”

  She doesn’t know about the agreement we made, and I’m glad.

  I bat my lashes, playing her game just as well as she does. I know her type. She can’t have Z, and she doesn’t want anyone else to get him either. “Oh, I know. Thanks for reminding me that he’s quite the player. And his one-month deal? Suits me just fine. Bye now.”

  Then I’m shoving past her and into the packed kitchen. There’s a makeshift bar set up on the table, and a girl wearing one of the player’s jersey is pouring drinks for everyone. Easing in between people, I grab a glass of punch and pretend to drink. Someone jostles into me from the side and some of it sloshes out of the cup, splattering down my dress.

  I glance up, but whoever it was has already gotten away. I exhale, trying to wipe at the fabric. At least the dress is a dark burgundy color so it doesn’t show up.

  “I’m already regretting this,” I mutter to myself.

  Eric appears at my side, his hair tousled as if someone’s had their hands in it. He picks me up and twirls me around as much as he can. “You came! I told Z you’d chicken out.” He leans down conspiratorially. “Did you bring me a gift? If not, that’s totally fine since we told everyone no gifts, and I’ll take a little kiss instead.” He points to his cheek. “Right here will do just fine.”

  I brush my lips against his skin and step back. “I brought donuts, but Veronica confiscated them.”

  His eyes go around the room as if looking for someone. He shakes his head at me. “Ah, man, Z must have it bad for you.”

  “Why do you say that?” I ask, sipping my drink, doing my best to relax and blend in.

  “Because he’s staring at us right now.” He grins, a bit maniacally. “I love it when he gets riled up—which doesn’t happen much when it comes to girls.”

  I look around the room. “Where?”

  Eric wiggles his eyebrows and tilts his head toward the stairs. “Up on the ledge. I guarantee he saw you when you first came in, and I’m dashing before he kicks my ass.” He goes to leave but turns back around, his face serious. “Also, don’t hurt him, okay? I’m not sure he can take it.”

  How would I hurt him?

  “He’s the one with a girl of the month,” I say.

  Eric winces. “Is he really? That’s mostly gossip, you know, and I don’t know of any girl who has a bad word to say about him—other than maybe Veronica on a bad day—so that pretty much clears that up.” He continues, lowering his voice. “He’s just got a lot going on with hockey. We didn’t win a championship last year, and it’s important to him that we do this year.”

  I nod, seeing the slightly worried, earnest expression on his face. “Okay.”

  And then he’s off, his head bobbing through the crowd as he makes his way to the back door where people are spilling out onto the deck.

  I turn and look for Zack on the steps, my eyes going up to the top of the staircase, and there he is, his face in a bit of a scowl. Wearing a pair of low-slung jeans and a tight black shirt with the HU Lions logo on the sleeve, he draws the eye—straight to his muscled chest and those rock-hard abs below it. He motions with his head for me to come to him.

  You come to me, my eyes say, and his nose flares.

  Even though I know he’s annoyed, even that small action makes my heart jump. He’s like dynamite, and I never know what’s going to set him off.

  Why do I like it?

  I lift my shoulders in a nonchalant shrug and take a sip
of my drink.

  He exhales a breath and eases down the stairs, pushing past the people who’ve taken up residence there. A girl calls his name and while he gives her a smile, I know it isn’t real, because I’ve seen his real smiles. He keeps moving, coming down, and I eat him up. What man has the right to look that damn good? Lithe and graceful, he jumps the last three steps and lands at the bottom, and never once has he taken his gaze off me. I swallow. It’s intimidating to be the center of his undivided attention, and I wonder if all his girlfriends get this treatment. There’s an earthy, dominant warrior quality to him, one that calls to the softness in me. He’s confident and has purpose, and shit, he wants me. I know it in the way he can’t take his eyes off me.

  I count the seconds it takes for him to cross the room. One, two, three, four, five and here he is. I try to speak—even a hello would do—but nothing comes out.

  Why does he make me so tongue-tied?

  “About time you got here,” he says in a gruff voice.

  18

  Zack

  My cock gets hard the second she walks in the door, her face uncertain as she looks for a place to stash her coat. I’ve never known someone who was so attached to a coat. Maybe it’s a Southern thing. It makes me want to dig deeper into her past, into her family and figure out who she really is.

  Her dress blows my mind, tight and short and hugging her tits.

  The entire day I’ve been itching to see her, and my eyes follow her, taking in the long legs and the way her blonde hair spills down her back.

  My hand is shaky as I stick it in my pocket. I want her. I fucking want her and it has shit to do with any resemblance. She ticks all my boxes. She’s introverted and awkward and funny—everything I didn’t know I liked—and her luscious lips with that indentation on the bottom are made for kissing me.

  My breathing deepens, watching her face as she speaks to Veronica, and the male in me wants to jump over this railing and get between them. Something in her expression makes me pause, though, and I watch as she handles Veronica with a smirk on her face. Good job, babe. I smile as she flips around and flounces into the kitchen, ass swinging. Veronica glares after her, color rising on her cheeks.