Текст книги "Perfectly Damaged"
Автор книги: E. L. Montes
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Текущая страница: 8 (всего у книги 20 страниц)
chapter 11
Logan
Seriously? It’s six in the morning. I don’t even get up this early for work, let alone on a fucking Saturday. This sucks balls. I grumble out of bed, head for the kitchen, and grab a bottle of water. I almost choke on it. I’m never drinking again. Never. The fuck. Again. My body can’t handle hangovers as well as it did in my early twenties. I toss the empty bottle of water, completely missing the overloaded bin filled with empty beer bottles. Oh well. I need more water. Opening the fridge again, I twist the cap off the second bottle and guzzle it down.
After Jenna left me on the dock last night, I pretty much chugged the rest of the beers, hung out for a bit, then called it quits. Well, I called it quits after Santino forced me to take a few shots with him. Then he called me a pussy for calling it a night so early. But I was tired as hell, and tonight will be the party of all parties. Last night was just a warm-up.
Which reminds me. Jenna was acting kind of weird last night. Weirder than usual. I don’t even know how to get through to her. She must be strangely uninterested in me—or a lesbian. For my ego’s sake, I hope it’s the latter.
The back screen door squeaks as it’s hurled open and closed. Bryson walks in from the deck with his headphones plugged into his ears, sweating and panting. I’m sure he’s coming back from his early run. He’s committed to that shit. Every morning, seven days a week. He never misses a morning. Don’t get me wrong, I work out, but it’s always in the evening. Like I said before, this early morning shit is not my thing.
He looks over at me. “Hey!” he shouts over the music blasting in his ears. I lift my hand, gesturing him to lower his voice. He removes the plugs. “My bad.”
“It’s cool. Happy birthday, man.” I walk over, lifting my fist in front of me.
He taps a closed fist to mine. “Thanks. Tonight’s gonna be wild. I think there’s gonna be over fifty people here.”
Fifty people is a lot for our parties. We usually keep it low-key and to a maximum of thirty. “That’s cool,” I say. “You need me to pick anything up for tonight or you think we got it all covered?” I ask. I’m pretty much up, so I reach for the already brewed pot of coffee and pour myself a cup.
“Nope. We have plenty of burgers, ribs, and chicken for the grill. I think we have enough beer and liquor to last the entire summer.” He laughs, but I know he’s probably right. The entire shed is stacked with cases of beer.
“Cool.”
Still trying to catch his breath, he asks, “What are you doing up this early?”
I gulp down half the coffee. “Pfft. I wish I knew. But I was out early last night, so that may be it.”
“Ah.” He nods.
“What?”
“I didn’t say anything,” he says, raising his hands.
“You didn’t have to. Your face says it all. What?”
He grabs a bottle of water from the fridge. “I thought maybe you were keeping tabs on Jenna.” What is that supposed to mean? “You know, since she’s outside and all.” He nudges his head toward the door.
I look out the window above the sink and scan the outside. I don’t see anyone on the deck or the dock by the lake. Then my eyes catch movement by a large tree on the left side. She’s on the bench swing. By herself. “What does her being outside have to do with me?” I look back at Bryson, who’s slowly backing away into the living area.
“I don’t know. Go and talk to her.”
“I did. Last night. And she doesn’t seem interested. And you seem kind of pushy. What happened to not flirting with our clients?” I shrug it off as no big deal. “Why are you smiling like that?”
“Well, I had a little talk with her this morning. She seemed very interested in you. She couldn’t stop asking questions.”
“Really?”
“Now who’s smiling?” he asks.
“Dick.” I look back out the window. “Maybe I can take her out a cup of coffee.”
“Nope. She doesn’t drink coffee.”
“Does she drink orange juice?” I ask, facing him again.
“How the hell should I know? I need to shower. Peace.” He flashes two fingers, turns, and then jogs up the stairs.
