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But neither of us wants my dad to know how wedidmeet.
Maybe we could have told a white lie of omission, explaining that we met at a Halloween party last October and just leavea lotof details out.
But now we’re locked into the lie.
Is it wrong that I feel a tingle of excitement over the fact that we’re sharing a lie together?
Easy answer: yes.
“Nice game,” I say.
“Thanks. We, uh … played to win.” Our stilted, awkward dialogue, not to mention Liam’s thin and strained smile, make it clear we’re both feeling the same tension.
What makes this worse is that as each second goes by, I feel the memories of that Halloween night with more and more intensity.
When I look at his large, veiny hands hanging by his side, I remember them wrapped tight around my hair, pulling my head back.
When I look at his broad shoulders, I remember digging my fingertips into the corded muscles while he kissed me.
When I look at his lips, I remember them on my tits when he pushed my shirt up and pulled my bra down, ravenous with greedy lust.
“You boys make sure you take it easy tonight,” Dad says to him, his voice pulling me out of my thoughts.
Liam nods. “Of course, sir. Just getting dinner and then heading to bed early.”
My dad chuckles. “I don’t know how much I believe that last part. Just remember that we have an away game this weekend, and we want to keep this winning streak going.”
“Of course, sir,” Liam replies.
Liam walks past us and out the door. Once he’s gone, I realize how much my body is burning up from being in his presence, and I’m eager to get into the crisp winter air to cool down.
“Hungry?” Dad asks, turning towards me.
I nod, straining to push all thoughts of Liam from mind. “Yeah, Dad. Let’s go get something to eat.”
* * *
“Zoey,I think you need to get laid.”
“Not this again,” I grumble.
Kayla stops mid-stride as we’re talking across campus to our next classes. She grabs me by the jacket, stopping me as well and turning me towards her.
“Remember what happened last time you took my advice on this front,” she admonishes me.
Yeah, I remember what happened last time. I ended up getting bent over a club closet by a guy who proceeded to never text me back, and then ended up being a player on my dad’s hockey team.
“I can see from how your cheeks suddenly got rosy that you do remember,” Kayla says, her voice laden in snarky triumph.
I take a deep breath and let it out in a long, morose sigh. “Yeah, but that came with its own set of challenges.”
“You mean him not texting you back?” Kayla asks.
Obviously, I told Kayla about my hookup with Liam that night, and that we exchanged numbers. When she followed up later and asked if he ever texted me back, I just told her he hadn’t, trying not to betray how I felt about it.
But now there’s a whole new level of complexity weighing down what should be a good memory.
It’s been two days since I found out Liam was a player on my dad’s team after Wednesday’s home game. I haven’t told Kayla yet.
