Whatever Life Throws at You (12 page)

I look at the clock.

We’re both on pace to break the state record. And only one of us will get credit for it. My lungs and legs are screaming but I feel that addiction Brody mentioned last week. I’m addicted to breaking records, to seeing my foot cross that finish line first. I break away from Jackie, getting half a stride ahead of her.

“Come on, Annie!” I hear Dad shout as if I’m running alone around our neighborhood, Dad and Grams seated on the front porch waiting for me to come around the corner.

With only fifty meters to go, my thoughts shift to Jackie crying after the last race, the way she glanced up in the stands at the scouts, the details Lenny inadvertently told me last weekend about her needing that scholarship.

Ninety percent of my brain is shouting,
Win, Win, WIN
. And the remainder is telling me something else.

Jackie’s going to break the state two-mile record and no one will ever know.

I’ve already got my name down, and I can beat her time next year.

The decision is made.

Ten meters before the finish line, I pull back just enough to let her left foot cross the line before mine. My eyes zoom in on the clock again. Five hundredths of a second separates our times.

The announcer’s voice booms over the loudspeaker once again. “
A new state record set in the thirty-two hundred meter run by Jackie Stonington, senior and four-time state qualifier from St. Teresa’s Academy.
”

Jackie immediately falls to the ground in a heap, relief and pride spilling off of her. After we’ve both taken a minute to catch our breath, I bend over and reach out a hand to help her up. She grabs it and springs to her feet, wrapping me in a big hug. We’re quickly joined by Coach Kessler who’s crying and cheering at the same time.

After I finally break away from the two of them, I catch Brody’s eye. He’s leaning against the fence, arms crossed, forehead wrinkled. Does he know that I just let Jackie win? I can’t decide if that’s a bad thing or not.

The moment of us connecting from a distance is short-lived because a couple more girls and two guys have approached Brody. One of them taps him on the shoulder, and he turns his back to me.

Lenny has hopped the fence and is heading over this way. She stops first to congratulate Jackie, giving her a big hug, and then she heads over to me. “You amaze me, Annie Lucas. I almost felt inspired to run a few laps beside you guys.
Almost
.”

I laugh, but I can’t tear my eyes from Brody. Lenny’s gaze travels to where he and Dad stand. “You’re like a green-eyed monster right now.”

“Am not,” I protest. “Just sick and tired of people lifting up clothing to get autographs. I bet they don’t even like baseball.”

Lenny grabs my shoulders and twists me around to face her. “Annie, you seriously can
not
spend all your time and energy crushing on a Royals player. It’s a pointless pursuit. Think about it. You’re in high school. And he’s on the road all the time, alone in hotel rooms with women who know exactly how to find players, get them to drop their pants, and they give some damn good blow jobs. Is that what you want to do? Get his attention by flashing your boobs and relenting to sexual favors? You’re not that girl.”

I’ve never really had close female friends before, ones who can point out the obvious. It’s both aggravating and useful.

I sigh. “I know I’m not that girl, but how do you know it’s really that wild on the road? They do have baseball games to play, right?”

Lenny snorts back a laugh. “Because my dad’s been sleeping with other women for the last decade at least. It’s like it’s so easy for them it can’t be wrong. And Jason Brody isn’t even married, so he’s totally got an all-access pass.”

My stomach drops. “God, Len, I’m sorry.”

She shrugs. “I’m used to it. The only thing that pisses me off is all the stupid happy family, happy marriage, good Catholic ballplayer bullshit that gets told about my family in articles and TV clips. Why can’t the shit hit the fan at least once? Why can’t he get some bimbo on the road pregnant and have her sue him for child support?”

It is surprising that First Base has never been caught considering how many photographs are printed or posted online of Brody with various women. Although maybe they don’t send photographers alongside the married players, like they obviously do with Brody. Or at least they did today.

We walk toward the athlete hospitality area so I can grab some water. “You want that to happen?” I ask Lenny. “You want bad publicity?”

“Not really.” She sighs. “I just want people to stop liking him for his fake personality. I want to believe at least to some extent that negative behavior has negative consequences, but obviously he’s invincible.”

