For the Rush (Playing for Keeps #3) (2 page)

Holden

People were going to get the wrong impression about me. They were going to start thinking I was a pansy if I kept hanging out every night in the spa. It was one thing when I was in here next to a hot chick, but now I was hanging out with a bunch of dudes sitting in hot water and bubbles. And by the look on the young guy’s face in the corner, he might have just peed.

I needed to give it up already. This was my fourth night in here and Chloe hadn’t shown up once. Clearly she didn’t hang out in the spa every night like she’d led me to believe. But why lie? It didn’t make sense.

Perhaps I’d hallucinated her. Like the bubbles and hot water had gotten to my head or something.

Shit.
I needed to get out of here. With these crazy thoughts I was beginning to question my sanity. Pampering myself like a girl was making me think like one. I wasn’t the type of guy who sat in spas waiting on some chick.
What the hell was wrong with me?

A splash to my left caught my attention. When I saw a flash of black material and pale skin, my pulse quickened. But it wasn’t Chloe. It was an older lady who happened to be wearing a black bathing suit. And really she should have worn something less revealing. Shuddering, I stood up. That was it. I was done. No more hot tub for me.

Water dripped from my body as I climbed the spa steps, my hand gliding along the metal railing. Cool air circled me, causing goosebumps to rise on my wet flesh. The cement was like ice when my bare feet stepped onto it. I scurried to where my towel hung over a nearby chair. Yanking it up, I hurriedly wrapped it around my body and raced toward the locker room. The minute I walked inside where it was warm, my feet thawed. The locker room was filled with men in various stages of undress. Averting my gaze, I sidled past a naked older man to reach my locker. After inputting my combination, I opened it and reached inside for my bag. Liquid pooled around my feet, and I felt like an idiot.

“Hey, man, what’s going on?” Ryan’s voice sounded from over my shoulder.

I whirled around. “Hey, Ry.”

Ryan eyed my towel. “I was wondering why you weren’t out on the workout floor. Somethin’ you wanna tell me?”

Shaking my head, I rolled my shoulders. “Just working out the kinks in my shoulder.”

A look of skepticism came over his face, then was quickly replaced with understanding. “Is this about Spa Chick?”

Why did I tell Ryan anything?

“Dude, were you guys making some bubbles of your own?” He chuckled. “Getting your own jets going? Generating some heat?”

“Ha ha. You should become a comedian.” I turned away from him, snatching my bag out of the locker.

“Nah, man, I’m happy for you. Maybe now you’ll stop throwing like shit.”

I dropped my bag on a nearby bench. It landed with a loud thud. “Oh, so you mean I’ll stop throwing like you?”

Ryan just shook his head as if what I’d said was preposterous. Even though we both knew I threw better than him. “Tell me about the chick. She must be pretty damn special if you’re skipping out on your workouts for her.”

“Nothin’ to tell.” I fished inside my bag for a shirt. Once I’d located it, I yanked it over my head.

“C’mon, you can talk to me, man.”

Irritated, I shoved my arms through the sleeves. “I haven’t seen her since that first night, okay?”

His brown eyes widened, and he hit me in the gut. “Look at you, Rico Suave over here waiting around for some chick to show up. You’d never see me doing that shit.”

It was true. He never would. Ryan didn’t do commitment. He hooked up with new girls all the time. I’d seen my mom get screwed over too many times by the assholes she dated before she met my stepdad. There was no way I’d treat a girl like that. Therefore, I’d only had two girlfriends in my life. Stacy Bentley freshman year, and Bethany Tucker last year. But having a girlfriend complicated things. It cramped my style. They were so needy; taking up all my time. I liked guy time and playing football. That’s why my strange obsession with Chloe was even more surprising. My plan had been to stay away from girls this year. To graduate and get into Oceanside University where I could play ball. Ryan was right. I was no Rico Suave. So why was I acting like one?

Loud laughter reached my ears. The air in the room shifted. Before even looking up, I knew who had entered the locker room. One glance confirmed it.

“Look who it is,” Kade boomed from over Ryan’s shoulder. He was flanked by Chris and Trent. “Gold Rush’s biggest losers.”

Ryan’s face hardened. Crossing his arms over his chest, he pivoted in their direction. “Losers, huh? I seem to remember us kicking your asses last year.”