I don’t know why, but Jenna seems different than the girls I’ve always interacted with. Girls I’ve pursued in the past never pushed me away. They’ve always been pretty flirty, willing. Jenna is distant, shy, and keeps to herself. Sometimes, if a girl is worth it, I kind of like the chase. I’m curious to find out about her, to slowly break through her defenses, in a non-stalkerish, friendly kind of way. I’m not sure that even makes sense. But I’m damn well gonna try.
“Well, isn’t this your lucky morning.” I announce as I approach her.
She slowly crooks her neck to look up at me. “How so?” Well, at least she’s not pushing me away. Yet.
“May I?” I point at the empty space beside her. She nods. I sit down, stabbing a foot to the ground to give us more of a push on the swing. “I brought this for you.” She takes the red Solo cup filled with OJ.
“This isn’t spiked, is it?” she teases, but something tells me it’s a serious question.
“There’s only one way to find out.” She lifts the cup to the tip of her nose and takes a sniff. I laugh. “I’m joking. It’s pure orange juice with some pulp.” She flashes me a sly grin, then takes a sip. After the first taste, she downs the rest of it. “Whoa. Take it easy there, killer. You don’t want to OD on pulp.”
“Funny,” Jenna says. Then she looks back at the lake. “It’s peaceful here.” She breathes in deeply. “It feels easy.”
Easy sounds like the wrong word choice, but I encourage her to go on. “Yeah? Easy how?”
She leans back, getting comfortable on the wooden bench—the bench my brother and I built together. “Just easy. Life feels like it’s always hard. There’s never a calm way to get through it, to just breathe. Every day brings the same challenges, the same routines…the same everything. And as much as I hope the next day will be different, it’s not. It’s just the same old cycle over and over again.” She turns her head and rests her chin on her shoulder. “Sorry. Is this too much for an early morning chat over orange juice?” She giggles nervously.
“No, not at all. I sometimes feel the best mornin’ talks are had over a fresh cup of OJ.”
She laughs. “Logan?”
“Yeah?”
“Thank you. For yesterday morning. And I’m sorry about last night—you know, the way I acted on the dock. It wasn’t right—”
“Hey, don’t worry about it. And you’re welcome. Again.” I tease.
“Again?”
“I mean…” I purse my lips, lift both arms, and shrug. “I keep saving your life: the pool, that Matthew dude, and then from the evil, perfect house. I think we’re meant to be. After all, how could you resist this body?”
“Wow. Are you always this into yourself?”
“Hmm.” I tilt my head, pretending to be in serious thought, then nod. “Pretty much.”
She nudges my arm. “At least you’re honest.”
I smile. “That I am.”
“Well, if it makes you feel any better, thank you for all three.”
“It does,” I say. Jenna laughs again. Then my mind drifts back to her earlier statement. “If it makes you feel any better, I do feel that way sometimes. Like you mentioned about life being a constant cycle.”
“Like you’re trapped in a nightmare, where you’re screaming for someone to wake you, but it never happens?”
I nod. It does feel like that at times.
Jenna’s expression changes to compassion. “I remember you saying something like that yesterday. After you lost your brother, right?” she says.
Yesterday, as she stood in her pajamas on the corner, I told her how after Sean’s death, I felt like I was stuck, at a standstill. Me and my big fucking mouth. It’s been two years since his death, and it still kind of fucking hurts to talk about him. But I do anyway. “Yeah. We were really close.”
“I was very close with my sister before she passed,” she confesses.
A jolt of shock rushes through me. “You had a sister who passed?” She nods. “How long ago?”
“About eight months now.”
“Wow.” It’s all I can say; I can’t believe she lost a sibling as well. In some ways, this explains a lot about what I’ve witnessed of her so far.
“Yeah,” Jenna says quietly.
“Is it too early for me to ask how she passed?” She looks down and nods. I can understand. For the first year of Sean’s death, it was difficult for me to talk about how it happened without it taking an emotional toll on me.
This little confession of hers sparks an idea. I stand from the bench and reach for her wrist. She looks down at my grip, then back up at me. “Come on,” I say. “I want to show you something.”