She swipes a bottle of water for herself and another for me. “Let’s not talk about my life anymore. We need to figure out what to do about your little problem.”

“I don’t have a problem,” I lie. “I’m totally over it now that I’ve seen how disgustingly futile it is.”

She levels me with a “yeah right” look and then digs through her purse, handing me what looks like a driver’s license. My school ID photo is in the corner, but the name reads: Marie Conner and according to the birth date on the card, Marie Conner is twenty-two years old.

“You got me a fake ID?” I squeal.

Lenny claps a hand over my mouth, glancing around quickly. “Say that a little louder and your dad might get to hear it, too.”

“Sorry,” I whisper through her fingers.

She drops her hand and grins. “Carl and his frat brothers are going to this club downtown tonight, and I bribed him to take us and get us these very believable IDs.”

“And you have to be twenty-one to get in?”

“Eighteen,” Lenny clarifies. “But what’s the fun of getting in if we can’t buy drinks, right?”

I chew on my thumbnail feeling extremely conflicted. I hate lying to Dad. I still feel guilty from the last time, especially after running into Johnson. Then I glance over at Brody, who’s been given a chair so that some sorority girl can plop down on his lap and wrap herself around him while her friend takes a picture that will mostly likely be a Facebook status update in the next twenty seconds. Is he going to sign her boobs, too?

And it’s not like Johnson is going to be hanging out in downtown dance clubs. I doubt they serve barbecue.

“You know, I’m not one to coddle and talk about feelings,” Lenny states. “So I’ll just give this to you straight. You and Jason Brody are in a place that’s even worse than the friend zone, Annie.”

“What? Like enemies?”

She shakes her head. “That would be a step up. Enemies often have lots of pent-up sexual frustration. You’re in the kid sister zone. I’m afraid that’s about as hopeless as it gets.”

I exhale, staying silent as we head toward Dad and Brody. She’s right. And the way I see it, I have two options: 1) stop looking and acting like the kid sister and/or 2) find someone more obtainable to crush on. I’m pretty sure going to a grown-up club with Lenny tonight could potentially achieve both of those things.

“All right, I’m in. But what do I tell my dad?”

She smiles at me. “Let me take care of that.”

I get another big hug from Dad when we reach him. “What happened at the end, Annie? Was it your leg?”

“Uh-huh,” I lie. “It just seized up all of a sudden. I think I pushed it too hard.”

“So, Coach Lucas,” Lenny says, interrupting. “Mind if I steal your daughter for the night so we can celebrate her athletic achievement properly without adult supervision.”

I glare at her and Dad leans back, folding his arms across his chest. “What do you two have planned?”

Lenny bats her dark eyelashes. “Well, your daughter’s barely pulling a C in Spanish and finals are next week. She’s obviously in need of Lenny London tutor extraordinaire. But I won’t make her study all night. We’ll be eating plenty of ice cream, candy, and pizza.” She lifts up one of my hands and shakes her head in disgust. “Also some nail polishing…you know, the usual sleepover activities.”

Brody chooses that moment to spin around and face us. “Really, Lenny? You’re going to put nail polish on Annie Lucas? Alert the media.”

Lenny’s brows go up and she gives me a look that says,
See? Kid sister zone.

“Be home for brunch with Grams tomorrow?” Dad says and after I nod he gives me another hug and a kiss on the forehead. “I’m sorry I doubted your ability to run both of those races. I was wrong. Next year, you can break Jackie’s two-mile record, all right?”

I squeeze him back. “Deal.”

After Dad lets me go, Brody holds up a hand to high-five me. I just stare at it, leaving him hanging and then glance at Lenny who’s managed to look both sympathetic and satisfied that her assumptions regarding our relationship were completely accurate. I wrinkle my nose before finally tapping my hand against his.

Lenny and I walk toward the parking lot, and she hesitates then asks, “Is your dad always like that or was it just the ‘I’m here for my daughter act’?”

I almost don’t want to tell her the truth, but there’s no point in lying because Lenny has an amazing talent for reading people. “It’s not an act.”

She shakes her head, bewildered. “So weird.”

