Flash (Penmore #2) Page 5

  COOPER

  I FINALLY GOT TO TRAIN as the starting running back during practice. I didn’t have to stand around for some imaginary amount of time that Coach Hardy believed sent a message to jealous freshmen and other walk-ons. When I shook off Andy—the 240-pound star linebacker who everyone calls D—coming at full speed as if he was a restless puppy, Coach Hardy’s eye started to twitch.

  I hung around Coach a bit as the boys headed to the showers. Not to say anything; I got the feeling my mere presence and the smiles the assistant coaches were sending my way was enough to piss him off. I was tempted to be a dick and ask him for some extra pointers, annoy him by enquiring about how I might improve my already innate abilities. There were just two things stopping me. The first was I needed Coach to put me on the field during a game for longer than fifteen minutes as soon as possible, and I figured stirring up trouble wouldn’t help my case. The second was if I went to see Coach, I was going to be late to class—late to see her.

  I didn’t just want to stare into her deep blue eyes. I planned on giving Flash her stupid charm back today. I wasn’t going to wear the thing everywhere I went anymore. The small gold house was almost feeling like a part of me, and I couldn’t allow that to happen. If it wasn’t going to be a reminder to stay the fuck away, I needed to return it like I’d planned. As much as I was tempted to see my hand sliding through all that red hair, I had a job I needed to do.

  I walked in the side door of the lecture hall and moved up the stairs. I didn’t look around the large room because I felt everyone’s eyes follow me. Their judgmental gaze wasn’t surprising.

  It was never lost on me that I didn’t exactly fit in there, whether it was in the quad, the cafeteria, or class. It wasn’t just my leather jacket and old ripped jeans that set me apart; it was the fucking stench of entitlement that seemed to pulsate from everyone else on campus, a smell I clearly lacked. My stench was more of the old meat wafting into my cheap-ass apartment sort of smell.

  Thankfully Flash didn’t exactly blend either. Her bright hair acted like a beacon among our drab and dull classmates.

  “Move,” I said firmly when I reached the row she was sitting in and was faced with lanky guys blocking me from getting to her chair. If Lizzie were there, she’d tell me to be polite, following it up with a fast kick to my calf. But I couldn’t help but think Screw them. They acted scared of me, so I might as well use that to my advantage. I made my way toward the chair to her left in a record time.

  As I sat beside her, I didn’t bother looking straight at her. I even went so far as to pretend like I didn’t even notice her. It was a bullshit game, one I hadn’t played since getting locked up, but it also allowed me to check her out without having her run away. I’d noticed most of the girls on campus looked my way, but the moment I got close they headed for the hills. Way too scared.

  Thank fuck that campus wasn’t too far from the bars I was used to. After two years on the inside, I didn’t care if it was cheap pussy, pussy that liked the scent of incarceration or the look of my bike. I just wanted to get laid.

  Now I knew I didn’t get to touch Flash; girls like her were untouchable for guys like me. They would only fuck with the future I was working toward. A mess I didn't have any business wading into, but damn it, I was going to take my time looking at her.

  Each time I saw her, I remembered how Jake was looking at me when I was looking at her. And how, once upon a time, my life wasn’t nearly as screwed up as I thought it was. I’d decided before I got to class that I’d allow myself this lesson, quietly stare at her and get my fill. Then after she left the hall, I’d pull off the charm and chase after her, tell her I found it on the fucking floor or some place. Then she would go back to ceasing to exist, and I’d go back to the bars and chicks I belonged with.

  I leaned back in my chair and tilted my chin, allowing her to slide into my vision.

  What the fuck?

  She was in a short skirt, and peeking out the edges were sexy-as-hell stockings attached to sexy-as-fuck lace garters. Was she filming a porno after class? Outfits like that only led to a shitload of trouble for girls like her.

  I wanted to turn in my seat and demand to know what the hell she was trying to play at. Look her in the eyes and tell her to go get changed. Instead, I tried that stupid breathing crap they made me do in the joint when I felt like hitting another inmate. When I felt like getting involved in drama that often nearly saw me serving an additional five years on top of my sentence.

