Blitzed(12)

There’s no way I’m going to show up smelling like I do. Even after a light practice, I still smell like ten pounds of wet leather, foam padding, and plastic football armor . . . and that does not work for dates. I strip down and grab the bar of Irish Spring off the soap dish, glad that it’s both cheap and works super-quick at covering up football smells. I can shower in three minutes if I want, and I do, walking naked down the hallway to my room, where I pull on a fresh set of khakis and a button down shirt. Yeah, I can get dressed up, too. I make sure my pits are sublime and grab twenty dollars out of the little cigar box that I use. I should keep all my cash on me. I know Dad steals from me, but if I do that, he’ll just shake me down. If I keep some of it in the box, he filches from me, but I actually end up keeping more of it.

I'm distracted as I tuck the twenty bucks into my front pocket, surprised I still have that much. Dad must have gotten a sale on his cheap booze this week. I'm so distracted that I don't notice that Dad has gotten himself to his feet, only to catch me with a sucker punch to my left eye as I come back past the living room. "That's what you get, you little bastard."

I grab at my eye, not so much hurt as surprised. Dad's half drunk, and I've got fifteen pounds on him, and a lot of my body is muscle while his is . . . sloppy shit. Still, it hurts, and I'm shocked, an involuntary tear coming to my eye because his alcohol-covered knuckle nailed me literally directly in my eye, and that shit burns! I push him back into the living room, where by some miracle of luck, he falls back onto the couch instead of onto his ass in the middle of the room. "You . . .”

Fuck it. I don't need a fight with the old man tonight. I walk out, ignoring his half-understood screams, and go out to my car, rubbing at my eye the entire way as I drive. I stop a little bit up the block from Whitney's house, knowing I'm way early but not knowing what else to do. Getting out of my car, I wonder how to break the ice, and what I know about her. Not a damn thing, really, except that she's hot as hell, and there is something about her . . .

"Flowers, maybe?" I say to myself, then look around. I see one of those planters that people use by a mailbox a few houses away, and inside are some flowers that remind me of the way her hair gleamed in the sun when she was trying out yesterday. They're almost the same dark, nearly blackish brown red. I run over and grab them. What the hell.

Holding my fistful of flowers and still rubbing at my eye, I walk the short distance to Whitney's house and ring the doorbell. There’s some rustling inside, and Whitney opens the door, surprised that I'm here. "Troy!"

I nod, trying my best smile. "Hi, Whitney. I know I'm mad early, but Coach cut practice short, and I was thinking . . . well, tonight's a school night, and I figured your parents would want you home early. You know, class tomorrow and all."

Whitney looks uncertain, but still nods. "Okay, one minute. Let me tell my mom that I'm leaving early."





Chapter 5





Whitney





I don't really know what to make of Troy when I open my door and see him standing outside my house. Sure, my heart's in my throat and my pulse shoots through the roof, but he looks different than he did yesterday. First of all, he's got either the beginnings of a black eye, or something got in there, because his left eye is puffy and red, and hanging from his hands are red flowers that look suspiciously like the geraniums that the Tuckers have planted around their mailbox down the street. There are even little bits of dirt still hanging from one of the flowers, which was pulled up by the roots.

Still, despite his strange appearance, it’s Troy, and even with the eye, he’s so handsome it's disturbing. Besides, there is something about the way he’s looking at me, with an intensity and a power that is just irresistible, and I nod. "Okay, one minute. Let me tell my mom that I'm leaving early."

I only half-close the door and run into the living room, where Mom is sitting on the couch. "Your date?"

"Yes, Mom. He says that he got out of practice early, and that he thought it'd be better this way. You know, with school tomorrow and all."

She smiles politely and sips at her after dinner tea. Mom's really into the church, and never even touches alcohol unless she's taking communion. "All right, honey. Be careful, and remember to be a lady."

I roll my eyes. Like I'm going to repeat the mistake she made. She's only thirty-five, having me when she was eighteen because she'd gotten caught up with some guy and gotten pregnant. I’m not going to be that dumb, and even if Mom wouldn't approve, I have a condom in my purse, one handed out by some safe sex advocates at the mall last year when I went shopping with Dani. Better safe than sorry, you know. "I'll be fine, Mom. Besides, Troy's too tired from football practice to get up to anything, you know."

"I know football players, honey. Let's just say I'm glad you're wearing jeans. Have a good time."

I run over and give her a kiss on the cheek and leave the house. I find Troy waiting on the front walk, still looking angry, his eye puffier than ever, with the flowers in his hand. "Here, I picked these for you."

"Mrs. Tucker's going to kick your ass if she sees you with those," I say, taking them and giving them a smell before setting them in a pot on my porch. "Thank you, though. I'll make sure we don't get in trouble for them."