Slammed (5 page)

LUCY

For once, Amber is speechless when she answers the door.

“You don’t want to know,” I tell her.

She looks past me down the hall before ushering me inside. “Oh, I do want to know—everything.”

I take a seat on her bed. It’s significantly softer than Nate’s. “It’s not what you think.”

“You’re not doing away with that purity ring?”

“Not yet. That fudge nugget Charleston spiked my drink last night.”

“Charles Xavier, the basketball captain?”

“That’s him.”

Amber shakes her head. “Fucking fucker. I’m going to cut off his balls.”

“Nate Compton saved me, apparently, wrapped me up and whisked me away to his place.”

“
His
place?”

“Granny flat on the edge of campus. I woke up in his bed.” I finger the shirt. “In this.”

“There are worse places to wake up.”

“Nothing happened.”

“You sure?”

“Pretty sure.”

“And Charleston?”

“Sounds like Nate punched him.”

“So full shining-knight style?”

“I wouldn’t refer to any part of Nate Compton as ‘shining’.”

“Not even those Caribbean eyes of his?”

I roll my own. “He’s attractive, I confess.”

Amber starts ticking off her fingers. “Let me see. He
is
attractive, hot, cut like a god-damn diamond, and rescued you no less. What more do you want?”

“A brain?”

“Like I said before, brains are overrated.”

“That’s not the most ringing endorsement for yourself.”

“I never said I was smart, but what I am is streetwise, and word on this street is that you need to thank Nate Compton—properly.

“How do I do that?”

She winks. “I’m sure you’ll find a way with those Disney princess powers of yours.”

I try to remember past the drinking, but it’s a murky mess. For that, I’m thankful. If Nate hadn’t been there…

“What are you going to do about this Charleston character? You can’t let that shit slide.”

The reality is, I don’t know what to do about him. “I’ll think of something for that ass.”

“And I’ll help. All the sisters will. We’ve got your back.”

“Thanks.”

Amber draws me into a hug and it’s nice, nice to have a sister for once.

She holds me away. “One more thing. Did you just say ‘ass’?”

I crack a smile. “Damn straight.”

“Girl, we’ll make a gangster out of you yet.”

*

“Nice digs.”

Dad reclines back in his chair, the well-worn leather making its age known. He looks quite at home here. Probably misses the pulpit, though. “Thank you, Lucy. You’re the second person to say that lately. It is a little stuffy, however.”

“So are you.”

“Hey, hey, is that any way to talk to your old man?”

I smile. “’Old’ being the key word there.”

“Speaking of which, Manning has a certain reputation.”

I take a seat, warm from the sun shafting through the window at Dad’s back. “I’m well aware, but what does that have to with me?”

“You are studious, Lucy, a good role model.”

“It’s been a couple of weeks, Dad. I’m hardly valedictorian yet.”

“True, but I think you can help me.”

“Help
you
. Since when have
you
ever needed help?”

“Not me per se, a student.”

“A student?”

“I believe you’ve already become acquainted.” He holds up the back of the school paper and taps at a picture from the game. He taps Nate Compton right in his smug-perfect face.

“Nate Compton?”

“…Is a student, and he needs help.”

“Didn’t seem like he needed it on court.”

“His ball skills aren’t the issue. To maintain his scholarship he needs a 3.0 GPA. His teachers inform me he’s already slipping.”

“And what, you want me to study with him?”

Dad actually gulps. I watch his Adam’s apple drop. “Yes.”

“You cannot be serious. The guy hates me. He tried to kill me for crying out loud.”
And saved you at the party.

“If you had been watching the game…”

I stand. “Seriously?”

Dad takes a deep breath and exhales before turning his eyes up to me. They seem more weary than usual. “This is important to me, Lucy.”

“It’s just a game, Dad.”

“It’s more than that, and you know it. The Panthers are the pride of this institution. When they’re up, the whole place soars with them.”

“I can’t do it. I
won’t
do it. The guy’s a”—I almost let ‘prick’ slip, correcting myself with, “primitive.”

Dad laughs at this, standing and coming around the front of his desk. He takes me by the shoulders. “A caveman he might be, a little coarse, sure, but if anyone can get his grades up, it’s you.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere.”

“That’s true, which is why I have to remind you who’s paying for your tuition here.”

“You’re blackmailing me?”

“Let’s just call it subtle persuasion, shall we?”

It’s over. There’s no point arguing this out. I’ve seen the student loan figures. I can’t possibly afford Manning myself.

“I’ve got my own study.”

“I know, which is why I’ve scheduled the meetings after all of your classes have finished for the day.”

I look down, concentrating on shifting the toe of my shoe back and forth over a particularly tatty piece of carpet. “Great, when do I start?”

Dad smiles and by the size and scale of it I know immediately I’m not going to like what’s coming. “Right now.”

*

The library is quiet this time of day. Everyone’s out enjoying themselves throwing Frisbees and hitting the bars. Me? I’m babysitting.

