Kicked: A Bad Boy Sports Romance (16 page)

I cleaned my face off with some makeup wipes, preparing my canvas for color. My idea wasn't very original—lots of people painted their faces for games—but I wanted to do it in a way that was artful, classic, feminine.

I leaned in and started contouring the right side of my face with gold. I figured why not do one side for the home team, the other for the visitors? I didn't owe allegiance to anybody. I was from the middle of nowhere, a city called Quaker's Park where anybody and everybody was allowed on the football team because even then, there were hardly enough people to make a practice game possible. Nobody visited us on Friday nights to face off, and we certainly didn't travel anywhere to play.

No wonder Tyce needed to get the hell out of there.

He was right; there was nothing there for either of us.
Except love.
I choked up as I dusted my forehead near my hairline, my cheekbone, along the edge of my nose, my jawline. I even added a little at the edge of my tear duct to brighten things up. Next came the green, a cascading sea of colored sparkles from my eyebrow all the way down to my lashes. Black mascara, some matching liner that curved up at the edge of my eye to make the Nike swoosh, a nod to one of the team's sponsors.

“
If I'd stayed, we would've gotten married and had kids and lived in a shitty trailer by the cemetery.”

Tyce said that like he was describing a post apocalyptic nightmare. To me, it didn't sound so bad.

Was he saying he could've loved me? That he did love? Does he love me now?
I was so confused.

I stared at myself in the mirror as I applied green lipstick to exactly half my mouth, pulling out a glimmering gold liquid liner and using the tiny brush to paint half of the famous University of Oregon 'O'. I connected it on the other side with dark red lipstick and a pale pumpkin orange 'A' in another shimmering liner I had in my stash.

As I painted, my thoughts came clearer, freed from my body along with a rush of creativity. As I stared at myself, watched my thin, pale face transform into a piece of living, breathing art, I tried to sort out my feelings. Or maybe it was Tyce's feelings I was trying to figure out?

He didn't care about me, yet … everything he did was in my own best interest. What was that about? And his excuse for not calling or visiting? It was that he was too … scared to talk to me? See me? That he was
afraid
of falling in love with me? I just flat-out didn't understand any of it.

My phone buzzed in my pocket, and I pulled it out, tossing it facedown on the shiny white surface of the vanity table, another piece of furniture that belonged to Chelease. Sitting right next to it was the yellow-orange eyeshadow I was looking for. I crushed it up into a fine powder and then dusted the same areas on my left side. My freckles still showed, dancing across the bridge of my nose like stars, but I didn't mind them so much with this look. I looked rugged, sporty, but still pretty.

I was in my
own
element now, a nice reminder that I'd pulled myself together once, fought past the hardship and the pain Tyce left with me and triumphed. I could do that again. Now that we'd settled on the idea of becoming strangers again, life would sort itself out. Besides, he didn't
deserve
to talk to me. He'd betrayed my mom and me, so screw him.

As I pulled out a burgundy shadow and started in on my left eye, I pulled up memories of Tyce and the bruises on his arms, his shaved head, the trembling of his hands. His foster mom was a monster—a rich, connected monster. She took kids in that'd had hard lives and made them even harder. Instead of using her wealth and privilege to take care of him, she'd beaten him, humiliated him, even once locked him in a bathroom with a bucket full of bleach and ammonia until he'd passed out. When my mom had tried to report it, the cops and DHS had looked the other way.

So she'd taken him in. For a while, everything was fine. Tyce's foster mom, Jackie, didn't much care
where
he was at first, especially if it was with my mom; she used to
like
Venus. But when Jackie had learned it was her, that my mom was the bitch that had reported them way back when, she lost it. When she demanded Tyce back, my mother refused. She got charged with kidnapping; my life became a living hell for a while. My mom, me, we made so many sacrifices for Tyce and yet we hadn't been worth the cost of a stamp? A five minute phone call?

“Fuck him,” I snapped, as I slammed my makeup brush down on the table and took a look at myself. My face was the perfect blend of sports fanatic and glamour. I snatched up my phone to take a picture and noticed Tyce's name in my notifications.
What the hell?

'I'm rocking pink for boobs,'
he sent, followed by a selfie of him in a black and pink football uniform, a neon pink helmet on his head. It was Breast Cancer Awareness Month, and the Ducks were sporting its signature colors. Tyce looked criminally gorgeous in them, even though I could barely see his face, just the full ripe curve of his lower lip and a few tattoos between his sleeve and his glove. I spotted the spider, its web, a black and gray skull.
'I'll be playing today for yours.'

I had no idea what that was supposed to mean. Talk about mixed messages.

I looked up and met my green eyes in the mirror for a long moment, studying my makeup, the brilliant play of color on my lids and lips. My skin shimmered with the brightly colored powder, and the pitchfork I'd drawn off the edge of my left eye was a nice asymmetrical balance to the Nike Swoosh.

I resisted the urge to chew at my freshly painted lip and then lifted the camera, snapping a wide-eyed selfie of my makeup and sending it over to Tyce. I wasn't sure if he was supposed to be playing with his phone, or what time the game even started, but I guess when you're the star QB, you can get away with murder.

'The right side is hot. The other side, not so much.'
I almost smiled, but it quickly turned into a frown. Hot? My face was hot? My face was not
supposed
to be hot. Hadn't we just decided on that at coffee yesterday?

'Why are you texting me?'
I asked, because I needed an answer before my head exploded.

'Because we're friends again,'
he responded, like it was that simple for him. Now that we'd agreed that our feelings were getting in the way of our prospective life paths, that we tended to have pretty toxic encounters because of that, we'd just wipe it all away and be buddies.
'And I play twice as hard when I know you're watching.'