When we get to her car, I tell her that I need to stop at home to shower and get a change of clothes. She rolls her eyes before unlocking the doors. “Honey, nothing you own is going to be club friendly. I can guarantee that without even glancing in your closet.”

I plop into the car with a frustrated sigh. “You really are going to paint my nails, aren’t you?”

She slides her sunglasses into place and starts the engine. “We’re going to do a hell of a lot more than that. You need to look twenty-two if you want to be Marie Conner.”

“You know what?” I sit up straighter. “I think Marie Conner is going to be my much cooler, much more flirtatious, much more adventurous alter ego. So yeah, give me the full sexy woman makeover.”

And if I’m Marie Conner then I won’t feel as guilty about lying to Dad. Because I didn’t lie. Marie did. She’s badass like that.

Chapter 12

Lenny London:
Can I still get credit for wearing cute shoes if I’m carrying them?

30 minutes ago

Carl London:
I have friends and I have benefits therefore I see no problem in mixing the two.

5 minutes ago

“Do I really look twenty-two?” I ask Lenny and Carl. “The guy didn’t have an ounce of skepticism on his face.”

“You look hot.” Carl’s dark-eyed gaze drifts up and down, taking in the formfitting, very short gold-sequined dress, tall black heels, and bright red lipstick Lenny dressed me in tonight. “Besides, he doesn’t give a fuck if you’re twenty-two as long as you provided him acceptable proof, his ass is covered.”

“Now hush about the age thing,” Lenny orders.

Walking into this club—music blaring, bodies smashed together, grown men buying girls drinks—I feel like a freshman at my first party with boys and beer. Wild high school parties are no longer an adventurous feat for me, but posing as Marie Conner with a homemade fake ID has left me a bit shell-shocked. Lenny and Carl even made me drink two shots of rum before leaving the house so I wouldn’t look like an uptight anxious seventeen-year-old and give myself away before getting in the door.

And now I’ve got an orange band around my wrist proving I’m old enough, not only to get in the door, but also to buy some real drinks. Not just that, but we went straight to the front of the line—the VIP entrance. The guys at the door know Carl and Lenny both, and of course they know First Base, so if they wanted to it wouldn’t be all that hard to uncover Lenny’s real age. Carl is actually twenty-one , so he doesn’t even need a fake ID to buy drinks here.

Lenny and I stand near the bar, scoping out the people on the dance floor. “You need to find a hot guy to flirt with,” she says. “Get over
you know who
.”

“You know who?” Carl comes up behind us and hands us each a beer.

“Her ex,” Lenny says right away. “From Arizona.”

“He’s gay.” I take a gulp of my beer and try not to make a face. “I hate beer.”

“Are we supposed to like it?” Lenny says, drinking from her own cup. “And remember, Annie,
you know who
is probably screwing one of those sorority chicks in his apartment right now. And he’s probably got a wild party going on, while he’s busy in the bedroom. I’ve overheard all kinds of stories about single players and their private parties. He’s just been handed at least a quarter of a million dollars. His personal life, his personal space, is beyond anything you could ever grasp or even want to be involved with.”

My heart sinks down to my stomach, but I force logic to dominate like Lenny has. She’s right. I want nothing to do with that star pro athlete life. I want Dad and his quiet ways and Grams and maybe a cute straight guy to make out with, but not fall in love with because that’s almost more scary than the wild parties at Brody’s bachelor pad.

The repetitive beat of the music is thumping inside my head and the pre-club alcohol I drank is taking effect, helping me keep my mind off being an awkward non-adult. People keep bumping into us and after downing my beer, I grab Lenny’s hand. “Let’s dance. Marie Conner loves to dance.”

Lenny checks out the room like the scholar she is, then hands me an Altoid from her purse and takes another one, popping it into her mouth. “Just in case Mr. Perfect sweeps us away for a hot make-out session on the couches in the back of the club. You know Haley Hunter from school? She lost her virginity on one of those couches.”

I wrinkle my nose. “Gross.”

“I know, right?” Lenny nods.