At least Dad had the foresight to book us one of the study rooms at the back of the library. A long window looks out into the stacks, barely a soul there.

I take a seat and wait, not surprised when Nate ‘King’ Compton finally shows up fifteen minutes late.

He sits, the tiny plastic chair comically undersized compared to his body. For the briefest moment I think about him naked again, but flick it away.
Control yourself, Lucy.

“You’re late,” I begin.

“You’re perceptive.”

“That’s a big word.”

He takes the insult well, nodding quietly.
Probably can’t think up a comeback that fast.
“Are you going to help me or what?”

I drag one of his textbooks over. “Stats. Tough one.”

“Well?”

I cross my arms and sit back. “I’ll help you, but only because the Dean asked me to.”

“You mean your dad?” His eyes are sharp as he says it, a hint of malice. I can’t pinpoint what it is. Jealousy? No, surely not.

“Yes, my father.”

“What’s the deal with him, anyhow? Heard he used to be a preacher.”

“And a teacher.”

“Must have been interesting growing up.”

“It was.”

“Just you and him?”

What is this? Twenty questions?
“Just the two of us. He’s the only family I have, pulled me out of a pretty dark situation when I was younger. I’m grateful for that,
very
grateful. Who knows where I’d be without him.”

“You wouldn’t be stuck here with me, for one.”

“The guy who keeps trying to throw things at me?”

“The guy who stopped Charleston Jerk-Off the Third from adding you to his fuckbook.”

Fiddlesticks.
He has a point. I roll my hands together in front of myself. My palms are sweaty and I don’t really know why. I notice an odd tattoo on his left bicep. It’s a window, a little girl inside it with her hands pressed up against the glass. “Look, I’m thankful you got me out of there, really. I owe you, which is again why I’m here.”

“It’s not my dashing good looks?”

The lump in my throat grows.
He’s smiling at you. He’s flirting.
“Let’s just get on with it, shall we?”

“You’d rather be somewhere else?”

I could think of worse places to be.
I swallow, my mouth suddenly dry. I open his textbook. “Stats 101: Principles of Numeric Value.”

For the briefest moment I see his eyes wander down my top. It’s barely a second. I should be outraged, but curiously I feel something else, something new and unexpected.

I feel alive.

NATE

Three sessions in and her defenses have dropped. Never in a thousand years would I have believed I could get a boner hearing the phrase ‘discrete probability distributions.’ Never would I have believed I could fall for a girl like her, like Lucy. I actually look forward to coming to the library.

She’s scrolling through one of my essays, the library abandoned as always at this time of day. She’s smiling and it’s great to see.

She taps the paper. “This is a solid grade. I mean, your grammar still needs polishing, this intro is all wrong, but it’s a big improvement.”

I nod. I’ve never been good at taking compliments.

She brings her hand up to my eye. “What happened?”

I wince and grab her wrist, the sudden contact sending an alien pulse of energy through my body. For a moment I just hold her. Her wrist is so delicate, so fragile, her skin warm. “Had a run-in with a pole during practice.”
Blindsided by one of Charleston’s bum buddies, more like it.

Lucy raises her eyebrow. “A pole or a fist?”

“Does it really matter?”

She shakes her head and I suddenly feel shamed, which is odd. Why do I feel the need to impress her, to seek her praise?

“Did it hurt?”

“The eye?”

She points to my arm. “No, the tatts.”

I twist my body, show her the side of biceps with the most recent work. “A little, but they’re important to me. Every one of them has meaning. This,” I point to the base of my arm near the elbow, “is an Irish five-fold. It represents balance. Here,” I move my finger up my arm, “this door represents hope, that there is always a way out.”

“You believe that?”

“I do.”

She places her hand on the top of my arm, her fingers running over the inked skin there. It’s the window and the girl. “And this one? Who’s the little girl? A niece, a cousin?”

“Not blood, no, but she was the closest thing I ever had to family.”

“Was? You lost her?”

“In a way.”

I can feel myself stiffening, drawing back into my defenses, the walls that have served me so well over the years. I can’t let her in, her of all people. It won’t do anyone good.

I take out my history textbook and she seems to get the hint but looks disappointed all the same. I want to hold her, to tell her everything and purge myself of these demons once and for all, but I can’t. In the moment I am mute.

The rest of the session continues on as usual, most of it lost today. I don’t watch the text. I watch her lips, the soft sweep of them, the way the syllables roll so sweetly from her mouth. I could listen to her all day. There’s a tiny mole under her left ear, her hair pushed over the back of it, the soft shell begging to be touched, the side of her neck exposed and open, pulse beating hard below.

I’m falling for her, I know it, and I can’t. It’s too dangerous. A guy like me with a girl like her? This isn’t Disney.

She turns. Every session she has positioned her chair closer and closer to mine. She’s right next to me as she speaks. I can smell her perfume and sweat below it. She’s nervous or anxious, maybe… excited? I want to breathe her in, bury my face in the hidden pockets of her body.

