Offside (34 page)

“Then fucking drive yourself!” I yelled back at her. “Just fucking go!”

She stood silently in the doorway with her quivering lip being attacked by her upper teeth. She looked down at the car keys in her hand and then looked back to me. I dropped my eyes to the bottle of blue Gatorade and started pulling at the loose corner of the label.

“I’m sorry. I just can’t…”

“Whatever,” I said without looking back at her again.

“I’ll be back,” she replied.

“Don’t bother.”

“I have to at least bring the car back,” she said softly.

“I’ll get it myself.”

“Thomas, that’s—”

“If you’re going to leave, then just get out already!” I screamed at her.

Nicole’s words halted in her throat as she turned and ran out of the house. I heard the door open and close as my chest started to feel as if it were compressing inward. As soon as I heard the car start down the drive, I wanted to run out and stop her, but I didn’t move.

Instead, I yelled, banged my fist on the table, and knocked over my Gatorade. The amount of destruction just wasn’t good enough at all, so I picked the bottle up and threw it against the wall. As a big blue puddle formed on the kitchen floor, I dropped my head into my hands and wondered how I could have fucked it up so badly in the first forty-eight hours.

I just wanted to know where she was going and why. What was so wrong with that? I wanted to know who called and who she was going to go see. That was all.

I didn’t want her to go.

But I practically threw her out.

And I told her not to come back.

Shakespeare came to mind, of course, and I thought “I will speak daggers to her, but use none.” I wondered if it really made any difference in the long run. She was still gone.

I leaned my head on my forearms and just listened to my own breathing until the mess on the floor got to me. I grabbed some paper towels, wiped up the spill, and then used some of the bleach Nicole had out for the shelves of the refrigerator.

Once the floor was wiped up, I paced around the house. I was about as agitated as I could possibly be as I ran through the last six minutes and twelve seconds Nicole was in my house.

I knew I shouldn’t have brought her here.

I didn’t know exactly why being here made all the difference, but I was sure it did. I didn’t really want to bring her here at all. I didn’t want my Rumple to be…
tainted
by this place. Her house was warm and friendly and full of laughter and good food smells. My house was cold and full of pain.

My head jerked up as my mind spun around and found its focal point—its single need.

I headed up to my room to find some relief from the tumult.

I drew.

Without my sketchbook, I was stuck with lined notebook paper, but I cared less about that than I did about the sudden need to get pencil to paper. Even if it was notebook paper and a number two instead of linen paper and charcoal, I had to draw. I just had to.

Nicole was the most vivid thing in my mind. More so than favorite soccer games, high-class meals in Portland, or birthday blow jobs. My mind grabbed on to everything about her—the way her hair moved when she turned her head, the slight clenching of her jaw when I was being a smart-ass, the look in her eyes as she lay down beside me and ran her fingers over my hair…

…and that’s what I drew.

The curve of her cheek against the pillow and the strands of her hair cascading all around her came first. The pencil flowed over the rough paper to create the edge of her T-shirt near her shoulder then the line of her neck.

My hand worked nearly as fast as my mind as I captured what beauty I could, eventually slowing down to make sure the detail was spot-on, especially the look in her eye. I didn’t know what the look meant. I wasn’t even sure if I had ever seen a look like that before—not directed at me, certainly. I just knew I liked it.

The sun began to set outside my window, and my stomach growled a little. I ignored it and kept drawing. Eventually, my eyes started to blur, so I made myself take a break. I lay down across my bed and looked at the picture in my hand. I tried to position myself just as I had been last night and put the picture down where she should have been.

I dozed.

Through the clouds of sleep, I felt the soft tips of her fingers on my cheek, over my jaw, and into my hair. I was pretty sure I moaned as I rolled to one side and opened my eyes.

I hadn’t been dreaming.

“Hey,” Nicole said. She sucked her lip into her mouth and glanced around nervously. “I knocked, but you didn’t answer. I, um…I still had your keys and everything, so I came in to make sure you were all right.”

“I’m fine,” I lied.

She raised her eyebrows.

“Well, I’m not,” she replied.

Fuck.

Now that she was here again, and the memory of her lying next to me was the most important thing in my head, what had happened a few hours ago didn’t matter so much anymore. She was here. She came back. Even though I had been an ass and told her not to, she still came back.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean to…to freak out on you.”

Nicole’s mouth turned up into a slight smile, but her eyes stayed melancholy.

“I’m sorry, too,” she said. Her fingers stroked my cheek. “I know just taking off like that was…well, it was rude. I didn’t know…”

She sighed and shook her head.

“Why did you have to leave so quickly?” I asked.

Nicole placed her hand on my shoulder and rubbed against the muscles there. It felt good.

“Some stories aren’t mine to tell,” she said softly. “I asked if…well, if I could tell just you, but…”

She let out a big sigh.

“Well, Thomas, you have a bit of a reputation.”

“I guess I can’t argue with that.” I tried to smile a little, but I still didn’t like what she was saying. I guess being king of the hill wasn’t always a good thing. I looked up at her hopefully. “You can’t even tell me who this Timmy is, though?”

Nicole shook her head.

Since my focus was always on soccer, my first thought was of the goalie, Tim Howard. Images of his pictures from ESPN’s
The Body Issue
flashed in my head. He was tall, ripped, and one of the best goalies in the world. I thought about my Rumple running away from me to be with him, and it felt like there was a fist squeezing my heart. A question I didn’t want answered popped out of my mouth without warning.

