Caught (9 page)

Bottom of the 6
th

Quinn

I watch from afar as Chace pulls out of his driveway to leave. His brakes squeal a bit and this god awful winding noise happens when he shifts out of reverse before speeding off down the street. I wanted to stick around and to really see him off. I wanted to tell him that I’m not sure if I’m fine, and it’s not because he took my virginity. But talking, especially about feelings, would surely only lead our friendship to destruction. If I leave it be, what it truly was, just sex, then we should be fine.

If I can ever fully face him again without being taking back to the night he was inside me and made me feel more than just with my heart, elevating every sense my body had to offer.

“Quinn,” Finley sings as she makes her way around the bushes at the edge of my yard. “Oh, Qui-inn.” Her eyes get big and she smiles even brighter when she spots me sitting on the porch steps. “I knew you couldn’t have gone too far.”

“Well, I do only live down the block.” I rub my forehead and wonder if it’s an alcohol induced headache, or my mind and feelings that have my head pounding. Either way, it sucks balls and I don’t like it.

“Come on, Quinn.” She pulls my loose arm into hers. “You know the only cure for a hangover is getting pampered. Mani-pedi’s on me.”

“Well hell, if you’re paying.” I stand with her as she gives my arm a yank. “It’s not like you’re twisting my arm or anything…just pulling it,” I mumble.

We walk back over to Chace’s house arm in arm to get her car. I’m instantly struck with a feeling of loneliness as we walk up the short drive. I stare at the place where his truck is always parked, noticing the grass that’s discolored and the worn parts that are now dirt, then I glance up to the second floor of the house. I keep waiting for him to poke his head out his bedroom window and yell out that he’s on his way down.

“Ahem,” Finley clears her throat and I debate strangling her. For just a second or two, not long enough to do any actual damage. I’m unbearably quiet. I’m even boring myself. I can only imagine how much of a downer Finley must think I am.

“Yessss?” I let the word drag out.

“As my best friend, I need you to take a vow.” Finley looks over at me, biting her lip, and then looks back at the road. This isn’t good. This is the part where she wants my story to counteract Chace’s. Dammit. I guess we should’ve at least collaborated that part before he left. If I wasn’t being such a girl about all of this, I would’ve thought it out better.

“Okay,” I say hesitantly.

“Please never let me drink again. Seriously. Like, never!” I watch as she tightly grips her steering wheel. “I made an absolute fool in front of my best friend and my boyfriend. And God knows who else.” I can hear the embarrassment in her voice. Something I’m not used to.

“You can say that again,” I half joke, trying to keep the focus on her.

“What all happened? My memory is pretty splotchy.” She puts her car in park, leaving it running while we sit in front of the mall and I carefully piece together what all I should say next. Maybe I should just go for the goods and shock her into silence.

“Well, you kissed me.” I pucker my lips at her.

“Oh, God. At least tell me it was good.”

“Can’t complain.” It’s the truth. She was the second best kisser of the night.

“And then what?” Her eyes bug out with curiosity.

“Uhh, you jumped out of the shower and quickly passed out and we laughed at how much of a lightweight you are.” I grab my phone and look at it, knowing I have no new texts or notifications, but needing a bit of a distraction to hide my lies.

She groans and tosses her head back against the seat. “Typical. You two are always teaming up against me.”

I smile my first genuine smile of the day because she’s so right.

I do feel guilty. Horribly so. Finley’s my best friend. But so is Chace. He’s been so from the get go. If I have to choose, my loyalty will always swing his way.

But it’s not just his ass I’m covering.

****

Finley is so precise and picky about everything. Especially her nails. She has all these demands that I know I’m not the only one rolling my eyes.

“Don’t let my feet soak too long. Don’t use that lotion, it dries my hands out. Do not trim my nails shorter than an inch, but don’t leave them longer than two inches. And make sure they are all the same.”

I swear. There is no doubt she comes from money and has either inherited the picky gene or it’s just an engrained way of life for her.

Me, on the other hand, could care less. I only came for the massage chairs. And right now, my body can use an epic rub a dub dubbing.

“Quinn. Qu-iiinnn! Are you even listening to me?”

I open my eyes and turn my head to the side, facing her. I don’t bother answering her. It was a rhetorical question anyway. She knows I wasn’t listening.

