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My hand stays firmly planted on her ass inside her pants, and after we lay in languid glory for several minutes without saying a word, I dare to slip my fingers along her curves again, testing the swollen folds of her clit. Finding her wet and moaning at my touch, I slip inside her again, this time making her beg for the ultimate relief.
Chapter13
Morgan
Ifeel pretty today.
I have not felt pretty for a long time. And by my old standards, I would never have considered taking a photo to mark this occasion, which is basically no occasion at all, whatsoever. Yet, I very much want to mark this occasion.
The sky is blue behind me, speckled with cotton-like clouds, and there’s a crispness to the air that reminds me of those times when I was young and my mother warned it was about to snow. The chill delights me, kisses my cheeks red, and tickles my ears. I pull my knit hat lower to cover them and wrap my knit scarf around my neck one more time before holding my phone out in front of me and snapping a selfie. I mark it as a favorite and save it to a folder on my phone that I simply title ME.
Alone with my laptop and my earbuds and a playlist I haven’t cracked open in months, I hike down by the river, where Cameron and his friends usually smoke weed at night. I like to come here in the afternoons, or at least I used to. This is where I get my reading done for class, and today, it’s where I intend to knock out a five-page paper on colonialism that’s due by midnight.
Thing is, I’m not even panicked about it. I feel capable of pulling off miracles, and I know it’s because meeting James has changed me. I’ve never felt more okay sharing my insecurities with someone. Not even last year when I sought out Coach Wallace to help me dig my way out of depression. I told him about my lows, but not the lowest of them. But with James? I don’t feel this need to hold back. I want to tell him about my struggles, about what happened with Coach Wallace and the ugly rumors that swirled around his departure.
I want to share the good things with him too. Especially after he took me to a place that was so important to him two nights ago. I could have sat in that truck with him forever, and yes, there are many pleasurable reasons driving this feeling. But even if all we did was talk. I could watch those cranes work and listen and share with him for hours. I want to give him a piece of me like that. Maybe a trip to my grandparents’ old cottage on the cape that goes terribly unused and is basically this abandoned bargaining chip between my parents. It belonged to my mother’s parents, but the deed is now part of the company.Everythingis part of the company. That’s how my dad controls the pieces—aka us. Taking James there would change all of that, like bringing an old black and white memory into color.
That’s what he is. He’s the color.
Setting my backpack down on one end of the old wooden riverside bench, I straddle the other to create a makeshift desk for myself so I can get to work. I manage to knock out a page and a half of my essay without struggle before the buzz of my phone distracts me. I don’t pull it from my bag to look right away because if it’s another message from my mom telling me I’m hurting her feelings by not picking up, I might toss the phone into the river. It’s not exactly my mother’s best time of day, though. This is her social time, and as much as she wants to assuage her guilt of setting me up, she also does not want to miss drinks with the ladies and gossip for days.
Giving in, I pull my phone out to see a text from James. He must have sent it right before practice, and I love that he’s thinking of me. I haven’t seen him since he drove us back to campus and walked me to my dorm room. We’ve texted a lot, though. He’s committing every extra hour to football, determined to not let Toby show him up ever again. I wish I could make him believe that the rest of the world knows Toby is a permanent shadow. But James isn’t from my world. There is literally nothing he could have done to prevent the special treatment headed Toby’s way. It’s a grotesque birthright, bought and paid for with endowments and copper plaques with last names on them attached to buildings all over this state. Yet I love that James still wants to try.
I read his text.
JAMES:Sorry we didn’t get to talk yesterday or much today. But I am thinking about you. Constantly.
I suck in my lip and my heart swells like a giddy schoolgirl. I suppose that’s exactly what I am. I send him back the photo I took of myself then tack on a message.
ME:I’ve decided I am no longer posting to social media. I’m posting to you. Thanks for the smile today.
It’s cheesy, but I send it anyway because it’s also true. When he doesn’t write back immediately, I tuck my phone away. He’s probably at practice; I can hear the whistles in the distance.
