“You all right?” I ask.
“Yeah. Sometimes when I accidentally move my knee in an awkward way, I get scared.”
“Can I ask what happened?”
“Between sophomore and junior year, I went to soccer camp at Western Kentucky.”
“Oh! I’ve been there. It’s a great program.”
Chloe nods. “I was playing in a scrimmage, running really fast, when I heard a pop. Then I fell on the ground.” She shakes her head, lost in the memory. “I’d never felt pain like that before. The emergency room said I needed to see a specialist. An orthopedist. Dr. C., I mean Dr. Carpenter—he said I had to have surgery.”
“Was it scary?”
“Before I got the anesthesia, I freaked out that I wouldn’t wake up, but when I did wake up, I wanted to go back to sleep because my leg hurt so much. I had to take this pill, Percocet, for a month to help with the pain. It made me drowsy all the time and messed up my stomach. But the worst part was when I had to give it up. I wanted it all the time. I’d wake up in the morning thinking about it.”
After using Adderall, I often felt twitchy and nervous. Sometimes I couldn’t fall asleep, even when I wanted to. I’m lucky I never started to crave them. Was staying awake to study really worth the risk of becoming addicted? It makes me think of Caleb, the boy at school who’s desperate for Ritalin.
I rest a hand on Chloe’s forearm. “What happened next?”
She gives me a weak smile and takes a deep breath, then continues her story.
“Last year, I was in therapy the entire season, so I didn’t get to play at all. I could barely walk. I just sat on the bench and watched. I couldn’t wait to play again this year, but without Lilian as captain—she was in charge last year—Nicole’s just taken over, and she obviously has no clue how to lead.”
“That sucks,” I say quietly.
“The worst part is I was actually pretty good before I got hurt. Now I’m too scared to take any risks on the field. Don’t get me wrong, I love it when you pass me the ball, but I also sort of panic. What if I step in a hole or plant my foot the wrong way and I hear that awful pop again? I can’t handle the thought of needing more surgery.”
“I think you’re brave for playing,” I reply, remembering what Ezra said about risks not necessarily being a negative. Chloe playing soccer again is a positive.
The cook passes us our nachos, and we take them back to our lane, where Ezra and Thomas are still trying to one-up each other. Thomas is leading 220 to Ezra’s 212. Close match.
Chloe dips a chip into the melted cheese and pops it in her mouth. “This has been fun.”
I take a deep breath, gathering my courage to open up to her. “Do you want to hang out again sometime?”
“Sure,” she says with a smile.
“Great,” I reply, feeling a rush of happiness.
Thomas barely beats Ezra. Grumbling, my boyfriend takes twenty bucks out of his wallet and passes it to Thomas. In the next game, I bowl an all-time low of 85, but I don’t care. I’m having too nice of a time lounging on my boyfriend’s lap and hanging out with Chloe and Alyson. Then I glance down at my phone and see it’s nearly eleven. At first I panic because I have to wake up early, but then I remember that I don’t. Coach asked me to skip the game tomorrow. Which makes me sad and a little ashamed.
Until I realize…I can sleep in!
? ? ?
When Ezra drives me home, it’s nearly midnight, and my parents still aren’t back from Nashville.
“Want to come in for a while?” I ask.
“Is that a real question?” he jokes, sweeping me into his arms for a kiss. “Of course I want to come inside.”
He nervously jingles his keys as we go in through the back door; he leaves them on the counter. The lights are turned down throughout most of the house. Marina’s probably either already in bed or holed up with a novel in her room.
I lead him up the stairs. I can tell it’s an effort for him to control his breathing. For me too. Sneaking him in makes me nervous. So does anticipating what will happen once we’re in my room.
Then we’re in each other’s arms. Unlike last night, tonight we’re not rushed. We’re not as impatient. We take our time, gently kissing and hugging and getting to know each other again. I don’t make any moves to take his clothes off, but we do lie down on my bed.
“You are terrible at bowling,” he says, kissing my lips.
“Next time, we’re doing something I’m good at.”
“Oh yeah?” I can feel him smiling against my teeth. “Like what?”
“Trivia night at Freddie’s Oyster Bar.”
“Oh good God,” he mutters.
He crawls on top of me, moving his hips against mine. I grip his bottom, pulling him closer. He groans at the sensation. I can’t believe he’s mine. All mine. I grin, but it fades when I remember.
“Can I ask a question? Who is Svetlana? To you, I mean?”
Ezra sets his elbows to either side of my head, propping himself up, and looks down at me. “A friend.”
“Were you ever more than friends?”
He shrugs a little. “We fooled around some, but we never dated.”
“Why not?”
“She wanted to, but I stopped hooking up with her when she said she wanted more.”
“But you didn’t?”
A long pause. “I guess by then I had given up on you and me… I wasn’t unwilling to date somebody. I just hadn’t met anyone I liked as much as you, Tease.”
Smiling broadly, I trace the freckles on his tan nose. “I was worried you might like Svetlana more than me. She’s a Russian gymnast, right? I bet she does it in fancy Kama Sutra positions. How can I compete with that?”
Ezra laughs hard. “She’s from Russia, yes, but you’re more of a gymnast than she is.”
“A spy then?”
“No.”
“Dominatrix?”
With a laugh, he pins me down by the wrists. “If you’re so jealous, why don’t you show me your gymnastics skills?”
I take the challenge.
Dodging his tickles, I fight to get on top. I press my hips to his and rock, loving the intimate feel of him. Closing my eyes, I get so into our grinding, I’ll die without another kiss. I lean down to take his mouth at the same moment as he pops up to wrap his arms around me. I lose my balance, and with an unsexy “Eeeeee!” I fall from his lap, topple off my bed, and land spread-eagle.
Ezra peeks over the edge of the bed. “Seriously great gymnastics, Tease.”
Name-Dropping
Saturday morning, I’m eating cereal in the kitchen and reading a book about the Vatican Museums when Dad appears. Dark circles rim his eyes.
I glance at my phone. It’s nearly 10:00 a.m., and he’s just coming downstairs? He must’ve had a late night. He wasn’t home when I kicked Ezra out around 1:00 a.m.
Dad startles when he notices me. “Tee. What are you doing here?”
I swallow my bite of raisin bran and set down my spoon. “What do you mean?”
“Don’t you have a game? It’s Saturday.”
I bite my bottom lip. I can’t stop my eyes from watering. “Coach told me to sit this one out.”
“What? Why?”