“Yeah, well don’t get too cocky. There’s no way you’re winning this year.” Kade glanced over at me, his gaze landing on my swim trunks. “What’s up, Drop ‘em?” Chris and Trent guffawed. What a bunch of idiots. He’d changed my name from Holden to Drop ‘em last year and thought it was the funniest shit ever. It didn’t even make sense. “You decide to quit football and take up swimming?”

Yeah, it was time to give up on the hot tub.

“It would sure make things easier on your team if that were the case,” I retorted.

“Play or don’t play. Makes no difference to us. We have a secret weapon this year.” Kade bumped fists with Chris and Trent. “Don’t we, boys?”

“We sure do,” Chris offered, while Trent just chuckled.

What did they mean by that?
Kade was the quarterback of our rival team. We beat them last year, but barely. The year before that they beat us. It was my senior year, and I didn’t want to end on a bad note. I couldn’t let them beat us this year. Before I could press them further, they slinked out of the locker room. I suppose it was for the better. Clearly they weren’t going to divulge anything, they were just trying to get under our skin. Too bad it worked.

“What an ass.” Ryan blew out a breath.

“Yeah,” I agreed. “But what do you think their secret weapon is?”

“Nothing. I think he was yankin’ our chain. Dude, you need to change out of those swim trunks and start acting like a man again.”

Point taken.
I nodded in agreement. It was time to get my mind off of Chloe and back on what was important.

Chloe

The uniform was the worst part of marching band.

Standing in front of the full length mirror in the band room, I took in my reflection. I wore a black uniform with an orange sash, and my hands were encased in black gloves. A black hat with an orange plume attached was perched on my head, making me look like a bird. It was super attractive, let me tell you. I considered myself a pretty stylish person. Clothes and fashion were something I enjoyed. I liked shopping and coordinating outfits. Since I was a little girl, picking out my clothes in the morning was a monumental event which included me pulling out most of my closet and mixing and matching until I had it just right. Sometimes my mom would get so frustrated she’d put on the timer and make me pick something to wear before it went off. But looking nice had always been important to me. Glancing back at my reflection, I frowned. Guess I’d have to give up on that notion tonight.

Gianna and Jasmine came up behind me filling the rest of the mirror, and they looked identical to me. At least I wasn’t alone in my misfortunate outfit. In fact, when I took the field at halftime I’d be surrounded by hundreds of other students all wearing the exact same uniform. I adjusted the hat on my head, blowing out a breath. I’d worn dark makeup tonight – red lipstick, kohl-lined eyes. A small part of me had hoped it could redeem this. But who was I kidding? There was no way to make this better. It was what it was.

Instruments sounded throughout the room as kids warmed up. Turning away from the mirror, I saw Preston approaching.

He shot me a shy wave. “Hey, Chloe.”

“What’s up, Pres?” I said, and his cheeks flushed.

When he passed me, Gianna’s eyebrows shot up. “What was that?”

I shrugged. “What do you mean?”

“Since when are you buddy-buddy with Preston Johnson?” Jasmine asked.

“I’m not. I just met him today,” I said, unsure of why it was such a big deal. First I wasn’t supposed to like Holden, and now I couldn’t talk to Preston? These two had too many rules. I was going to have to carry around a handbook or something.

“Pres?” Gianna cocked her head to the side.

“Oh, come on. You know me. I’m all about the nicknames,” I responded, and both girls smiled.

“True. You are the only person who calls me Jazzy.”

“And me Gigi.” Gianna giggled.

The first time I’d called her that she said it made her sound like a fifties movie star. But even then I could tell she liked it.

“Trust me, you need to stay away from Preston.” Jasmine leaned in close. I caught a whiff of her apple shampoo and fruit-scented lotion. “He’s a total nutjob.”

My stomach tightened. When my gaze located him across the room, he was pulling his trumpet out of the case. He seemed harmless. “What makes you say that?”

“I heard he talks to himself,” Jasmine offered.

“Yeah, and kids from his elementary school said he used to wet his pants in class, and not just in kindergarten. No, they said it happened all the way into third grade,” Gianna added.

I grimaced. “Seriously, you guys, this is nothing but rumors. You two should know better than anyone how mean kids are. You can’t believe everything you hear.”

“I know, but I still don’t trust him,” Jasmine said, finality in her tone. “He creeps me out.”