“Are you…are you seeing him, too?”

Nicole laughed. Her hand covered her mouth, and she laughed even harder. I narrowed my eyes at her because I didn’t think there was anything funny about any of this shit, but she just kept laughing until she had to wipe tears from her eyes.

“Um…no, Thomas, I am definitely
not
seeing Timmy.” She giggled again. She looked at my face and must have seen how humorless this was to me.

I rolled over to my stomach and propped myself up on both elbows. I stared at the gold duvet on my bed.

“Don’t look like that,” Nicole said. Her hand ran over my jaw again. “I promise you have nothing to worry about.”

Well, that wasn’t going to stop me from worrying anyway.

“What’s this?” Nicole said, and she reached over me to grab the paper that had been hidden behind my body.

“Nothing!” I said, and I grabbed it away from her, but it was too late. She had already seen it.

“Did you draw that?” Nicole asked.

I held the paper against my chest so she couldn’t see any more of it, but apparently she already had seen enough to understand. I felt as if I wanted to retch.

“Is that a picture of me?” she asked. Her eyes were soft as she looked at me, and I could feel any resolve I might have had, along with my better judgment, crumbling. “Let me see it.”

I handed her the paper.

“It’s not done yet,” I said quietly.

She looked from the paper to me, back to the paper, and then back to me again.

“Thomas…this is…” She stopped and looked at the picture again. “This is incredible.”

“It’s only on notebook paper,” I pointed out, “and I didn’t have the right kind of pencil, and the shading isn’t right yet, and—”

“It’s beautiful,” she said. She leaned closer to me and tilted her head to the side at an awkward angle to get to where I was. She looked into my eyes before she slowly moved in and touched my mouth with hers. It was much too quick, as far as I was concerned, but even with its brevity, all the anger I had felt toward her evaporated.

I moved my hand up and cupped her face, bringing her back to me. I kissed her lips again and then kissed along her jaw.

“I am glad 'tis night, you do not look on me,” I quoted, “for I am much ashamed of my exchange.”

I felt her mouth turn up in a smile, and I pulled back to look at her again, glad to see she was more relaxed. As I looked at her, I couldn’t even understand why I had been so mad. Maybe it was just because she was leaving, and I didn’t want her to go.

“You’re beautiful,” I told her.

Her smile became more genuine and less sad.

“Did you eat anything for dinner?” she asked, and I was grateful for the topic change.

“Nah, I kind of fell asleep instead. It’s getting late though.”

“I brought your car back,” she said.

“I kind of figured.”

“I’m sorry I ran off on you,” she said. So much for topic changes. She fiddled with the edge of my shirt, and apparently she figured out she had switched the subject back as well, so she changed it again. “Want me to make you something?”

And she said I was going to make
her
head explode.

“There isn’t anything here to make,” I reminded her.

“Maybe I’ll take you grocery shopping.” She smiled at me, and I rolled myself up to a sitting position. I thought about what my dad would think if he saw in the refrigerator a bunch of fresh vegetables neither of us could even name.

“I think that would spawn a few too many questions,” I said.

“I guess so,” she admitted, and she sounded defeated. She also looked really tired all of a sudden.

“It’s getting late,” I said. “We have school tomorrow, too. I’ll take you home.”

“You still need to eat.”

“I’ll find something when I get back.”

“I’m not leaving you here by yourself without anything decent to eat for dinner,” Nicole said. “So just get your overnight bag repacked. It will make it easier for you to take me to school tomorrow.”

Who was I to argue?

Long before Sherlock Holmes, Shakespeare’s Henry V said, “The game is afoot.” Somehow, when it came to having a real relationship with Nicole, I had the feeling I was playing with chess pieces on a monopoly board.

Now, hopefully Nicole at least understood the rules of the game.

CHAPTER 18

BOOKING

The combination of waking up beside Nicole and walking out of her house to take her to school in the morning had me smiling. She made a real breakfast while I was in the shower—bacon and eggs, toast, hash browns—the works. I was stuffed and loving it. Without any valid reason to change it, we did the same that night, and the night after.

In the evenings, we worked on our project and watched TV with Greg. The project was nearly done though it wasn't due for another week. Nicole seemed to really appreciate that we didn't have to go and look things up a second time—once we found the information, I remembered it. I was learning a lot about the Arizona landscape and why Nicole loved it so much as well as the weird little bush that grew there. It was obvious how much she missed her grandparents, who had both died when she was young.

Nights were the best. We still didn't go past making out and a little boob groping, but I wasn't complaining.

Wednesday was another rainy day, and I held an umbrella for Nicole as we ran across her driveway to my car. Once she was settled, I got in the driver's seat and started toward school. Nicole's phone rang right as I pulled into the street.

“Yeah, I should be able to do that,” Nicole said with a sigh. “Can you pick me up? Okay…see you then.”

She glanced over to me as she hung up, bit down on her lip, and shoved her phone back into her backpack. I tried to be patient, hoping she would tell me what the fuck that was all about before I had to ask. I started drumming my fingers on the steering wheel and looking at her sideways.

“I'm not going to be able to be at your practice after school,” she said as we reached the school parking lot. “I need to go help a friend.”

“Timmy?” I asked. I tried to keep the bitterness out of my voice, but I wasn't very successful. I shoved the gearshift into neutral and yanked up on the parking brake.

“Please don't,” she said quietly. Her fingers played with the strap of her book bag.

“Why can't you tell me?” I pushed even though I knew it wouldn't matter.