  In. Out. What did I care if she was stupid enough to dress like a hooker? She was nothing to me. In. Out. What if she wanted to attract every dickhead on campus? It wasn’t my problem, even if there were dickheads who were a lot worse than me.

  In. Out.

  Dickheads who wouldn’t worry about destroying their last good memory with a friend.

  In. Out. In. Out.

  The breathing didn’t do shit.

  I couldn’t control myself. She’d get hurt parading around in that shit.

  Before I took my next breath, I found myself turning, staring into her big ocean eyes, and demanding, “What the fuck are you wearing?”

  MILLIE

  I wouldn't lie, when the fallen angel walked into class, I let out a sigh of female appreciation. Then like everyone else, when he started walking up the lecture stairs, I enjoyed the show, tracking his muscular body with my eyes and enjoying the way his jeans sculpted to his thick thighs. I was even a little excited when I noticed him stop at my row. I watched him in amusement as he scared the freshmen boys out of the way before he headed right to me.

  When he sat beside me and didn’t bother even acknowledging my presence, I was a tad annoyed. Okay, I knew we weren’t exactly friends—he’d spoken to me for a whole of two minutes at the last lesson—but would it have killed the guy to say hi? The least he could do was try and mend fences a little, so I felt completely justified objectifying him in my mind.

  Before I had a chance to really convince myself that I could damn well ignore him if he could ignore me, I noticed his eyes make a slow perusal of my outfit just before hearing the stupidest of questions hissed at me.

  “What the fuck are you wearing?”

  “Excuse me?” I managed to whisper, noticing the fury swirling in his eyes.

  “You trying to improve your grades or some shit? Get into the professor’s pants?”

  “Because I’m in a skirt? What?” I asked in shock, feeling the embarrassment bloom in my cheeks.

  “It’s a fuck me outfit,” he muttered in disgust, causing me to lose my shit completely.

  “Ah yes, a girl couldn’t possibly want to wear pantyhose because it makes her feel good. It has to be in the pursuit of a penis,” I replied.

  Okay, so maybe I had a love-hate relationship with thigh-high pantyhose, and I only wore these because I had to leave school early today to work a double shift, but he didn’t know that. I had also thought that my skirt covered the over-the-top lace garters. When I sat down and realized I had miscalculated the amount of skirt material working for me, I was a little annoyed. But I was also a big believer in wearing whatever the fuck you wanted to wear, so I wasn’t above taking offense to the stuff he was saying. Screw any guy who thought he had the right to tell me or any girl what they could or couldn’t wear. Plus, the skirt was basically covering the garters, and my loose cobalt blouse didn’t even reveal the corset. As far as I was concerned, he was whining about a little lace trimming, which was ridiculous.

  The blush of embarrassment coating my cheeks transformed until my whole face was red in anger. “For your information, I’m not looking for anyone to fuck me. I just like to look good.”

  “Problems going to come your way dressed like that.”

  “Is that right? Well, thanks for the advice, Simon, but I can take care of myself.” I didn’t think I’d ever been so furious at a total stranger before. First class, he called me rude, and now he was basically implying that I was a slut. I didn’t even know his
name and I hated him. Good looks didn’t save anyone from a shit personality. I was picturing ways to dump his body. Sure he was big, but I was feisty and creative. If only I was in a lecture theater learning from Annalise Keating. Professor Bradbury discussing color theory was in no way helping me work out how to deal with the pretty but clearly bossy idiot who sat beside me.

  “Where are you going after class?” he grunted.

  “Why would I tell you that?” I replied.

  “Because if I’m going to make sure you don’t get attacked, I’d like to know how long I’ll be following your crazy ass around.”

  “Don’t worry, Simon, I’m leaving campus straight after class today. No need to get your panties in a twist.”

  “Name’s not Simon,” he muttered.

  “Really, and yet you feel like you can say what I can and can’t do? Well color me surprised.”

  “Flash, don’t be a bitch. It’s not attractive. And the name’s Cooper.”