We push our way toward the center of the dance floor. Pink and blue lights swirl around us. It’s hard to see anything clearly and being this fake identity tonight allows me permission to let loose. There is something about high heels and a tight dress that gives you a certain level of confidence, like there’s power in feeling sexy. I hadn’t really anticipated that when I agreed to put on Lenny’s clothes. Of course, I’ve dressed cute for the ex-boyfriend before but never did it include a dress quite this short. Or shiny. After a good thirty minutes of dancing, I’m starting to sweat, and I pull my hair up off my neck. Lenny shoots me a glare and swats at my hand. “Don’t you dare mess up your hair! It looks amazing!”

Just to piss her off, I turn my head upside down and shake out the long blond curls she carefully fixed for me. When I stand upright again, she grins. “Sexy.”

Carl and his frat-boy friend, the same dude who’d drunkenly told me that I looked like his sister’s Barbie doll before upchucking into the London family garden at the last party, shove their way out to us on the dance floor and pass us a shot glass filled with mysterious blue-ish liquid. We both stare at it briefly before downing the drink.

It’s syrupy sweet, but I can feel the burn of alcohol trickling down my throat. Lenny passes me more Altoids mid-dance, and Carl’s friend runs off to discard our glasses. Just as I’m getting back into dancing with Lenny, I spot a guy near the bar who’s got at least three girls invading his personal space.

What the hell?

“Shit!” I pull Lenny closer and spin her around so she can see Brody, drinking his much more innocent bottle of water. “What’s he doing here?”

She turns back to face me. Her arms are blissfully lifted in the air, her hips moving side to side. She bumps a hip into mine to get me moving again. “Quit worrying. He’s not going to notice you and if he does, who cares?”

My heart slows back to normal. She’s right. I know too many of Brody’s secrets for him to go and rat me out to Dad.

Lenny turns around and reaches for the guy behind her. She pulls him by his tie, his eyes going wide, like he’s about to live out one his of fantasies. Maybe he will? I laugh and grab Carl’s friend. I can’t remember his name but he’s not a jerk wad like Carl, just really dumb, but I can’t really fault him for that. I pull the guy closer, and he flashes me a grin with his perfectly white frat-boy teeth. Despite being an idiot, he’s not a bad dance partner. He doesn’t lay a hand on me, only grinds against me on occasion, and he does have some sense of rhythm. My phone vibrates several times through the beaded bag dangling in my hand. I almost pull it out to look at it, but Carl coming up behind me and laying a hand on my ass distracts me.

He shifts my hair over to one shoulder and leans closer, shouting into my ear, “You want another drink?”

My body stiffens and just as I turn my head to look at him, a hand tightens around Carl’s wrist, yanking his fingers from my ass. My gaze travels upward, landing on Brody’s intense brown eyes.

Lenny bumps her hip into mine again and says, “Busted!”

Brody keeps his eyes locked on mine while lifting both hands and shoving Carl and frat-boy friend in the chest, forcing some distance between me and them. Brody leans in and says, “Walk out the back exit, turn right, and meet me at the end of the block in the next two minutes.”

I shake my head, but his serious expression stops me, and I remember my phone going off just seconds ago. Did he try to call? Did Dad call and then had to get ahold of Brody because I didn’t answer? Did something happen? I turn around and tell Lenny, “I’m leaving.”

She opens her mouth to protest, but I step around her before she has a chance to get a word in. It takes a good ninety seconds to shove my way toward the exit. The outside air feels fresh and cool against my sweaty neck.

Brody is already pacing in circles at the end of the block.

He grabs my hand the second I reach him and stalks across the street, dragging me along. “Keep your head down,” he hisses.

“What—”

“You didn’t notice the paparazzi inside that club?” he whispers.

There are various people mingling around the downtown streets. My heart races, and I glance around completely panicked. “It’s not a big deal, right? Why would people want to take pictures of me?”

And why didn’t Lenny or Carl notice this? They’ve been dealing with being public profiles much longer than Brody and I have.

“Keep your head down,” Brody repeats.

I drop my gaze to the sidewalk and let my hair fall forward, half covering my face. It’s not until another two blocks that I fully register the fact that I’m holding hands with Jason Brody. Except it’s more like I’m being dragged out of the carnival after trying to sneak onto a roller coaster I’m not tall enough to ride. I shake his hand from mine and my pace shifts to the heavy-footed stalk he’s already adopted.

