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Trick Play
Trick Play 1
MAGNOLIA
“Doyouknowhow long I’ve waited to do this?” His lips come back down to mine in a searing and unforgiving kiss as my knees faithlessly threaten to give out from underneath me.
Asher Clark, the most popular entity in all of Bisbee, the star quarterback, the golden boy of the whole town, is making out with me in the school library when I’m supposed to be tutoring him.
Me.
They had to beg me to do this. The whole town ate up the upcoming weeks of the rival game against Camden, to which everyone and their mom politely harassed me about offering Asher some extra help. I’ve had flowers given to me on the street, my breakfast paid for at the only diner here, my groceries picked up, and so many pies have been made for me, I don’t know what to do with them all.
Dad loves it. Having a daughter with so-called smarts and wit that can assist the town’s most important celebrity. Football is what this town lives and breathes consistently and habitually. It’s a religion and if you don’t believe in it, you’re an outsider.
A weirdo.
Someone who’s looked upon as a traitor, almost.
Me, I know the game, I’m just not in love with it. I’m not obsessed with counting down the weeks until any big game or creating poster boards with glitter and pom-poms. I’ll wear Northview t-shirt, sometimes I’ll get crazy and put a red bow in my ponytail. However, I do not live, breathe and fully consume myself with the sport.
Thankfully, Dad is known as a legend in himself, so I somewhat get a free pass, but I’m still asked questions about which one of my dad’s games are my favorite.
Like I was alive during that time.
“Asher,” I embarrassingly whimper against his lips. “We need to study.”
“We do,” he agrees, but still keeps me pressed into the stack of books behind me, the wooden shelves currently digging into my shoulder blades. “I need to study every inch of what I’ve been missing since I was in third grade and started liking girls. Since I began liking you, Mags. Since you finally dumped that fucking loser.”
My brain registers how I shouldn’t be doing this. That it’s too soon after breaking up with Harrison to be kissing anyone, let alone his rival, Asher. They’re both on the same team, but have hated each other ever since I can remember. Everyone knows it, just the why behind it isn’t very clear, though. Some say it’s because Asher stole a girl from Harrison before. Others say Harrison broke Asher’s younger sister’s heart.
Regardless of the reason, I’m supposed to be tutoring Asher in History, not in how good our lips feel mangled together in the confines of a quiet library, with other students only yards away from us.
Breaking from his mouth, I turn my head away to grapple at some well-needed air. Meanwhile, Asher takes it as an opportunity to latch his perfect set of full lips over the column of my throat and suck.
“Asher, please,” I mutter, as his tongue rides up my sensitive skin and clasps around it as if he’s desperate for me. “We have to stop.”
“Let me take you out on a date, then. And then you can teach me whatever you want.”
“I…”
“And on our date, Burrows”—his soft mouth wraps around an already warmed piece of skin, caused by him and his blasted kisses, as he gives the sensitive area one long wisp of his tongue, influencing my legs to clamp together tightly— “I can teach you a few things. Because I’ve been dying to show you what I’m good at since you broke up with me.”
In seventh grade.
We dated for two weeks before I noticed him edging on the way of liking the basketball cheerleaders over my love of painting and old movies. And, to save myself the future heartache and embarrassment of him breaking up with me, I stated it wasn’t going to work and that Jennifer Byers liked him.
She did, so I didn’t lie about that. But it was to get him to focus on something else besides trying to convince him of my decision.
That, or because I literally said I didn’t want to be his girlfriend and ran away. I added the Jennifer part about a good five yards from him.
“I can’t go on a date with you,” I reply, surprised that I have the strength to deny him. To even say that I’d rather not.
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t want to.” Asher removes himself from my neck and curls his head around to face me.
Obscenely translucid blue eyes stare back at me, vibrant and bright off his tanned skin. His mahogany brown hair is a perfect mess with a slight curl to it and those high-risk lips beg for me to just let them have their way with me.
