It Was Me Page 8

  “Hope you two don't have any ideas on some sort of midnight rendezvous,” she said. “I'm a light sleeper and the last thing I need to hear is the two of you getting hot and heavy.”

  “Get some earplugs,” Abby said, kissing my ear lightly.

  “I swear,” Annika said, her eyes focused on her nails as she brushed her nails. “I'll vomit on both of you. So don't.”

  “Whatever.”

  “Or maybe I'll just watch,” Annika said, cutting her eyes at us.

  “Jesus Christ,” I muttered.

  “He won't help you,” Annika shot back. “Nor would he approve.”

  Abby's hand found mine. She gave it a quick squeeze and then pulled me off the couch toward the bedroom. Annika made some sort of snorting noise, but we didn't acknowledge her.

  Abby pulled me down on one of the beds and wrapped her legs around me.

  “We're never gonna get any alone time,” I said, my mouth against the smooth skin along her jawline.

  She lifted her hips up into me. “So let her watch.”

  I felt myself respond and tried to shake it. “Abs. No way.”

  She chuckled softly as we kissed. “I know.”

  Her lips were soft and warm and she kissed me gently, over and over, like she was savoring each and every kiss. Her teeth nipped at my lower lip and she drew it into her mouth, sucking gently. I groaned and pushed myself into her and she whimpered.

  “Screw it,” I whispered against her mouth. “Let's just let her watch.”

  She smiled as she kissed me. “I don't think I want to give her the pleasure.” Her lips slowed against mine until her kisses were feather-light.

  I sighed. “So what? I'm gonna have to go to bed all worked up like this?”

  Her hand slid down between my legs and I shivered in anticipation. She grasped me through my shorts. “I guess so.”

  I shoved myself more fully into her hand.. “Not fair.”

  “No, it's really not.”

  “You could sneak out and find me in the middle of the night,” I told her. With Annika there, it had made sense for me to move out to the living room. Abby hadn't been happy about the switch, but she also hadn't wanted to share the fold-out couch with her sister, either.

  “Maybe.”

  “Oh, gross,” Annika said, walking into the room. “I'm gonna throw ice water on you both.”

  Her words were, in fact, like ice water and both of us tensed up and I knew the moment was lost. I sighed, kissed Abby goodnight and, ignoring Annika, settled out on the couch for a long, uncomfortable night in the living room.

  Alone.

  I was awake early in the morning, a combination of restless sleep and the desert sun streaming in through the living room window. I stared at the ceiling, random thoughts running through my head. I thought about Abby in bed, alone, and how badly I wanted to slip in between the sheets next to her. I thought about her sister sleeping in the bed next to her and how I'd be absolutely okay if she never woke up again. And then I thought about baseball. Because it occurred to me that, after telling Mr. Sellers that I hadn't checked my phone the day before, I'd come back from the restaurant and failed to check my phone again.

  I pulled myself off the couch and found my bag, digging through it until I located my cell. I sank back down on the sofa bed and punched the button. The screen lit up, indicating four texts, five missed calls and five voicemails. I checked the phone log and didn't recognize any of the numbers. I opened the voicemail and held the phone to my ear.

  Three different scouts from the tryout. Two of them had called twice. All of the messages were different versions of asking me to call them back when I got the message. The texts were from the same callers with the same message. Call them back.

  I set the phone down on my stomach, which was now filled with something akin to iron butterflies. Based on what the one scout said to me at the workout, I shouldn't have been surprised to hear from teams, but my own self-doubt still made it a little surreal to absorb the idea that professional baseball teams were interested in me. And while I should've been jumping up and down, completely jacked up with excitement, all I could feel was anxiety.

  None of the three teams that called had minor league teams anywhere near Southern California. I was looking at the Midwest or the East Coast for sure. Which meant being away from Abby. Which meant I wasn't willing to go, no matter what she said. I knew she'd put up a fight, too. I couldn't even decide whether or not to call the scouts back.

  “You look like you've seen a ghost.”

  I twisted in the sofa bed.

  Annika was standing there in shorts that barely covered her ass and a white tank top that clearly illustrated she was bra-less.

  “Did you?” she asked, running a hand through her hair as she headed for the kitchen. “See Casper?”

  “No.”

  I heard the fridge door open and the sound of a glass hitting the counter. She came back a moment later, a cup of orange juice in her hand. “Well, what the hell's wrong then?”

  “None of your business,” I said. “And why are you up?”

  She sipped the juice, then shrugged. “Couldn't sleep.”

  “Probably tough sleeping in something other than a coffin.”

  A corner of her mouth turned upward into something resembling a smile. “I'm a bitch, not a vampire, West.”

  “At least you admit it.”

  “I'm serious,” she said.

  “I know you are,” I said. “I've seen you in action.”

  She shook her head. “Not about being a bitch. About you having seen a ghost. What's the matter?”