“Yeah. I had him in art last year and he always drew disgusting, bloody pictures. He’s twisted. I’m sure of it,” Gianna shuddered, glancing over her shoulder.

It was clear I wasn’t going to change their minds. Their opinion of Preston was rock solid. I caught a few students chuckling and pointing in Preston’s direction. He sat in the corner by himself, yanking the hat down further on his head. It made me feel even worse for him. It was one thing to be picked on by the jocks and popular kids, but to be picked on by one of your own? That was brutal.

Mr. Grant interrupted my thoughts by rounding us up. It looked like it was ‘go time.’ Nerves attacked my insides. It was our first halftime show, and I didn’t feel like we were ready. But we had a competition this weekend, and Mr. Grant wanted us to perform it at least once before then. I had no desire to make a fool of myself in front of the football team and their parents, but I didn’t really have a choice.

“All right. Let’s do this.” I grinned at my friends. Then I followed the rest of the band out to the field, gripping tightly to my saxophone. My fingers were slick with sweat, my knuckles white. The lights from the football field beckoned us as we stomped over the asphalt, our feet thundering like an encroaching army.

We passed the parking lot and it was almost completely full. My stomach tightened.

I leaned toward Jasmine. “Hey, Jazzy, a lot of people go to the football games here, huh?”

“Of course they do. Our football team is like the best.” She winked. “That boy you met at the gym is a local celebrity.”

I nodded, a stone descending in my gut. Holden’s face filled my mind. Nothing about his demeanor the night we met screamed “football star.” He was cute and endearing, humble even. When we rounded the corner, the football field came into view. The artificial turf was bright and inviting, the lights illuminating it. People of all ages filled the bleachers, and the energy radiating from them was infectious. My heart picked up speed. Football games were nothing like this at my last school. Then again, I’m pretty sure we only won a handful of games.

My gaze flickered to the scoreboard, and I saw that the Gold Rush High Tigers were creaming the other team. My breath hitched in my throat when I spotted Holden across the field. His back was to me, but I read the name on his orange jersey. Holden threw the ball, and a guy near the end zone caught it, side swiped a couple of players from the other team and made a touchdown. Cheering erupted, and Holden and his teammates gave each other a round of fist bumps and high fives. I couldn’t stop staring at him, and I couldn’t stop picturing what he looked like under all that football gear. I’d had a front row seat to him in nothing but swim trunks. It was a sight I wouldn’t soon forgot, I’ll tell you that.

“Okay.” Jasmine tugged my arm. “We’re up.”

As the players exited the field, Gianna moved away from Jasmine and me to join the other flutists. Jasmine stayed by my side, holding her saxophone in her hand. I glanced up into the bleachers trying to locate my parents. I knew they were somewhere in the crowd; however, it would be impossible to find them in all those people. It was worse than a “Where’s Waldo” book. At least he had on the red stripes and big hat. I had no idea what my parents were wearing, and they both were dark haired, so that was no help either. But just knowing they were out there somewhere gave me a boost. They never missed any of my performances or competitions, the same way they never missed my older brother’s baseball games when he was in high school. Abandoning the idea of finding them, I faced forward. As we moved to the goal line to walk out onto the field, a fierce breeze picked up. A flash of orange blew past me.
Shit
. Was that my plume? I reached up. Sure enough, the feathers were not sticking out of my hat.

My face flamed as I stepped away from Jasmine and scurried toward the plume that was floating in the breeze, fluttering through the air like a butterfly. It landed on the ground, only to skitter a little further. I ran, keeping my gaze trained on it. My body slammed into something hard and warm. Dazed, I stepped back.
Oh, no. I’d lost track of it.

“This yours?” A voice cut into my internal scolding.

My head bobbed up, and I sucked in a breath. “Um…yeah, thanks.” With a shaky hand, I reached out to grab the orange feathers dangling from Holden’s thick fingers.

“Chloe?” His eyes widened.

I nodded. “And you’re Holden, right?”

“Right,” he spoke slowly, methodically. Gone was the flirty, funny boy from the spa.
Yeah, I should have known.
His gaze slid over my shoulder. “You better get back out there. Wouldn’t want you to miss your…um…performance or whatever.” The lack of respect for the marching band was evident in his tone.

“Yeah,” I mumbled, swinging around. Then I walked quickly back toward the goal line, my shoulders slumped, my heart in my throat.