  He had to be kidding. No guy was so good-looking that he could insult my clothes, call me unattractive, and then tell me his name in one conversation. I wasn’t even willing to stick around.

  Screw class today. If I leave now, I’ll be able to see Jessie at daycare before Tahnee picks her up and I have to work.

  I grabbed my handbag and threw it over my shoulder. He sat still, like a sleeping volcano; I could tell he wanted to erupt, spit more rubbish my way.

  Damn him if he thought I’d be giving him a chance.

  COOPER

  I didn’t chase after her.

  Not straightaway.

  I gave her a good head start.

  Then I followed her as she made her way across the quad toward the parking lot. It was nice to see that while she was bitchy, she wasn’t a liar.

  I kept my distance as I watched her climb into a pickup truck: a polished, probably fucking expensive black Chevrolet Silverado. It had to be her boyfriend’s, a guy who clearly gave more shits about his car than the safety of his girl if he let her run around looking like someone could buy her. Not caring in the slightest that when she climbed into that pickup in a short skirt, you could see her fucking panties. He probably had a daddy who replaced the whole fucking truck when the douche scratched the bumper.

  I wanted to hit him. I pictured smashing my fist into the face of a fancy college boy. It wouldn’t be the first time I’d hit a rich kid who deserved a lesson. I imagined the joy of tarnishing Flash’s boyfriend’s overpriced threads with blood might even be more satisfying than when I beat the college kid who tried to turn Jake into a dealer when he was nine.

  “Who’s the chick?”

  Fuck. I didn’t even need to turn around to know who that voice belonged to anymore—Kyle ‘Trick’ Sullivan. Since chatting on the field, the lost puppy followed me around: when we watched film, when we strapped on our pads, when we took them off. The only person who didn’t seem afraid of me also couldn’t take the hint that I didn’t want to be his friend.

  “Just some girl in my art class.”

  “She’s hot. I suggest you do some figure studies.”

  “Dude. No.”

  “Hey, just trying to help my moody teammate get some action. I’ve got class in five. You done?”

  “Left class early. Going to get food,” I told him.

  “You know what? I’m starved. I’ll join you,” he cheerfully replied.

  “You just said you’ve got class.”

  “Yeah, I’ll just text Veronica later.”

  “Veronica?”

  “Just some girl who offered to take notes for me if I ever don’t turn up.”

  “Girls offer to take notes for you in the off chance you decide to skip?” I asked, incredulous.

  “Hey, don’t be fooled by my cheerful demeanor. Girls love them some Trick,”

  “Dude, did you just refer to yourself in the third person? Don’t do that shit around me.”

  “Noted, bro. And yeah, I’ve got a girl in nearly every class who’ll take notes if I don’t turn up. Some don’t even know I play. Apparently I look like some dude from that movie Magic Mike. Really appreciate that movie, man.”

  “You like Magic Mike? You leading all these girls on, Trick?”

  “Oh nah. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t appreciate it like that. I’m definitely all about the ladies. I just like how it’s helping me out here.”

  “Great. Now that I know all about your minions, are we going to stand around chatting all day or we getting food?” I finally asked him, accepting the fact that like a tiny splinter, I would have to put up with Kyle’s presence embedding itself into my life until I did something that would dislodge its presence for good.

  I hadn’t eaten on campus before that point. I had been doing odd jobs late at night for the butcher next to my house, which meant I got mediocre pay and a lot of leftovers. If I was desperate, I would come in and grab a slice of pizza to go; I didn’t ever sit down and chat.

  When Trick and I walked into the cafeteria, I took a look around the room, inspecting the crowds of people, beige walls, and long wooden tables. I couldn’t help but think what a stupid decision it was to go in here. I could sit in a classroom pretending I belonged, but I didn’t think I could socialize or talk about my damn life. I was about to turn around, give Trick an excuse, and walk out the doors.

  “Oh hey, D and Gray are here,” Trick exclaimed as he spotted the guys from the team sitting at a table in the back.

  “No,” I stated clearly and without room for discussion.