“Tomorrow. Do you have plans tomorrow?” she asks, not even looking my way, and I begin to nod my head in a slow, over-exaggerated motion. Then she looks my way and continues, “Of course you don’t.” I turn my nod into a back and forth shake, keeping the tempo I had. She pays absolutely no attention to me. “You up for some modeling?” Her voice rises with excitement. I just stop and stare at her, waiting for her to tell me my answer. “Of course you are.” She claps, and I give her a half fake, half real smile.

It could be worse, I suppose. She could have asked me to FaceTime Chace with her. I know she will eventually. It’s inevitable. And I’ll have to play my part—the
everything’s fine and dandy
best friend part. I’ll learn to deal with whatever this is I’m feeling on my own.

That’s probably why you should never sleep with your best guy friend who’s in a relationship with your best girl friend. You no longer feel like a third wheel. You feel like a UFO.

I come in peace.

7
th
Inning Stretch

Chace

Placing the Red Bull can to my mouth, I tip it upward, allowing the cold, sweet liquid to fall into my mouth.  I chug the remainder before tossing the empty can onto the floor just as I pass the Welcome to Chatham sign.  With darkness cloaking the town, I’m thankful that I have my GPS to tell me where I’m going.  My stomach flips into itself at the thought of living with people I’ve never met before for the next two and a half months.  Coach had assured me that the families that the CCBL select for housing have been doing it for years and are used to having teenage boys with hectic schedules living with them.

I run my hand along my face, hoping to get the tired out of my eyes in the process.  Last night had exhausted me. I didn’t sleep well.  Flashes of the heat between Quinn and I kept disrupting my sleep cycle.  The guilt made me nauseated as I wrapped my arms around Finley, but somehow, as I pulled her tightly into me, I hoped it would erase the betrayal. 

The GPS tells me to turn right, and I immediately flick my blinker on before turning down a side street.  The day has crawled by on the drive up here.  The scenery passed by me as I sat alone with nothing but my own thoughts.  There has been a few times where I blasted the radio in hopes to drown out the noise in my mind, but it didn’t do any good. I’d like to say that I thought about baseball the whole time. It’s what I should have been thinking about, but I’d be a liar if I said I did.  I could only think about Quinn and what the fuck I had done.  In fact, she was the only thing I could think about.  All damn day. 

Quinn had her walls up high today.  So high that I couldn’t even manage to scale them.  In fact, I hadn’t even been able to get close enough to touch them.  Quinn was pushing this away, and I couldn’t really blame her for it.  She had every right to not want to discuss what happened, but I need some sort of direction.  What happened shouldn’t have happened.  But Finley all but took our clothes off for us…

And now everything is all fucked up.

I slam my hand against the steering wheel.

It’s ridiculous that it’s all I can think about.  It’s stupid that I’m trying to justify our actions.  Finley had been drunk, she didn’t want Quinn and I to have sex, especially not while she was passed out next to us. 
              The GPS tells me that I have arrived at my destination, and I pull into the driveway of the numbered mailbox I have been looking for.  Number three.  How ironic.

Placing the truck in park, I let out a sigh before turning the ignition off.  I give the house a once over.  It’s a modest yet nice two level with enormous bay windows that are lit up.  I can see movement inside, and I know that I need to make a move since they’re expecting me.  I can’t keep them waiting.  My muscles scream at me as I make my move and open the door.  My feet hit the pavement just as the front door opens.  My eyes look in the direction of the light filled doorway and notice the middle aged woman standing on the steps.  She smiles and waves and I immediately wave back before grabbing my duffel bag and slinging it over my shoulder.

“You must be Chace,” she chirps as my feet climb the front steps.

I look up at her and smile.  “Guilty as charged, ma’am.”  I stick my hand out to shake hers, but she ignores it and wraps her arms around my neck.  My brain freezes for a moment before I awkwardly wrap my free arm around her petite frame.

“Don’t call me ma’am, Chace.  My name’s Abby.”

We break our embrace and I notice her husband standing behind her, smiling.  “Sorry, son.  Abby hugs a lot.” He reaches out and places his hand in mine, giving me a firm shake.  “Name’s Lee.” 

“S’all good.” I smile and step inside with them.  “Thank you so much for opening up your home to me.”