'Conflicting statements,'
I shot back.
'I can't be both a detriment to your career, and a bonus. Didn't we just agree not to talk?'

'Is it okay if we do? Talk, I mean. Not fuck or fight or anything, just talk. Can't we be friends again? We had plenty of good times together when we were kids, no sex or romance involved.'

I pursed my lips and felt my muscles tense as I resisted the urge to scroll up and watch that video again. I'd promised to delete it; I couldn't. The two sides of me warred, the part that hated Tyce with the part that loved him, that had always loved him. I guess I didn't have to
fall
in love with him to love him though, right? I didn't have to screw him to care about him. And I didn't have to forgive him to talk to him.

And I liked talking to him. When we weren't fighting, it was fun. Now I just had to figure out how to look at him without flushing hot and warm, remembering the feel of his cock inside of me, drooling at the sight of that long, lean muscular body of his. To be honest, I actually wasn't sure if I could do it.

My body and my heart called my brain a traitor when I texted him back.

'I guess so. Okay. Just don't send me anymore dirty pictures.'

And that's how Tyce Reynolds Winship and I started to become friends again.

Look how easy that was,
I thought at the time.

I could not have been anymore wrong.

Being friends with Tyce was the hardest thing I'd ever done in my life; it changed the course of it—irreparably.

I was running in the park in the trashed pair of white sneakers my mom had purchased for me freshman year of high school. They didn't look like much, but at least they cushioned the rise and fall of my feet as I chartered a course around the duck pond at one end of the park and started down the path next to the canal, heading for the dog park and the football stadium. I had to pass the damn thing on my way into the park and again on my way out.

Of course, each and every time I did, I thought about Tyce.

It was annoying because I didn't actually need any help conjuring my childhood friend up in my brain. He was sort of always there anyway. Our random declaration of platonic friendship yesterday didn't really change anything, but I wished it would. Maybe I just needed more time?

I came to a stumbling stop and practically fell onto the water fountain, sucking back several gulps of cool, clean water before I stood up and felt my phone buzzing in the zippered pocket of my running shorts. It was a clever design, a horizontal zipper along my back, right above my ass. It was just big enough for my phone, an ID, and my debit card.

'I see you.'

A message from Tyce, obviously.

I looked up, glancing around the park, feeling panicked all of a sudden. Here we were, again, alone in the park. I swallowed hard and laced my fingers behind my head as I did a three-sixty and tried to find him. He was easy to find. That perfect, bronze chest and those tattoos were hard to miss.

My throat closed up as he jogged down the path towards me. It couldn't be an accident that he was here, right now. He'd texted me last night and asked if I'd enjoyed the game. I'd lied and told him he was great, and then he'd asked me what I was doing today.

I thought he was just being nice, trying to make this friend thing actually work. I guess he really had wanted to know. And then he'd asked me my shoe size. Still couldn't quite figure that one out.

“Hey there,” I said, hating how my voice got snatched up by the wind and torn away. I didn't mean to sound like that.
I'm Teagan Fletcher. I light things on fire and put dead squirrels in people's offices.
Hmm. Not as motivating as I would've liked.

I continued to stare as Tyce walked up to me, moving like some sort of wild animal. His movements were easy and well-practiced, backed by speed and muscle, coordination and training. The skull on his chest smiled back at me as Tyce paused a little too close, his sweats
way
too far down his hips to be legal. There was this big, wide smooth span of space between his belly button and his waistband. Clearly, he shaved because there was no hair to be seen anywhere on his person. I didn't mind—I
really
didn't mind—but I was absolutely positive his dick was right there, just below that line of fabric. If his pants were any further down, I'd be looking right at it.

I tried to pull my gaze away but the black and gray sparrows on either side of his hips kept my attention focused in the most inappropriate places. He
had
to have done that on purpose. The Sailor Jerry style tattoos rode right over the lines of those V muscles, an Adonis belt I think it was called. They tucked in so tight, giving him this valley on either side that I wanted to put my tongue in.

Friends, huh.

This was so going to work.

I turned back to the water fountain and splashed myself in the face on the pretense that I was just tired from my workout. Who would know the difference? My heart rate was already sky high, my breath coming in gasping pants, my muscles quivering and covered in sweat. Either I'd just run several miles or … I was lusting over Tyce.

For the last several weeks, I'd tried to figure out why I'd done what I'd done, let him fuck me in the park. Standing here like this, I remembered in vivid detail.

“Didn't meant to crash your run, but I needed to get out of the dorms. Kai gets in these screaming arguments with his dad, and he flat-out fucking refuses to take them elsewhere.” Tyce shrugged loose and easy when I looked back over at him. Only … he wasn't looking at my face, he was staring at my ass which was sticking out as I stayed bent over the water fountain.

I stood up suddenly and his eyes moved quickly up to mine.

In his left hand, a pair of green, black and white tennis shoes hung suspended.

Tyce's blue eyes flashed with some of that gorgeous gold color, and he smiled. It was a big, nice friendly smile, unlike
anything
I'd gotten out of him since bumping into him at right about this spot in the park. Now that sex and romance was off the table and our relationship was neatly packaged and put in its place, he seemed a lot more affable.

“I brought you a present,” he told me, holding out the shoes and waiting for me to take them. I stared at his face, at the strong straight bridge of his nose, his dark brows, the way he kept this swaggering smirk resting at the corners of his lips at all times. I think it was a front. I'm not saying Tyce wasn't confident or anything, but I think the look was a mask for his emotions. He'd always been a
seriously
emotional guy with some
seriously
itchy anger problems.