She doesn’t resist. Instead, she reaches out and places her hand in mine. I hold her small, delicate hand the entire time as I lead her toward a large wooden shed. I leave the doors wide open, just in case she feels uncomfortable, and guide her in. Jenna looks around but doesn’t say a word. She steps toward the first table and our hands lose contact as hers slips away. I kind of wish she’d held on just a bit longer. I would be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy it, because I did. A lot.
Jenna slowly walks past each carved sculpture, lightly brushing her fingers against them as she admires each one.
“Did you make these?” she asks.
“No. Sean did. At first it was a hobby for him. Then he became really good at it. He did it as a way to cope with his depression.” She looks back at me. Her features are pinched but unreadable.
“He suffered from depression?”
“Yeah.” I move forward, standing beside her as I look over each sculpture. “He was dealing with a lot of difficult issues. Issues a regular teenager should never have to go through.”
Jenna crosses her arms, hugging herself as if she’s chilly. “What kind of issues?” she asks.
I swallow, wondering if she’ll act like most everyone else who hears about Sean’s story. “When he was younger, about seventeen years old, he was reckless and out of control. What teen isn’t, right? Well, one night he was underage drinking and driving with a few friends in a car. He accidently ran a red light and hit two people crossing the street—a kid and his mom.”
“Oh my God,” Jenna lets out in a raspy tone.
“Yeah.” I nod, tempted to leave it as that, but I decide to keep going. “He didn’t leave the scene. He pulled over and called an ambulance. He waited there and held the kid in his arms until help came. But by the time they arrived, the kid had lost so much blood he was already dead. The mother suffered severe injuries, but she survived. Sean did some time in jail for it. Once he was released, he was never the same. Mentally. He couldn’t get the image of that scene out of his head and knowing that his irresponsible behavior killed an innocent boy made him insane.”
It’s the first time I’ve spoken about Sean’s history with anyone. Family and close friends who know of the incident never speak of it. When Sean was released from prison at twenty-two, everyone just tried to pretend it never happened. But Sean still lived with it every single day until the day he died.
I went on, staring intensely at one of the pieces—a half angel, half demon full-body sculpture. “Some say that Sean’s death was an accident, that he lost control of his bike and hit the tree. He wasn’t drinking. It wasn’t snowing or raining. It wasn’t dark out. It was a direct hit to the tree. As much as everyone wants to believe it was an accident, I know in my gut that he did it on purpose. It wasn’t the first time he tried to take his life. It was the day before the anniversary of the kid’s death. I think he couldn’t handle it anymore, and I think he thought if all of us believed he died in a motorcycle accident, we wouldn’t feel guilty. Guilty for not trying hard enough to get him help.”
I back away from the table, face Jenna, and look down at her. She stares at me with puffy eyes. But there’s no pity in them, just understanding. “Why are you telling me this?” she asks.
“I don’t know.” I shrug. “It just feels right. I’ve never talked to anyone about it, but I think knowing you can relate makes it easier.” It does make it easier. Jenna knows how it feels to grow up in a household with someone all your life—your best friend—only to have them taken away from you in the blink of an eye. “I also wanted you to realize that even though the pain will always be there, I’m living proof you can get past this. Right now I know it feels impossible, but one day you’ll look back and see how far you’ve come.”
Jenna lifts her hand to my face and cups my jaw. There’s warmth where she touches. Her eyes stare intensely into mine. I stare back, waiting for her to say something. My gaze drops to her lips—those perfectly pouty, pink lips—which she wets with a stroke of her tongue. She opens her mouth to say something and then shuts it quickly. “Thank you,” she finally whispers as her eyes water. She tries fighting back the tears, but she can’t, and a few escape.
“Come here.” I bring her close, wrapping my arms tight around her. She buries her face in my chest, and I think about the pain we both share. More than anything, I wish Jenna and I were bonding over something else, that she didn’t know what it feels like to lose a sister and I a brother. I rest my chin on her hair and hold her, giving her whatever comfort I can.