“We’re the lucky ones,” she says. 

The husband wraps his arm around her shoulders and she turns her head slightly towards him, her eyes softening as she looks at him.  They’re clearly madly in love, and it makes my stomach turn knowing that I just committed the biggest betrayal of my life against the person that loves me most.  “We’ve done it every year for the past twelve years,” he says flatly.  “It’s been a learning experience, and it keeps us busy through the summer.  But we wouldn’t have it any other way.”

The fact that they’ve been a surrogate family that long shocks me.  Inside the house I’m able to actually see them with the assistance of the lights.  They both look younger than I had imagined.  The husband has some silver hair peppered along the sides of his head and the wife looks to be in her late thirties.  I imagined them to be a lot older. Why, I’m not really sure.  It was just something I had in my head.  “I really appreciate it,” I manage to finally say.

“Have you eaten?” she asks, just like my mother would, and I immediately feel at home.

“Actually, I haven’t.”

Lee places a hand on my shoulder and smiles again.  “Well, let me take your bag for you while Abby heats you up a plate.  We’ll show you your room after.”  He grabs the strap off my shoulder and places it on his.

They chatter excitedly as we enter the kitchen.  Lee says that he’s going to go drop my bag off in the room and Abby starts pulling leftovers from the fridge and prepping me a plate.  My stomach growls, reminding me that I haven’t eaten anything of any real nutritional value today.  She hums happily as she works, and I decide that I need to let someone know that I’ve made it.  I shoot a quick text to my mom and promise to call her once I get into my room later.

Abby places a plate of spaghetti on the table.  “Thanks so much.”

She looks down at me, her face glowing with happiness.  “Of course.”  She sits down at the island and Lee comes in and joins her.  They talk quietly amongst themselves, obviously giving me space to eat on my own.  They’re awesome.

Hiding my cell phone under the table, I contemplate who to text next.  My mind goes back and forth between Quinn and Finley so many times that I’m afraid my plate might actually go cold.  Giving in, my fingers tap against the screen, and I type out my message and hit send before I can second guess myself.  I toss the phone onto the table and grab my fork before shoveling in the hot spaghetti.  I eat in silence, but the words I just sent echo in my head.

Me: Q, I’m here.  Please don’t push me away.  I’m sorry.

7
th
Inning Stretch Part II

Quinn

I stare at my phone and then back at my painted sparkly black nails…then back at my phone. Each time I look at my nails I think about his words. Each time I look back down I do so to make sure I read them correctly the previous time.

They never change.

He doesn’t want me to push him away. That’s nice. But it’s not like I can pull him closer. And I’m not so sure I can just leave things smack dab in the middle either. I’m all over the place. This I know. But I don’t want him knowing.

I had turned off the option for senders to know if I’ve read their texts earlier today. I wanted to be able to read his without responding if I chose not to, yet not letting him think I was ignoring him. I want him to think I’m busy. Too busy for him. Maybe even with another guy.

Who am I kidding? Why would being with another guy all of a sudden bother him? He thought I’ve been making my rounds throughout high school. But I guess now it’s different. Now he knows. He knows part of the truth I’ve been keeping to myself. We share a secret. I’m just uncertain if he values it as much as I do—if he values me and what I willingly gave him.

Lame. I’m not sure when I started thinking like a frigging girl. My cherry getting popped must have prompted it. If I would’ve only known that fruit would cause so much grief, I would have kept that bitch locked up air tight.

I roll over and toss my phone, shooting off the side of the bed to catch it when I over toss it. I dangle off my bed as I hold my phone and contemplate replying. It can’t hurt for me to send a simple message back. He didn’t have to text me in the first place. Especially after how I was acting earlier. This text proves he is thinking about me. That has to count, right?

Me: I’m glad you made it.

I push send and feel like a loser. That is not the typical Quinn reply. She would have been witty and sarcastic with an underlying tone showing she cared.

It’s only been a day and I don’t even know myself anymore. Nice. Maybe college will find her for me. Or all of my personalities since apparently I’m losing it.

Sleep. I need some sleep. That oughta fix me. I am deprived. I sit my phone on my side table and click my lamp off. I toss and turn for a moment, pressing my head against my pillow, then lean up so I can flip it over and fluff it. I relax back down and let out a sigh of contentment.