“Where are we going?” I ask.

“I’m taking you home.” He finally stops in front of a tall apartment building and points to the garage. This must be his building. Maybe he walks to that club every night and brings a different girl back to his place? And I don’t even get invited inside for a drink.

He takes me straight to his new black SUV with tinted windows. I slump into the passenger seat and slam the car door shut with more force than is needed. Once we’re both safely inside the vehicle, Brody exhales. “I didn’t want to talk outside in case anyone heard us, but seriously? What were you doing in there? How did you even get in?”

His gaze travels to the small beaded bag Lenny loaned me. He swipes it before I can stop him and quickly finds my ID. “Let me guess? Carl got this for you?”

I fold my arms across my chest, keeping silent.

“Twenty-two? Seriously? I’m surprised they fell for that. You can get in at nineteen, you know.” Brody starts laughing, his shoulders shaking. “I choked and spit water all over these two girls when I saw you in there.” He unfastens the buttons on the sleeves of his blue dress shirt, rolling them up to his elbows before turning his gaze on me again, his eyes sliding up and down, taking me in, his laughter picking up even more. “What did you do to yourself, Annie?”

The words and laughing sting. He might as well have slapped me across the face. Dancing in the club, I felt sexy, older,
alive
. He’s managed to suffocate all that in a matter of seconds. My eyes burn, but there’s no way in hell I’m shedding a tear right now. I lean back against the chair and turn my head to look out the window. “Are you taking me home or not?”

He’s still laughing to himself as he backs the car out, exits the garage, and hops onto the freeway. He tries to make conversation for the first couple minutes and then gives up after probably growing tired of my lack of eye contact and one-word answers.

When we get to my neighborhood, he parks his car half a block from my house, cuts the engine, and turns off the lights. Only a single streetlamp across the road illuminates the inside of his SUV.

“Look,” he says, his gaze on the dashboard. “I think you should come clean with your dad right now and tell him where you really went tonight.”

I turn to face him. “Why? Are you going to tell on me, Brody? Seriously?”

“I’m pretty sure your picture’s going to end up in the paper or on the internet. Don’t you think it’s better if he’s prepared and hears it from you first?” Brody finally looks at me and his serious expression fades, the corners of his mouth twitching, fighting a smile or more laughing at my expense.

Before I can get more pissed off at him, he leans in close, his mouth inching toward mine. I suck in a breath and then release it, disappointment washing over me as he reaches around, opening the glove compartment. “I can’t take you seriously with that red lipstick on.” He laughs again.

With a heavy sigh, I fall back against the seat, squeezing my eyes shut, turning my head away from him. “I left the club with you. I’m going to ’fess up to my dad. You’re getting your way, so you can stop treating me like a child playing dress up.”

“Annie—”

“I get it,” I interrupt. “I’m just a high school kid, and you’re a grown-up baseball player with money and crazy parties in your apartment and swimsuit models programmed in your phone. You don’t need a fake ID to get into the cool clubs. And you are like my dad and feel some obligation to make sure his daughter doesn’t screw up her life or his. It’s fine.”

Warm fingers land underneath my chin, and Brody gently steers my head, forcing me to look into his adorable brown eyes. He’s so close I can feel our breaths mingling in the same air. He smells really good, too, like Irish Spring soap and some kind of aftershave. I stay perfectly still while he holds my face with one hand.

Using a napkin he must have gotten from the glove compartment, he gently wipes the lipstick from my mouth. A small part of me wants to hold on to this last sliver of dignity and swat his hand away, but the rest of me won’t move a muscle. I’m lost in being this close to him, having his fingers on my face and touching my mouth with only a thin tissue between us.

Heat is slowly making its way toward my neck and face…and down lower. I’ve temporarily forgotten everything else that happened tonight.

“I’ve never treated you like a kid, Annie.” Brody takes one last swipe across my bottom lip and then balls the tissue up in his hand.

And then because he doesn’t drop his hand or move away immediately, and maybe because of the alcohol, I’m able to channel my alter ego, Marie Conner, again. Without giving him any warning, I close the gap between us and press my mouth against his.