After we stand this way for what seems like forever, Jenna looks up at me, her tearstained cheeks flushed. She seems embarrassed by our small connection and pulls away from me. “I-I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to cry on you. I’m so very sorry,” she says.
“Don’t be. You needed it. It’s okay to cry sometimes.” I smile. “It’s kind of nice chatting with someone who doesn’t know me and doesn’t judge me for a change.”
She furrows her brow. “Why would I judge you?”
“Because that’s what most people do when they hear what my brother was responsible for or the reason behind his jail time. They look at me with revulsion, or they whisper something like ‘His brother is a murderer.’ They make it seem like I did it.”
Jenna sniffs, brushing her nose with the back of her hand. “You’re not your brother, Logan,” she says with a simple shrug. “And even at that, I’m sure he wasn’t a bad guy. It sounds to me like he was a young kid that made a terrible mistake, and he had to live with that mistake for the rest of his life.”
Does she even know that those are the exact words I needed to hear right now? “Thank you,” I say.
Her pouty lips tug into a tiny smile. Damn. I’d do anything to touch those lips again. “You’re welcome,” she says. Then she turns around and walks out of the shed. I fight back the urge to reach out, grab her, and kiss her. Not like the kiss we had on her front porch when I first met her. Don’t get me wrong, that kiss…well…it heightened all my senses and could have turned into much more than just a kiss. But it wasn’t a real fucking kiss. I want to show her how much this one moment truly meant to me. Wow. I’m starting to sound like a little bitch.
“Jenna,” I call out. She turns around.
“Yes?”
“Go out with me. On a date.” From the look on her face, I can tell I’ve caught her off guard. She opens her mouth to speak but closes it just as quickly. “You don’t have to give me an answer right now,” I say. “Think about it.”
“I don’t think it’s a good ide—”
“Do me a favor and just think about it first. Okay?”
She nods. “Okay. I will.”
I arch a brow. “You’ll think about it? Or you’ll go out with me.”
Jenna casually laughs. “I’ll think about it, Logan.”
And then she’s gone.
chapter 12
Jenna
I can’t believe I just cried my eyes out in front of Logan. What the hell was I thinking? Some of the things he said resonated with me so deeply that I allowed myself to show weakness in front of him. His empathy, his understanding, his loss completely shook my resolve. How pathetic am I?
There’s a part of me that feels relieved—relieved that I was able to just let it out. He’s a stranger. I don’t know anything about him aside from the little I’ve seen. Even so, I feel a unique connection with Logan. When he revealed the details of his brother’s death, I felt sympathy for him, but not in the way an outsider might. It was coming from a place of first-hand knowledge, from a place of compassion. I felt his pain, the struggle I imagine he went through¸ and his loss. I’ve lived through it.
There’s another part of me that feels it may have been a mistake—a huge, stupid mistake. I don’t want him to think that because we shared a moment there could be something more between us. Because there can’t be. Of that I’m certain. Logan is probably a good guy. Or maybe he’s not. Either way, he’s a risk I’m not going to take.
I grab a bottle of water from the fridge and sneak back into the bedroom, quietly shutting the door behind me. I turn and see Charlie sitting against the headboard of the twin bed. Her shoulders and head are slumped over, but she looks up when she hears me. I smile. She rolls her eyes. “Don’t take out your hangover anger on me,” I say, treading over to her.
“I’m never drinking again.” Sure. That’s a famous line of hers. I hand her the bottle of water. “Thank you,” she mumbles, snatching it from my hand. Charlie unscrews the cap and chugs back the entire bottle. She places the empty bottle on the nightstand beside her and leans her head back against the headboard. “Oh God. I’m going to be sick.”
“I’m pretty sure you threw up all of last week’s meals last night.” I hand her the clean bucket from beside her bed and take a seat across from her on the bed I slept in last night.
Charlie settles the bucket between her legs and stares into it. “Where were you?” she asks as she concentrates on the green container.