  “I'm fine,” I said.

  She stared at me, her eyes so focused that I finally had to look away.

  “You aren't fine,” she said. “Even I can see that.”

  “I'm fine,” I repeated.

  She drained the juice from the glass, took it back to the kitchen and came back. “I didn't know about Stanford.”

  “And what you really mean is you can't believe I'm a lot fucking smarter than you,” I said, scowling at her.

  “It did come as a bit of a shock.”

  “Then you're probably shocked by most people you meet.”

  She pointed a finger at me. “Good one. Ha. But, seriously. Why didn't you go?”

  “None of your business.”

  She rolled her eyes, like she was tired of hearing that. “Okay. I'll find out on my own. But I assume baseball was the reason you got in.”

  “You can assume whatever you'd like.”

  She stared at me for a long moment. “You know, if you're in this thing with Abby for the long haul, we're gonna have to learn to coexist.”

  “We're coexisting just fine.” I knew I was being a dick but I couldn't help it. Annika brought out the worst in me.

  “No, we're not,” she said. “I'm trying and you're basically giving me the finger at every opportunity.”

  “I'm sure you're used to that.”

  She wasn't trying. She'd been a royal bitch at dinner the night before. There might have been moments where she'd made an effort to be contrite—on the path outside the pool, and even sitting here in the living room—but she wasn't consistent. And I knew then that she wasn't really sorry about what had happened. Maybe she was sorry for hurting Abby. But me? She didn't give a shit about me. And she didn't care if I was with her sister or not.

  Annika rolled her eyes again and shook her head. “Okay. If that's how you wanna play it, that's fine with me. I know I deserve it.” She gave me a tight smile. “But it takes a lot of energy to stay angry forever.”

  I smiled back. I'd be telling Abby the moment she woke up that the deal was off. I was breaking my promise. Because there was no way in hell I was forgiving her sister. “Guess what, sweetheart? I've got energy like you wouldn't believe.”

  FIFTEEN

  I didn't get the chance to tell her. Because, in a matter of minutes, everyone else in the casita had roused themselves, descending on the ki
tchen and living room for coffee and food. After a few attempts of trying to get Abby alone, I gave up and excused myself to get ready for my meeting with Coach Childs. I showered quickly and then, standing in the bedroom Abby and her sister were now sleeping in, stood with a towel wrapped around me, hunting for something suitable to wear. I pulled on the only pair of nice shorts I'd brought and was trying to find a shirt when Abby waltzed in, dangling a set of car keys from her fingers.

  “These are for you.”

  “For me?” I said, confused.

  “The car keys,” she said. “So you can get to your meeting.”

  “Your dad isn't gonna drive me?”

  “He said you could take the car.”

  “He trusts me?”

  She smiled. “Why wouldn't he?”

  I thought for a moment. “I don't know.”

  She walked over and folded the keys into my hand. “It's a car, not a nuclear bomb, and he knows you have a driver's license.”

  “Why can't you drive?”

  “I'm not going,” she said.

  “You're not?”

  “Why would I?”

  “Because I want you to.”

  “But aren't you going to be talking about baseball and...stuff?”

  “Well, yeah.”

  She folded her hand over mine. “I think I might be a little out of place.”

  “You're never out of place.”

  “In a meeting with you and a baseball coach?” She laughed. “I would be out of place in all kinds of ways.”

  “You don't wanna come with?” I asked.

  She shrugged. “I'm just not sure it sends the right message, dragging your girlfriend along with you. You need to be there for you. You don't want some coach judging how he feels about you based on the fact that some girl is draped all over you.”

  “You don't have to drape yourself. You could just sit.”

  “But I usually drape,” she said, wrapping her arms around my neck. “Like this.”

  “I sort of like this.”

  “But I'm not sure Coach What's-His-Name would.”

  “Hmm. I'm sure he'd like you.”

  She pushed herself up on her tiptoes and kissed me lightly. “He'll like you. Without me.”

  “I wasn't planning on going alone.”

  She dropped back down to the flats of her feet. “You'll be great.”

  I glanced at the pile of clothing I'd tossed on the bed. “Not if I can't find a shirt to wear.”

  Abby stepped away from me for a moment, gave me a sly smile and walked over to the closet. She opened the door, reached in and pulled out a navy blue golf shirt. The sales tag was still attached to the small white tag on the inside of the collar.

  She took it off the hanger and handed it to me. “Problem solved.”

  I took it. “Where you'd get this?”

  “I might've purchased it when I bought your baseball stuff,” she said. “I'm very thorough.”

  I laughed, shook my head and pulled it on. “Yeah, you are.”

  She folded her arms across her chest. “I just had a feeling.”

  I buttoned the button at the neck. “Have I told you how much I love you today?”

  She pretended to think for a moment. “No. Not today. You're behind schedule.”