Then my phone chimes.

Go figure.

I creep one eye open, visually seeing the proof of the text as my phone screen illuminates my room. I tightly close my eyes trying to ignore it. Forget it. But then it does the stupid reminder chime letting me know that it’s still there, and it’s not going anywhere until I roll over and check it out. So I do.

Finley: Be ready by 8:30 sharp!

Disappointed over who the sender is, I turn my phone off, hoping to shut my mind off as well.

****

“Yo, Queef! Get up.” My door opens and then slams as Judd does a drive by wake up call. I have to give the little man props. His way is very effective. That’s probably why my mother has seemed to assign him with the task. She probably got tired of me smacking her hand away when she’d come in and try to be all sweet by pushing my hair from my face. She finally got the hint around the tenth or so time when I told her it was creepy and she needed to stop that shit.

I grab my phone and turn it on, needing to know the time. I’m positive that I’m running late and Finley has already shit a brick or two.

8:19. I got this. Eleven minutes is plenty of time. I throw the covers back and sit up. My phone starts acting possessed as all the missed calls, texts, and voicemails begin filtering in. Scratch that. It’s just two...according to my phone, Finley has shit a good thirteen bricks. She is going to be rather delightful once she gets here. Nothing I can’t handle. Her freak outs don’t bother me like they did when we first became friends.

I quickly brush my teeth, toss my hair into a loose ponytail, and wash my face, making sure they have a clean canvas to work on when we arrive. I grab my high-waisted jean shorts and midriff showing Mickey Mouse shirt that hangs off my shoulder and get dressed. I ignore my phone as it buzzes some more and begin the search for my black flip flops. I’m knee deep in purses, scarfs, and shoes when I hear my door swing open.

“Please tell me you aren’t still asleep.” I don’t reply. Instead I let her work herself up just a bit more. “You better be ready.” I watch as she pushes open the bathroom door. I grab my flops, sliding them on as I stand in my closet’s doorway.

I let out an ‘
ahem’
to garner her attention and regret it as soon as she makes eye contact with me. She looks slightly pissed, and the way she’s walking towards me with a highly annoyed look plastered on her face, I know she’s about to shit that fourteenth brick.

“Is it too much to ask for you to be courteous?” She props her hands on her dainty hips. Hips that are far too skinny for Chace’s hands to wrap around. Stupid mind. “I mean seriously, Quinn. You aren’t even paying attention to me now,” she huffs.

I want to tell her I am. I want to tell her what I was thinking. I want to tell her to shove it and all her bricks back where the sun don’t shine. But I don’t. When it comes to Finley, I pick my battles. And this one isn’t worth the effort.

“Sorry,” I say, walking past her to grab my phone and purse. “I turned my phone off last night.”

“I wondered why you never read the text I had sent.”

“Yeah, so it wasn’t like I was trying to be such a selfish friend and ignore you.” She seriously shouldn’t point the finger without knowing all the facts. Even though I’ll leave out the fact that I did get her text last night.

“That’s reassuring,” she says as she reaches over my bed and straightens my comforter out. Her perfectionist ways must be on high alert today. They sure are overriding her well-mannered ones. Heaven forbid the girl actually apologize.

“So, will this work?” I motion to my outfit, knowing that she will most likely point something out that she doesn’t like or that I should change.

Finley carefully eyes me up and down. I can see her mind working as she nods a few times, tilting her head to the side. She must be having a full blown convo with herself about my outfit. I could care less, honestly. No way am I wearing the sophisticated bullshit she pulls off. Maybe that’s why she’s the one who wants to be a lawyer.

“Yeah.” She nods, finally making eye contact with me. “You’re slightly above average.” Finley laughs, bringing a bit of humor in.

A dopey smile spreads across my face. How can I stay annoyed when she says something as foolish as that? “Aww, thanks. You’re such a good friend.”

We have our differences, but aren’t differences what strengthen the bonds we make? Don’t they compliment one another? Or do they eventually get bent out of shape like a puzzle piece that gets forced into the wrong spot? Or is it lies that do that?

Whatever it is, it works for us. But I know there will be a day when it no longer does. It won’t be because of our differences though. It will be because of lies. By the time it’s all said and done there will be more than one that’s been told. Isn’t that how you keep a lie hidden—by telling more lies?