“Downstairs. I couldn’t sleep and didn’t want to wake you.”
She nods. “I woke up over a half hour ago. I didn’t have the strength to go looking for you. I told myself if you didn’t come back in fifteen minutes, I was going to force myself to search.”
“Ha! I’m sure you would’ve made it,” I tease. “Whenever you get yourself together and ready, we’ll drive back. Take your time.”
She groans. “Do we have to leave? I’m seriously in no mood to take a three-hour drive back home. It’s not like you can take the wheel if I get sick.”
“We’re not staying another night, Charlie.”
“Come on. I’m going to need a day to recuperate. I promise I won’t drink today. I’ll keep it to just soft drinks. Don’t make me drive back home like this.” She pouts her lips and rolls her head back against the wooden headboard.
“Oh my God. I can’t believe you’re making me feel guilty.”
“Do you want to face your mother today?”
“Low blow.” And the brief reprieve I had without thoughts of my mother is now over. “Fine.”
Charlie doesn’t smile at my concession. She just sighs and her shoulders deflate. “Thank God,” she says. Then she sinks into the bed, tossing the covers over her face.
* * *
It’s noon. I sat in bed channel surfing on the tiny television until Charlie woke up. I couldn’t leave the room and face Logan alone after what happened this morning. Charlie grumbled out of bed with only the word “food” escaping her mouth. I waited patiently as she showered and put on shorts, a tank top, and flip-flops. Now, we’re finally heading downstairs together.
“There’s my little alcoholic,” Santino sings as Charlie and I step into the kitchen. All of the guys are hanging out in here. Danny, Justin, and Scott are seated by the table, dishing some food onto their plates. Bryson is by the stove, cooking, and Logan is leaning against the counter with his legs and arms crossed. His eyes are on me. Even though I just saw him a few short hours ago, my chest constricts. I look away.
“That’s me,” Charlie responds with her arms raised. She walks over to Santino. He pulls her into his lap and she lets out giggles.
“If you girls are hungry, we have plenty of breakfast.” Bryson points toward the center of the table where there are several plates filled with pancakes, waffles, bacon, and sausages. “Help yourselves.”
“I’m starving!” Charlie turns to face the food, still on Santino’s lap, and grabs herself a plate. She begins filling it.
“Jenna?” Logan says. I look over. He’s pointing at one of the empty chairs for me to take a seat. I shake my head.
“No, thank you.”
Charlie waves her hand. “She barely eats. I could never do it.”
Santino looks over and says, “Are you one of those girls who force themselves not to eat because they want to keep a stick figure image? Because personally, I love me a curvy woman. The more curves, the better.” He grips Charlie’s hips and begins to bounce her. Her laughs fill the room as my irritation spikes.
“What? No. I eat. I’m just not hungry.” I want to kill Charlie right now. She looks over at me, and her smile instantly disappears. She mouths, “Sorry.”
Everyone digs in to their plates, except for me and Logan, who’s still leaning against the counter all good-looking and cool, like he doesn’t have a care in the world. It’s annoying. I feel awkward now. Out of place. I let out a deep breath, force a small smile, and make my way out the back and toward the dock.
* * *
“I’m really sorry, Jenna. You know I wouldn’t say anything to make you feel bad, especially about yourself. Right?” Charlie grips my shoulder. I look up at her.
“Yeah, I know. It’s fine.”
She smiles gently. “We’re all going to take a dip in the lake and play a few games. You should join us. It’ll be fun. Maybe it’ll take you out of this little slump you’re in.”
“I’m not in a slump.”
“Look, I know you don’t want to be here, but can you at least pretend? You’re acting like the antisocial kid right about now.”
“I am the antisocial kid.”
“Well, can you not be today? Let’s have fun today.”
I let out a draining breath, pause, then nod. We head for our bedroom and change into our swimsuits.