I finish cranking out my essay, maybe cheating a little with the font size and margins to get to five pages, but done is done. I spend another hour looking through my old files for photos of Anika. Lily is writing a piece on her for the magazine she’s interning at. They were trying to get her to write about herself and life as a competitive swimmer post-tragedy. But she’s turning the tables and handing in a story about what an inspiration Anika was to her—to all of us. Brooklyn and I helped her piece some things together last night, and when the story’s complete, she’s crediting Theo with the byline. I’m not so sure he deserves it, but maybe none of us deserve the kind things Lily does for us. All I know is he better not be a jerk about it. I like them together, and I still owe Lily for my life. If I have to throat punch that boy to make good on things, I will.
With the sun setting, I power down my laptop and pack up it up so I can head inside. I tucked my gym clothes in the side compartment on the off chance I felt up to working out.That’s inner-voice code for if I was in the mood to accidentally-on-purpose run into James when the team heads inside.Noticing the guys circling up to end practice, I decide I am in that mood, so I head toward the fieldhouse so I can change and maybe get lucky with my timing.
When I reach the door, I pull my backpack from my shoulder and press the side where my wallet is against the security pad. It’s after hours, which means nobody is at the desk working, so I need to beep myself in with my ID badge. The scanner doesn’t seem to register no matter which way I turn my bag, so I drop it at my feet and dig inside to see if maybe I left my wallet in the room. I haven’t used it all day, so I wouldn’t have noticed until now.
That theory is quickly proven wrong as my wallet spills out of my side zipper pocket. I flip it open and check the other pockets when I don’t see my ID behind my license where it usually is. It’s bigger than a credit card, so it should be easy to spot, but I look behind every card because now I’m freaking out. I can’t find it.
It’s not the end of the world, but getting a new one means I’ll have to fill out a form and accept a detention for causing a security risk. Someone, meaning Cameron, stole a bunch of freshmen badges last year and used them to break into the computer lab and hack the system to allow porn. And to make sure the porn auto-played as soon as the projector was turned on. He also went and adjusted the volume in the computer lab, linking the sound system to the school intercom so the heavy moans that greeted that class on a Monday morning were experienced by all. I’ll admit it was pretty funny at the time, but now that I can’t find my ID badge and might have to spend an entire day in the headmaster’s office while watching bad videos about the importance of school security rules, I’m less amused.
Giving up hope that it’s in my bag, I shovel my wallet and the items I’ve taken out of my bag on my fruitless search back inside and hoist the heavy pack up on my shoulder. The team is marching up the hill anyhow, so I’ll simply head inside with them.
I spot James easily, both because of his height and because I may have my sonar trained on him. I hold up a hand, waving, but he must not see me. He’s talking with his dad and another man in a blue polo shirt. I can’t make out the logo, but he may be from a university. Toby is in that mix too, him and James on opposite sides as they approach, and the closer they get the easier it is to make out the strained smiles both of them are sporting. Guys can be as catty as girls, I swear.
Steps from the door, Coach pulls his hat from his head before looking me in the eyes. I can’t tell if he’s pissed because of something the guy next to him said, or he harbors hostility from something that went down at practice, or a third thing that I hope isn’t the case—that he simply doesn’t like me. This disapproving dent on his forehead only gets deeper as he steps to the door.
“Can I help you?” His question is jarring, and I find myself unable to speak.
“Hey, Morgan. How are you?” Toby says, stepping up next to me. James doesn’t even shift his gaze from its position straight ahead.What the fuck?
“I . . . need someone to let me in?” I don’t know why my response comes out as a weak-ass question, but all of my confidence from the last two days drains out of me in seconds.
“Where’s your badge?” Coach Fuentes asks. He unclips his from his belt and holds it to the security pad until it beeps. One of the other players tugs the door open behind him, and everyone files in, including James who glances my way and nods. My face lights up, ready for him to speak, but words never leave his lips.
“Your badge?” James’s dad leans to the side a tick, blocking my view of his son.
