Page 37

Pickups and Poor Choices

May

I t’s my name.

He’s wearing my jersey.

I’m not completely sure what I’m seeing when he turns around and jabs a thumb at the number on the back of his T-shirt, but it’s me. VELASCO, above a big 13.

Honestly? I am in total shock.

I’ve seen plenty of girls in their football-playing boyfriend’s jersey. In high school and then in college, it’s not something we’re unfamiliar with. As much as I know this is for the plot we’ve fabricated throughout the season, I can feel that it’s so much more than that. I can’t help the tears that well up in my eyes.

Colt turns back, beaming proudly, and my feet practically freeze as if the grass has turned to quicksand. Sure, it’s about keeping up the narrative for the cameras that click away around us, but when my eyes meet his, all the chaos disappears, leaving just the two of us. Colt and May.

I press my hand to my lips, and I blow him the biggest flying kiss. It’s no show. I mean every damn bit of it.

That’s the last pleasant lull I get before the match hits us head-on.

During last week’s practice, Colt took us through manoeuvres used by the men’s MLL players to get the ball through a particularly keen defence – a level up from what we’re used to. After watching footage from the last match, it’s clear there’s no way to beat a team this solid by dancing around them. The only way out, he said, would be through. And it wouldn’t be pretty.

We take it literally. Evading penalty carefully, we plough through the defence to get our balls through, playing more aggressively than we’ve ever played before. At one point, Jordan swings her stick so fiercely I think she could probably cut wood with it if she tried. And at the end of the game, tight on numbers, Maddie makes one last Mad Dog goal: our now signature no-look twizzler, smacking the back of ’Bama’s net like we have rent to pay.

The first time in history.

‘OH MY GOD,’ screams Jordan when the horn blows and the scoreboard blinks. By two goals, we’ve beaten them, and earned a spot in the second round.

All of us, even the girls on the bench, storm the field, jumping all over each other at the midline, yelling and wailing and crying. Somewhere between Jordan’s arm and Lexi’s ass, I manage a mangled sob of, ‘I’M SO PROUD OF YOU GUYS,’ and the girls sob in return. This isn’t the end of our season – by no means the end of my journey. If I decide to leave lacrosse after this senior season, I don’t intend on leaving quietly.

Come Sunday, back from game-day chaos, Colt and I swing by the drive-through diner to grab burgers, against all potential dietary regimen costs. We dig into greasy heaven in the back of his truck, sitting on a pile of ridiculous chevron-striped blankets as we share a basket of fries and a pack of my favorite Busch Light Peach. We’re parked up in the middle of the field a good mile outside of the new and improved Eagle Rock sign. It’s so clear out here I can trace each and every constellation my parents taught me. I start with Orion, dragging an imaginary line across the three stars in his belt.

‘Now,’ I ask Colt around a fry, ‘where in the hell did you get that shirt? They don’t make May Velasco merch, I’ll have you know.’

‘I, uh …’ He laughs nervously, putting down his burger to regard me with complete attention. ‘I know that. I, um, I stole my sister’s Cricut machine.’

‘Huh. You did all of that for …’

‘Well, uh, for you. Obviously.’

For me. Damn it. No one but CJ Bradley could say something so cheesy and yet send a shiver from my head to my toes.

‘We still have such different destinations in life, Colt.’ I pick up another fry, and a dull wind comes through, tousling Colt’s wavy brown hair – that stupid (splendid, but stupid) ‘flow’ of his – as I glance up at the sky of perfectly clear stars. ‘You, professional lacrosse, far from home.’

‘And you?’ he says quietly.

‘I guess I seem like a square.’ I shoot him a smirk. ‘You think I’m a square.’

‘I never said that.’ Colt shakes his head, but the slightest smile sneaks out.

‘I have things I wanna do, but my best option is staying home. Holding it down. You have choices. We have different destinations,’ I repeat.

‘Hmm.’ He chews in thought before swallowing, swirling the beer in his can around a few times before he speaks. ‘May, I think … we don’t get assigned a direction in life. I get that I probably don’t understand what it’s like to become an adult here, where everything is so uncertain. But I think you choose your destination. And I think there comes a time when someone with the sort of talent you have has to make a choice as to who they wanna be.’

Colt’s dusky eyes glitter, magnetic, drawing me closer. I raise an eyebrow, setting down my beer and planting my chin on my hands. ‘A choice?’

‘Yep.’ His breath fans my cheeks. My eyes flit to his lips. On a normal day, I’d stop myself there. But something about the stars, and the truck, and the low rasp of Colt’s voice … all inhibitions leave my body. I’m doing exactly what I told myself I wouldn’t. Over, and over, and over, and apparently, it didn’t work. ‘Are you gonna be ordinary, or extraordinary?’

My breath catches as his fingers brush my temple, tucking an errant curl behind my ear. ‘You still got time, you know, before you make that choice. May.’ The soft, sweet whisper of Colt’s voice caresses my skin, a teasing smile entering his eyes before it traces its way across his lips. ‘But if you care, I think you’re pretty fucking extraordinary.’

The bass drum in my heart starts thudding on cue. Suddenly, my stomach is a flurry of something I’ve not felt since high school, not since I thought Colt was going to kiss me after the championship game sophomore year, and then stupendously didn’t, probably because the guys swept him away for a victory lap of the field. Every so often, I wonder if he would have kissed me. Now, I think to myself, I might be getting my answer.