* * *
When we exit the house, there are several people hanging around in the back area—more than just the guys and us. There are girls in bikinis and guys in swim trunks that I haven’t seen before. Some are on the deck, sipping on drinks. Others are by the grass. There’s a net set up, so some are playing volleyball. There’s a table set up with aluminum containers filled with food. My stomach growls, and I cover my belly with my hand. “I’m kind of hungry,” I whisper to Charlie.
“I bet. You haven’t eaten. Let’s grab a quick bite then we’ll head for the dock.”
We step down the deck and walk over to where the food is. We both grab a plate. I prepare a burger while Charlie fills her plate with all sorts of things. When I look in the direction of the lake, I almost drop my food. Logan is there, wearing nothing but wet swim trunks that hang deliciously from his hips. I knew he was in great shape by the way his clothes fit him, but I wasn’t expecting a GI Joe physique.
“Whoa. Check out your man. Did you expect to find that under his shirt?” Charlie says, pulling me out of my ogling session.
“He’s not my man.”
“Does he know that? Oooh. He’s on his way over here. He must’ve spotted you.” Oh shit. I look at Charlie, scared shitless. She smiles. “Don’t be scurd.” She winks. This is no joking matter. I can’t handle him, especially while he’s half naked.
“I’m not scared.”
“I wonder how he’s packing.”
“What?”
“You know.” She lifts a squirmy hotdog in one hand. “Weiner?” Then she reaches for something else. “Or large corn on the cob?” She wiggles her brows as she shakes both items. My face flames at the thought.
“Can you stop it? He’s getting closer.”
We both look his way. You know how when you’re told not to look at something you automatically look at it? Yeah. I’m trying my hardest not to look down, but I can’t help it. I take a gander below his waist, at his trunks pressing against his…junk. Oh my God. I blink and face Charlie, embarrassed. Did he see me checking him out?
“Oh, yes, definitely large corn on the cob. He’s a keeper, Jenna. Go get ya man!”
“Shut up!”
She laughs. Logan is now standing in front of us. “Hello, ladies,” he says.
Oh my God. Don’t look at his junk. Don’t look at his junk. Don’t look at his—dammit I looked. Again. Breathe. Maybe he didn’t notice. I straighten my shoulders and meet his eyes. He’s smiling brightly. A little too brightly. Oh God. He totally caught me. Great. “Hi,” I manage to get out.
“Want to play football with us? We play in the lake.”
“Oh, tackle football in the water.” Charlie nods with a big smile. My eyes widen, silently telling her no. She ignores me and nods again, making the decision for the both of us. “We like playing football, and it’s a very touchy-feely game. Count us in.”
“Great. After you girls fuel up”—he nudges his head to our filled plates—“we’ll get started.” Logan leans into my ear and whispers, “You’re on my team.” He grins then walks away.
* * *
“All right, these are the rules for the game,” Bryson shouts from the water. I’m standing by the edge of the dock with my arms crossed, listening and trying to figure out how this is going to work. All of the guys are in the lake already. They’re all taller than I am, so the water reaches just above their waists. For Charlie, who’s tiny, it’ll probably reach her chest, and for me, mid-stomach.
As Bryson goes on about the rules, I look around. Logan, Santino, Charlie, and I are on the same team. Logan and Santino are in the water about four or five yards away from the dock. Their arms are crossed as they listen to Bryson. Charlie’s in her bikini, sitting Indian style on the dock beside me, her cover-up thrown carelessly beside her.
I’ve never played a sport in my life. Well, if you consider baseball in the backyard at the age of five a sport, then I guess I’ve played some kind of sport. But I’ve never played football. And although the rules Bryson’s calling out aren’t exactly pro-football rules, I’m still keeping my ears open to every single detail.
Bryson stretches his arm to show us our “touchdown” marker, which is a tree farther down the side of the lake. When he turns back around to face us, his face lights up and he yells out, “Babe!” I zoom in on him as his gaze focuses behind me.
Logan scoffs. “Great.”
