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“In a crop top,” he adds.
“Oh Jesus.” My eyes flutter shut and my face is instantly hot.
“Don’t worry. You were impressive holding down. Or, I guess, holding it up, considering your position.”
I groan at his cleverness and my reality then bury my face in my palm.
“Thank you for rescuing me from myself.” I can only say that to him without facing him. And for some reason, he doesn’t seem anxious to throw an “I told you so” at me this morning. He’d have every right. Especially after that remark I made about pushing him to play drinking games. I don’t even like drinking games. That was not cool of me. Not at all.
Cutter turns the music on, and when I hear Pink coming out of his speakers, I give him a sideways grin.
“You do that for me?” I ask.
“Uh, sorta?”
I quirk a brow.
“You synced our playlists. No, scratch that, you took over my playlists, which are now yours. So pretty much this is all I’ve got.” His lip curls up and he does his best to match Pink’s pitch. He’s not even close, but it’s kind of cute to watch him try.
He entertains me with his terrible voice but odd knowledge of female power lyrics all the way to campus. I hop out near the gym door, thirty minutes early too. I hold on to the Jeep’s door for a few extra seconds and muster the courage to look him in the eyes. When I lift my gaze, he’s casually resting on his steering wheel, arms crossed, hat backward, wet strands of hair dripping down his neck from his rushed shower. The back of his T-shirt is soaked.
“Cutter, I?—”
“Don’t mention it,” he breaks in. He gives me a wink then drives away, and I let myself have this tiny moment of weakness and admit that yeah, I like him more than a little.
I’m first to practice, arriving a few minutes before Coach, so I get some good facetime with her to prove that I’m a team player. That I’m willing to be a middle if that’s what it takes.
“It’s been a while since I’ve blocked here, and I’m not the tallest on our team, so what can I do to maximize what I’ve got?” I step to the center of the net and hold my arms up then glance over my shoulder where Coach Kane is watching with the clipboard held to her chest.
“Laney, you know you’re the most talented even if you’re not the tallest, right? Using you here, it’s not about you.”
My lips buzz with adrenaline. I wasn’t expecting to hear her say that, but I needed it more than I realized. And I knew I needed it bad.
“I know,” I say, and we both know that’s as close to “thank you” as I’m going to give.
Coach lets out a breathy laugh then steps up to my side and nudges the toe of my shoe with hers, pinching my feet in a little inward. “I want you to feel uncomfortable for a minute. Find your balance, even like this. You have to be ready to pivot and jump at all times. You’re used to blocking in two spots. Now you have three. And inches or not, your reach wins every time. I’ve watched the video. You have the highest vertical on the team. We don’t block with our heads while we stand still, Laney. We block with these.”
She squeezes my wrist with a bit of force then wraps her other hand around my bicep, showing me how to keep my arm firm. Our eyes meet, and I search behind hers for any hint that she’s feeding me a line or being straight. Her hard expression doesn’t mince meaning. This is my position now, and she intends to have me win every battle here.
“Let’s run a few blocking drills before everyone gets here. What do you say?”
“Yes, Coach.”
And suddenly my head isn’t throbbing as much as it was a minute ago.
Three hoursof non-stop blocking and practicing slides and quicks has depleted me of all liquid. I bailed on myconstitutional law class because the professor posts the lectures after she’s done. I would have been useless anyhow because the minute I stepped into the bedroom after walking home, I lost all awareness of the world at large. I don’t even remember my face hitting the pillow, but apparently I made it to the bed. And now, six hours later, there’s a definite layer of crust on my face from sleeping hard.
I shower to force myself to reset mentally and physically, even though the sun is about to set. I’m going to have to listen to the class I missed, so I need to be as alert as possible. I texted Cutter that I was heading home while I was walking so he wouldn’t worry about giving me a lift after classes.
So he wouldn’t worry.
Now rested, I read the message I sent him and feel an anxious twist in the center of my chest. It’s as if a bowling ball is sitting right between my ribs making it hard to breathe and uncomfortable to swallow. Cutter simply sent a thumbs up back. And that should be fine with me. Yet, I wish he had said more. I think I’m caring too much about what Cutter McCreary thinks, and I don’t like how vulnerable that makes me feel. I never would have cared if Cam responded to a status update. However, Cam was an over-responder. He would have called to check on me. But it was never quite really to make sureIwas alright. It would have been checking to make sure I wasn’t sick, that he shouldn’t sleep on the couch, or more likely movemeto the couch. No spreading of the germs and all that. Practical Cam.
It’s like my mom has a neuron alert for my brain because the moment I begin mentally comparing Cutter to Cam she calls. I consider for a brief few seconds letting her go to voicemail, but that won’t stop her from calling a second or third time. And if I skip those, she’ll move right to the video call feature. I should have never let her know that those come to both my phone and computer.
I close my eyes and let out a heavy breath, imagining all of the toxic feelings flying away from me.
“Hi Mom.” I sit on the edge of the bed a hold the phone between my shoulder and ear while I rub lotion into my legs.