“You get all that?” she repeats, her eyes on my lips.

I could just lean forward and it would done. Instead, I pull back scratching my head. “Um, yeah.”

“
Environmental economics seeks to measure the external environmental effects, or costs, of economic decisions and propose solutions to mitigate or eliminate those costs to better manage natural resources and promote social wellbeing.”

She may as well be reading
50 Shades
to me.

My eyes search around the room for a distraction, my cock suddenly thick and hard in my pants, everything too much. I find a clock on the wall. I stand, knocking over my chair in the process and semi-squatting, twisting so she doesn’t see the way my jeans are tented out, doesn’t see how much I’m dying to be inside her. “I have to go.”

She seems upset. “But we’ve still got fifteen minutes.”

I’m already at the door. “I’ve got an appointment at Sig Nu,” and it’s true.

“Sigma Nu? Not exactly your kind of people, are they?”

“No,” and I get the hell out of there, one of the library staff giving me a curious look as my aching cock catches a book hanging a little too far out from the shelf.

*

I’m still thinking about Lucy as I pace around the training court. It’s late, past midnight. I’m the only one here, or at least that’s what Coach thinks.

“
Mmpf! Mmpf!
”

Seems my guest has come to.

I approach Charleston the Third. He’s tied to the pole under the ring, and he’s naked—a definite downer of a task, trust me.

I stand right in front of him, licking my lips. “It was surprisingly hard to find rope around here, you know.”

He struggles a bit more as his vision comes to, and he realizes the sticky predicament he’s in. His eyes go wide. He jerks and twists, but I’ve bound him like a wild hog. He won’t be going anywhere.

“Let me help you out a little.” I remove the jockstrap from his mouth.

He spits on the floor and eyeballs me. “You’re fucking dead, Compton. You hear me?”

I pace back and forth in front of him. “Oh, I hear you.”

“Help!” he screams, voice dry. “Help!”

“We’re alone. Scream all you want.”

“What the fuck is this, some kind of trippy homo shit? You want to suck my dick, is that it? Juvie turned you into a fag?”

I look down at his dick. “Not much of a meal, is it?”

He struggles more at this and I cannot help but laugh. “Charleston, Charleston, Charleston.”

“What the fuck do you want?”

I come closer until I’m inches away from his face, until I can smell the fear oozing from his face, and that’s all this guy is—a pussy. “I want you to suffer for your sins.”

He seems surprised. “My sins? Is this about that bullshit girl at the party? I didn’t do anything, man.”

“But you were going to, weren’t you? You spiked her drink, thought maybe you’d have your way with her afterwards, maybe take a snap or two, brag to your brothers.”

“Dude, I don’t know what you’re talking about. I didn’t spike anyone’s drink.”

“No?” I prod him in the chest. “I fucking watched you do it, dickhead. I found the little stash of ruffies under your bed. How do you think you ended up here?”

The realization crashes down on him. “My beer, in the bar.”

“How does it feel? Not good, huh? I could have done all kinds of kinky shit to you, but I think I’m just going to go old school, eye for an eye and all that.”

I take out a switchblade, popping it open so he can see.

He starts to press against the pole, sweat running down his face from his forehead. “Hey, hey, easy.”

I place the back of the blade right up against his ball sack, but he won’t know the difference. He actually squeals, squeals like a prepubescent girl. “What the fuck, Compton?!”

“I’m going to take it all. No one’s going to miss it.”

He squirms harder, head thrashing from left to right. I increase the pressure and he screams again. “Fuck! I’ll do anything, anything. God, please!”

I add more pressure still and I swear he almost passes out. “Anything?”

He starts to blubber, actually starts to cry and I really don’t want to be there it’s so pathetic, but this has to be done. He can’t go unpunished.

“Just tell me what the fuck you want.”

I hold the blade in place and get up right next to his ear. “I want you to stay
the fuck
away from Lucy Middleton, you hear me? If you so much as walk on the same footpath I’m going to slice this pathetic cock of yours clean off and jam it down your throat. Hell, I’ve done worse.”

He nods, still blubbering. “Yes, fine, whatever you want. I won’t go near her.”

“And on the court,” I continue, “we’re going to be best buddies, business as usual, and you know what else?”

He’s too scared to reply.

“I think I’m going to take Coach’s advice and become more of a team player, but so help me god, if I hear you’ve pulled your little bag of pills out again, that some poor girl has fallen foul of your tricks or ant dick, I won’t just take your manhood, I’ll take your fucking life.”

He’s shaking as I draw the blade away and pocket it. I start to walk off.

“You going to untie me?” comes the wavering voice at my back.

“The women’s’ team meets here at six. I’m sure they’ll help you out.”

I’m smiling as I leave the building. I mean, that was cruel, over the top perhaps, but I doubt he’ll be macking on anyone ever again. He certainly won’t be bothering Lucy—
my
Lucy.