Page 10 of Jocked Up

I was up around ten and had a shower before I called him. I danced into the bathroom and sang along to some of my favorite songs as the hot water of my shower eased some of my sore muscles. Even the aches in my body couldn’t dampen my smile today! In fact, I was kind of proud of those sore muscles, I knew why they hurt!

By the time I finished I knew Drake would soon be coming over. Going into the bedroom I picked up my phone to see he’d texted me. A slight damper when I saw he was going to be late but I dialed his number with a smile anyway. He’d be over later.

“Hello?” The phone rang for a few moments before it was finally answered. The snotty sounding female voice on the other end didn’t send out vibes of delight. She sounded peeved actually.

“Oh sorry, I was trying to call Drake. I must have dialed the wrong number.”

“Oh no, you got Drake, who are you?” The voice was snappish and mean sounding.

“I’m Bethany. Who are you?” A cold sensation was starting to run through my veins as I wondered who this cow was.

“I’m Drake’s fiancée and if you know what’s good for you lady, you won’t call back. I know who you are, that little waif from the hometown, am I right? You’re just a distraction, honey. I’m here now, don’t call back.” The cruel voice on the other end of the line had just ruined my day, maybe even my life. I didn’t bother with a reply, I just hung up.

I wouldn’t let myself cry, I would not. I stamped down on the urge to throw my phone, to smash up my house, and to drive over and punch Drake in the nuts. That was it, that was his last chance! I’d known better, I’d let myself get close to him once more and got burned.

“Oh, he’s changed.” I said out loud in an ugly voice. “He’s grown up. Give him a chance. Well, he can just…” I glared down at my phone as it began to ring. Drake.

I blocked his number from my phone and went to find food. Grabbing my keys, I decided this was going to need beignets and lots of chocolate. Lots of it.

* * *

“Bethany, what about this? Oh my, do you remember when we bought these?” Amelia held up two t-shirts, both day-glo orange that lost their color when touched by a palm. The effect wasn’t so apparent now and one had a hole near the hem but we’d saved up for them and worn them every chance we got as teenagers.

“Oh, we can’t get rid of those, surely. They’re part of history.” I took the shirts, holding them to my face. It had been two weeks since I’d made that phone call and I was dealing with it well. I’d stopped eating an entire chocolate cake a day anyway. Peter would be home next week and I’d have full days again, running him around, and my volunteering.

Staying busy was distracting for me at this stage and so Amelia and I were up in my attic, going through old boxes to see what we could get rid of. I spotted the computer my father had insisted I take to college with me. Now a dinosaur, I didn’t even want to think about trying to carry the unit or the monitor downstairs. I expect there are quite a few hidden in attics just for that very reason; people just don’t want to carry them outside. Dad had bought it for me from a second-hand shop, proud that he was sending his girl off to college with a computer, even if it was already all but obsolete. I’d spent more time in the library using theirs than in my dorm room using this one but I’d never tell him that.

Sighing, I watched as Amelia stood, looking out of the small window.

“The sun’s going down honey, I’d best get home.” She gave me a peck on the cheek and a hug, looking closely at me. “I really don’t know what’s going on with you but I wish you’d tell me.”

I hadn’t told her about the date with Drake or how I’d found out about his fiancée. She hadn’t mentioned it either so I guess it was all being kept quiet or else she didn’t know. I hugged my friend and moved back, not wanting too much comfort or I might crack and start sobbing.

“It’s just a midlife crisis or something. I’ll be fine, I promise.” I couldn’t talk to her about it, she’d encouraged me to go out with Drake, after all, had promised he’d changed. Obviously, she didn’t know about the other woman, or that I’d become the other woman. She didn’t know he was the same young boy we’d known so long ago.

Amelia fin ally left me in peace and I made my way over to the one box I’d hidden from her. It had my diary in it, my notes, the pictures I’d surreptitiously taken, printed out, and slid into my pillow each night when we were all teenagers and living in the same home. I’d been such a sad little dork.

I’d been even sadder thinking Drake might actually be interested in more than sex for the sake of sex, just like the last time. I put the box away and sat staring out of the window. I couldn’t go into the living room now but I’d had to force myself into my bedroom. Such sweet memories. I’d almost thought there was an emotional connection there, something being kindled and shared between us but one phone call had changed all of that.

The woman had sounded like one of those expensive kinds, amazing how you could tell that just from her voice and the way she spoke but yeah, I was picturing fake nails, fake boobs, and probably a ton of makeup. A tiny little waist with a store-bought tan would complete the ensemble. No, wait, six-inch spiky heels and a tiny top would. Yep, that’s what I was picturing.

Not better than me, just more suitable to the lifestyle of an NFL star. I wasn’t meant for the limelight anyway, I hated showing off. But I didn’t mind being naked, and I know I’d done things for Drake in bed that had made his toes curl. Not weird desperate things just touched him in ways a woman apparently never had, or so his reaction and words told me.

I’d honestly thought it was the beginning of a really beautiful relationship. The looks we’d shared, that understanding, the way we’d moved together, surely that was more than just lust? That wasn’t about just getting off! And the way he’d been so determined to satisfy, so diligent in making sure he’d explored every inch of me. That wasn’t just a moment of passion. I’d thought the same thing at eighteen though and fooled myself into thinking it again now. Obviously, the feelings had not been mutual.

I don’t know exactly when my feelings for Drake turned from amused derision to total infatuation. Probably that time I found him in his room when I’d been sent up to fetch him for dinner. He’d been going through a file on his computer, pictures of his dad, and he’d had tears in his eyes. He’d quickly brushed them away of course and shot past me to the bathroom, teasing me about my hair as he went. A little part of my heart had melted.

I hated football, something I never really admitted to anyone, but I came to see that his dedication to the game, his total fascination was a way of getting past his pain, of connecting with the man that was no longer there to coach his son. There’d been other moments, moments when he’d made me laugh; others that had brought tears to my eyes, but all had joined to create this adoration and love that I still carried with me. Because beneath that callous exterior, beneath the selfishness that drove him to use me, there was a hurt little boy. One that I could never give in to again, but still, a hurt little boy.

It was taking a while to get over the whole thing but instead of giving in to the urge to order Chinese delivery with a gallon of chocolate daiquiris and an ice cream Sunday or three I changed clothes, put on some trainers, and went out for a run. Only an occasional thing now, running used to be an outlet for me, a way to work off emotions as well as excess energy. When I started work, and after Peter came along, the running had slowed down to almost non-existence but I needed it now. I needed to run off the hurt.

* * *

Drake loaded up his truck and headed out to the football field of the local high school. The junior football team he was coaching had needed new uniforms and some new equipment; he’d bought everything they needed. Football had been his escape, his savior when his father was killed and his whole life changed, he wanted to give back.

As he drove into the facility he remembered his days on the same field and the way he’d been taken under the coach’s wing when his mom moved them there. He’d been moved into a house with a man he didn’t know and a girl aching over the loss of her mother. At the time, he’d just thought she was awkward and weird but pretty, in an emo sort of way. Not his style but whatever. It had been football that kept his mind off of her most of the time, and off the pain of missing his dad.

He hadn’t planned on sleeping with Bethany the night of her graduation. He’d been young, selfish, and there had been far too many moments of keen awareness, of signals he was only just learning to interpret. She’d found him sitting alone in the backyard, the party going on in the front almost deafening. They’d walked out to her old tree house, climbing up to it as if they’d both made a decision to a question that was never asked aloud.