  Trick, like usual, took less than a minute before ignoring my assertion and insinuation. He kept moving toward their table. “Daniels, I know you aren’t Mr. Friendly, but Gray is our star QB and captain. You want Coach to stop giving you such a hard time, Gray is the one who can fix that shit for you faster than you can blink,” he told me as he gestured for me to follow him across the room.

  “I can fix that shit on my own. Don’t expect me to kiss Grayson’s ass,” I muttered.

  “Geesh, dude. Sit next to D, then,” Trick chuckled as he picked up his pace and maneuvered quickly through the masses. I watched him get to the table faster than I could blink; the puppy was fast on and off the field.

  I followed halfheartedly, taking the time to accept that in the long run, it really would look better if people had seen Grayson Waters and me getting along. That didn’t mean I wasn’t bracing myself for a sit-down lunch with the star quarterback of the Herons, the prodigal son of the whole fucking town.

  I decided if he looked at his own reflection when using his fucking cutlery, I was leaving. I didn’t give a shit if everyone thought he looked like a movie star or that three men’s health magazines had approached him to shoot a cover—no guy should stare at himself in a fork.

  “Leyton call you yet?” I heard D, the hotshot linebacker and Thor look-alike, ask Gray as I finally reached the table. “Coach said he left for New York a month ago.”

  “Nah, he’s probably too busy settling in and training with the Giants,” Gray responded, then looked up at me after he took a bite of his bologna sandwich.

  “Yeah, probably. Damn though, can’t wait for that to be us, man. One more year and we’ll be killing it in the NFL. This weekend is the beginning of the end, man,” Andy replied before noticing my presence. “Daniels, dude, welcome to our cafeteria table.”

  “D, we don’t own the table,” Gray muttered before nodding in my direction.

  “Semantics.”

  I took a seat and waited for the inquisition to start, figuring these guys would want to bust my balls, ask me shitty questions about prison or how I ended up on the team after hearing the shit Coach had yelled at me. I hadn’t exactly been forthcoming about my past life. I was also waiting for Andy to start slinging shit my way about blocking him during practice.

  So I was surprised to find that aside from the animated rambling between Trick and Andy about which of them would be the superstar that season and Grayson texting some chick, I was left t
o eat my lunch in silence.

  It had been a while since I had socialized with guys my own age.

  I couldn’t help but imagine what the guys I ate lunch with in prison would think if they saw me now. I knew some would be laughing pretty hard at my place at a table with the elite inner circle of Penmore’s football stars. Until they worked out exactly why I was sitting there, and then they would want in on my plan.

  MILLIE

  I KEPT TRYING TO PICTURE Jessie’s smiling face and shaking hips as I pulled off my blouse and slipped into my floor-length sparkling dress.

  I loved watching Jessie dance at daycare. I knew what twenty-month-old little girls did with their bodies to music might not necessarily be considered dancing, but that's what Jessie thought she was doing and she loved it. Every time she laughed while swinging her body back and forth to music showed me that while she may not look like me, she truly had inherited my personality. The carefree one I hoped she never had to lose.

  She wasn’t even a year old when I worked out that if I did a Fouette turn in front of her, she would stop crying. A week after that, I learned that she’d burst into giggles if I did a barrel roll. When she laughed, her green eyes sparkled and she looked so much like Nathan that Tahnee usually started crying. Big fat tears that slid down her cheeks and caused Jessie to stop giggling and try to catch them like snowflakes.

  It was hard for me to encourage Jessie to dance at home anymore for fear of upsetting the one woman who had done so much for us. I now only encouraged Jessie’s hilarious wiggling at daycare and in the car until I had to leave and go to work.

  As I prepared for my shift, I imagined our own lounge room. A room big enough for her to do any form of dancing she would like across the carpet. Once a vision of her was firmly in my mind, I started the arduous task of pinning on my wig.

  Some shifts, I let my hair fall naturally, blasted Kings of Leon’s “Closer,” and waved my feathers around like they might burn anyone who dared get too close to me. Surprisingly, my tips were always better with the red and an added touch of superiority in my dance moves. But sometimes when I was on stage, I needed to pretend to be someone else.