When Our Worlds Stand Still (Our Worlds #3)(7)
The long route home allows the music to relax me. The driveway is packed with cars. Leaving my bags in the trunk, I race up the sidewalk and barge through the front door. The living room is full of my teammates and a few of their girlfriends. I scan over each of them until my stare lands on Rico.
“I said I wasn’t going out tonight.”
Rico stands from one of the many armchairs my grandmother insisted on buying. She says they pull the whole room together.
“I know what you said, but we decided to come to you and stage a sit in,” Rico explains. The rest of my teammates all nod their head in agreement.
“You can all stay, but I’m not drinking. I’ve got things to do tomorrow.” I plop down on the couch and flash a smile to Griffin’s girlfriend, Sandy, who winks in secret. She’s the only one who knows where I disappear to all the time.
“One shot, then we’ll leave you alone.” Griffin extends a balled up fist in my direction, and I tap mine against his.
“One shot.” I agree. “No tequila.”
“Jack it is!” Rico hoots over the crowd.
Everyone slaps me on the back on their way to the kitchen. This is what I’ve been searching for, true camaraderie. I miss my old high school team, but these guys are my family now. If I need anything, one call to any of them, and they’ll drop everything and come running. This is what college is about, learning your place, and discovering the person you want to be.
Sandy sticks behind, witnessing the rest of our friends chasing each other to the shot glasses. “Why don’t you tell them where you run off to? You go almost every Sunday, and any free day you get during the week. They notice your absence, Graham.”
She follows my glance down the hallway. Rico sets up two lines of glasses and tips the bottle straight in the air, theatrically pouring shots for everyone. They shout over each other, toasting to their future conquests, and poor decisions.
“Okay, I know why you don’t, but I think you’d be surprised to know most of them would join you.” Sandy turns around to face me. Her head tilts to the side with a sympathetic gleam in her eye.
“You think?” I ask. Honest curiosity takes over. I can’t imagine any of them giving up their own recovery time on the weekends.
“Okay, maybe I’m not so sure.” She glances at Griffin and Rico the second they jump in the air and bump chests.
“I’ll tell them,” I whisper. Rico runs down the hallway, spilling half the shot of Jack down his hand. I turn and address Sandy. “Eventually.” I take the half-ass shot and throw back the dark liquid. It burns a trail down to my belly. “You happy now?” I ask Rico, my eyebrow raised in question.
“Very.” He clutches my shoulder, but I brush him off. “Now, how the hell do I turn on the fancy-ass stereo system? I still can’t figure this shit out.”
I follow him to the corner cabinet. With a push to the top right-hand corner, the door gives way to reveal the system. Several buttons later, static buzzes in every room. The entire house is wired to the stereo. Rico reaches across me for the volume button, twisting the knob until a hard thump plays throughout the main floor.
“Miley Cyrus?” I shout as Rico passes the sofa.
“Bitches love Miley Cyrus,” he explains, dancing out of the room.
I lean back against the cushions and rest my eyes, exhausted from today’s practice. This song and the loud chatter surrounding me transports my mind to a different time.
“Here’s to staying positive, and always testing negative.” The team cheers, clinking our glasses together and downing the clear liquid.
When I turn, my knees waver. I squint at my phone, trying to see what time it is. I told myself I’d only stay a few hours. That was four hours ago. I hope to find a missed text, but it’s been a week and no response from Kennedy.
“Graham, I want you to meet Kendall.” William, the Senior catcher, pushes a cute brunette in front of me. Her tank top is low, and her hem is short. “She can take care of you.”
Even with my liquor-soaked mind, I know she should feel offended. I wait for her to shove him away, but she surprises me by taking my hand and leading me through the party. My eyes stay glued to her ass as we walk upstairs.
Every door she checks is locked. She shrugs as if it’s only a small inconvenience. Fists grab my shirt and pull me to her as she hoists herself onto a table at the end of the hallway. She sways to the music, spreading her legs to make room for me. My hands run over her hair, but it’s not soft. It’s coarse from harsh treatments through the years. Why isn’t it soft?
Her lips run along my neck, and she whispers, “I need you.”
“At least, someone does,” I think to myself.
I don’t care who sees us. My body goes into overdrive, pulling at her tank top and tossing it to the floor. She’s quick to lift her hips, wiggling her pink thong down her legs. She tucks the material into my back pocket.
My hands run up her thighs, over her trim waist, and onto her ribs. It’s light enough to see the skin is bare. No tattoo. No ballet slippers. Why isn’t there a pair of black slippers?
I shake the thought away when her hand dips into my jeans. The button pops, and she pulls me free, her feet pushing the denim low on my hips. She reaches into her back pocket, pulls out a condom, and waves it in my face. With little effort, she covers me.