  I gathered her in my arms and pulled her close to me. Her eyes softened as she looked up at me. I leaned down and kissed her.

  “I love you today,” I whispered.

  She laughed. “I love you today, too.”

  I kissed her again. “I love you every day.”

  “Me too.” She tapped her fingers against my chest. “And you need to get going so you're not late.”

  The anxiety I'd woken up with immediately returned. I felt like I was walking into a job interview without knowing what position I was interviewing for or knowing if I was even qualified. Knots formed in my gut and I wished I'd skipped breakfast.

  “It'll be fine,” Abby said, reading my mind. “You'll be fine. Just go talk to him. No strings attached. You aren't tied to anything right now.”

  I nodded.

  “And then come back here and tell me how it went,” she said. “Then we can figure out what's next. One step at a time.”

  Easier said than done.

  SIXTEEN

  I found the athletic department offices adjacent to the massive football stadium after making my way through the enormous maze of green lawns and stucco buildings on the university campus. I parked the Sellers' SUV in a visitors parking spot and, after taking a deep breath, I forced myself to get out and shut the door behind me.

  I walked toward the glass-doored entrance, the morning air feeling like the inside of an oven. The grass that lined the walkway was damp, small drops of water glistening in the sunshine. Everything looked like it had just been washed, scrubbed and cut.

  I stepped through the glass doors and the cool air enveloped me. The walls were dotted with glossy photographs, showcasing the university's athletic teams in action. A wide receiver celebrating in the end zone. A baseball player sliding into home, his hands extended above his head. A basketball player soaring to the rim, his mouth wide open, the ball cupped well above his head.

  I made my way toward a tall, U-shaped desk. A girl stood behind it, short blonde hair, a dark summer tan, about my age. She smiled at me and her teeth were as shockingly white as her hair. “Can I help you?”

  “I'm meeting with Coach Childs this morning,” I said.

  She nodded knowingly. “I had you pegged as a baseball player as soon as you walked through the doors. I can usually tell.”

  I leaned an elbow on the counter. “That right?”

  She nodded again. “Yep.” She glanced down at something on her desk, then picked up the phone. After a moment, she said “West Montgomery is here for you.” She paused, then said. “Okeydoke.” She hung up.

  “How'd you know my name?” I asked.

  She held up an iPad. “Well, this little thing from the future has a calendar in it and if our coaches do their jobs correctly, all I have to do is bring it up and I'll know who's who.”

  I smiled. “Got it.”

  She stood. She wore a navy tank top with the university logo emblazoned across the front and white shorts. The color of her legs matched the deep tan of her arms. “I'll take you down.”

  “Tennis player,” I said.

  She stopped abruptly at the edge of the desk. “What?”

  “You're a tennis player.”

  She stared at me for a moment, then nodded. “Yeah. How'd you know?”

  “I can usually tell.” I repeated her words.

  She smiled and shook her head. “Follow me.”

  I did and we walked the long hallway, the walls again adorned with more photos of the Arizona athletes. We stopped at a bank of elevators and she punched the up button.

  “I'm Christina,” she said, offering her hand.

  “And you already know mine,” I said as I shook.

  “I assume you're a prospective student?” she asked.

  The elevator bell dinged and the sleek metal doors opened. We stepped inside.

  “I guess so,” I said.

  “Have you already been admitted?”

  “Nope.”

  “I haven't seen your name on recruiting lists.”

  “I just met your coach yesterday.”

  She pushed the button with the number four on it and the doors slid closed. “Wow. Really? Kind of a weird time.”

  I shrugged. “I guess.”

  “I'm a junior,” she said. “And, yeah. A tennis player. But I work here during the summer. I'm majoring in sports administration and figured this was a good place to start.”

  “Probably so.”

  “Where are you from?”

  “San Diego?”

  “Nice,” she said. The bell dinged again and the doors opened. “My ex-boyfriend was from San Diego.”

  I wasn't sure if she was making conversation, recruiting me, or fl
irting with me. Whichever it was, she was at least easy to talk to.

  The hall we stepped into as we came out of the elevator was just like the ones downstairs. Long and filled with photos.

  Christina pointed to the end of the hall, her hand still on the elevator door. “Coach Childs is the last one on the left. Can't miss it.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Hope it goes well,” she said, stepping back into the elevator and flashing the white teeth at me again. “I'll be downstairs when you're done. Trying to figure out how you knew I played tennis.”

  The doors closed before I could respond.

  Coach Childs was already out of his office before I got to the end of the hallway. He wore a collared red university shirt, khaki shorts and a visor with an “A” on it.

  We shook hands.

  “Right on time,” he said, smiling. “A good start.”

  I nodded and followed him into his office. It was a corner room with a large window that looked out toward the football stadium. There were pictures mounted on the walls, all former or current players by the look of it. More photos, this time of what appeared to be his family, were displayed on the top of a low bookshelf situated behind his neatly maintained desk.