My instant reaction is to turn around and see Bryson’s “babe” for myself. As if my life isn’t interesting enough, the antagonist of my very own horrifying chick flick—Blair Bitch—is treading her way toward me. Blair Bitch, whom I spent four terrible years of high school with, is the same girl that I punched in the face, which led me to the principal’s office, which led me to meeting Eric—the one and only love of my life.
Her green eyes go from squinty—as if she’s trying to place my familiar face—to bulging out of their sockets once she figures out who I am. My stomach turns as she rushes over to me with her arms spread wide. Then her features twist sympathetically. I’m both shocked and frozen as she wraps her arms around me and pulls me into a very, very tight hug.
My arms are glued to my side while I try to regain my fuzzy thoughts. “Jenna! Oh my God, how are you?” She pulls away, holding me at arm’s length. “I’m so sorry to hear about Brooke.” She shakes her head. “It’s just a shame. A big ole shame.” She shakes her head again.
“Uh, thanks?” She didn’t know Brooke, but everyone in our town and those who went to the same high school as we did were well aware of what happened to her. It was all over the news and media, which I made a point to stay away from.
Blair Bitch drags her palms down my biceps, past my forearms, and grips my hands firmly. I’m still trying to figure out what kind of alternate universe I just stepped into where my archenemy would approach me in such a manner, when she says, “I just want you to know I forgive you for your past aggressions, and I hope we can become really good friends. After all, we’re not in high school anymore.”
“Um, okay.”
Bryson is now on the dock beside us. He leans in and pecks her cheek. “Hey, babe.” Babe? Oh my God, it just registered. Blair Bitch is babe. They’re dating.
Blair steps back and wipes her cheek. “Bryson!” she chastises. “I’ve spent all morning on my makeup.”
“Sorry.” He half smiles. “I didn’t think you’d be coming. How do you two know each other?” He points between us.
Blair smiles at me like we’re BFFs or something. “We went to high school together.”
“Cool,” Bryson says. “Want to play with us, babe? We’re about to start a game.” He lifts the football in his hand.
“No.” She laughs. “You know I don’t play any sports.”
Bryson shrugs. “Just figured I’d ask. All right, you can watch, then.” He turns and jumps into the lake, making a splash upon contact.
“Well, I guess I should get in there,” I say, backing away, an awkward smile plastered to my face. This is weird. The entire scene is weird. I need to get in the lake. I remove my cover-up before jumping in.
Charlie joins me, and we swim farther from the dock before she asks, “Who is that?”
“That’s Blair Bitch. We went to high school together. We weren’t exactly friends,” I say with my eyes on Blair. She’s standing with a huge smile, waving over at us.
Logan swims up beside me, his face irritated. “Great. There goes my night. How do you know Mega Bitch?”
I laugh. “You call her Mega Bitch? My nickname for her in high school was Blair Bitch. I haven’t seen her in four years, not since I graduated. I’m guessing things haven’t changed?”
“Nope,” he says, narrowing his eyes in her direction. “She’s still a bitch.”
“Good to know.”
Bryson claps his hands. “All right, let’s start!”
We’re all scattered around. Bryson holds out the football and taps his hand against it. “Hut”—he looks to the right—“hut”—he looks to his left—“hike!” He tosses the ball toward Danny, and Logan immediately closes in on him. Logan jumps to midair and then grabs the football, taking it down with him under water. Seconds later he jumps up with the ball in his hand. I jump up clapping. “Go!” I yell out excitedly.
Never having played a sport before, I didn’t expect it to be this fun. Logan hurries through the water, dodging the other guys. Justin throws his body forward, grips Logan by the shoulders, and tackles him under the water.
Yikes. Charlie and I jog through the water toward them the best we can. Logan finally jumps back up, football still in hand, and keeps going.
“Touchdown!” Logan yells out, splashing the football into the water when he reaches our touchdown tree.
Charlie and I scream and yell, jumping up and down. “YES!” We reach him, and he lifts both hands toward us for high fives. “That’s how you do it.” He winks at me.