‘No one’s watching, New Haven.’ My voice is a quavering sound that floats on the air and dissolves a moment later, threatening to cave to the hand that cups my cheek. ‘You don’t have to pretend here.’

‘I’m not pretending.’ Our knees are touching, a strangely intimate feeling, and he pulls me closer by warm hands at my waist. ‘Are you?’

I don’t expect a bit of what I do next.

All at once, my lips crash against Colt’s, the taste of celebratory peach beer on both our parts invading my senses. It’s not at all like the tame, orchestrated kisses we’ve shared in the public eye. It’s unbridled, raw, and much needier. His hands travel down my body, marvelling at every curve in a way no man’s hands have marvelled before. I wrap my legs around his torso, pulling our bodies closer to one another. His fingers tangle in my hair, his eyelashes fluttering against mine. I move a hand to his chest and give him a little nudge in the right direction.

‘May,’ Colt laughs as he falls back against the floor of the truck’s bed with a grin that possibly, maybe, couldn’t be any hotter .

I lean down and kiss him again, and his grip on my hips tightens, fervent and searching. His fingers just brush the hem of my shirt. Keep going , I want to beg him.

‘What if someone sees us?’ he murmurs, his index fingers hooked through my belt loops as I lean back and do a quick three-sixty scan for the both of us.

I make my decision pretty quickly. ‘Then,’ I lean right back down and whisper my next words at his ear. ‘To hell with ’em.’

With a grin, Colt pulls me back down to him, and he presses his lips to mine. My senses are overwhelmed in the most blissful way – the taste of the beer, the feeling of his skin against mine as he tosses my tank top aside. My hands roam until they find their way beneath his shirt, and I pull it right off him as quickly as I can. I relish every beautiful part of him. There is a shit ton I hate about lacrosse guys, but I will never complain about the wonderfully defined muscles and the abs. The perfectly toned six-pack on CJ Bradley. I have no comments or suggestions. I hum happily as my fingers trace their way down the sharp V just below those abs, and Colt gives my ass a squeeze, pushing our bodies close enough together that I can clearly feel the evidence of just how extraordinary he thinks I am. My eyes widen. Oh. My. God.

‘This okay?’ he murmurs into my hair. His hands are in my back pockets. Back pockets. We’re in the bed of his stunning truck. This is, as much as I hate to admit it, actually a dream come true. Yes, it’s absolutely okay. It’s beyond okay.

‘Yes,’ I try to say, except it turns into more of a needy keening when Colt kisses his way down the side of my neck. Any language in my brain turns into incoherent mush. Tomorrow, maybe I’ll look back on this and have to do damage control, but right now, I have nothing to lose. And frankly, I have so many things I’ve yet to feel.

I’m beyond thankful when Colt finally finds the button of my jeans. I wiggle out of them as quickly and effectively and eagerly as I possibly can.

‘May, if you’ll let me, I wanna apologize again to you.’ Colt’s chest heaves against mine, and in one swift move, his hand protecting the back of my head from the floor of the truck, he rolls us over, tugging a fold of the blanket with us. I’m still holding onto him like my life depends on it, my thighs at his hips, legs pulling him close to me, but cohesive thoughts become a thing of the past when I hear the rasp in his voice. The small silver medallion around his neck swings above me as he brings his lips to mine, his hair tickling my forehead, and then, one sweet, husky word out of that beautiful mouth: ‘Properly.’

Immediately, I’m nodding vigorously. ‘Please,’ I try my best to say. He’s literally killing my brain cells. How is that possible? How is a man so gorgeous?

Colt cracks a mischievous little smile before his hands take over, dragging a honeyed path down my body until his eyes meet mine, crinkled in the corners with full knowledge of the state I’m about to be in.

I might be tripping, but at this point, I’m pretty positive a string of ‘pleasepleaseplease’ is about all I can muster.

‘Spread those beautiful legs for me, May,’ Colt says, every vibration of his voice in his chest travelling right to mine, and let me tell you, I am happy to oblige. He lets out a satisfied hum. ‘You good?’ he murmurs, thumb stroking my cheek.

‘Yeah. Yeah, yeah.’ This time, my response is clear as day. I’m so good, actually. And I’ll be even better in about five minutes, which Colt knows, because with a kiss to my abdomen and a squeeze of my hand, he says, ‘Brace yourself.’

Whatever bracing I do isn’t enough for the feeling when he slides a finger inside me. I dig my heels into Colt’s back, a grateful moan emerging from my body, one that’s amplified when he adds a second finger – oh my . ‘Shh,’ he whispers with a teasing grin. ‘The fireflies are gonna hear you.’

I’d laugh if he doesn’t adjust his touch in some magical way that feels just right , so right that I have to tug him down to me. He finds a rhythm that my body responds to without even trying. If this is the apology, I’m more than willing to accept. I’ll take further reparations, too. Actually, I’ll probably take whatever he has.

Various combinations of ‘Colt, please,’ tumble straight from my lips. Our eyes meet dead-on. I plead he’s read my mind, and I’m proven just right when he lays a kiss on my collarbone, and then at my sternum, and then lower, until I’m practically biting down to keep from howling hard enough to scare away every firefly in Eagle Rock. My fingers are lost in Colt’s hair, and my soul feels like it finally – finally – leaves my body when relief crashes over me, the sort of fireworks I’ve never, ever felt before. My chest rises and falls with heavy breaths that only a good match can usually get out of me. Oh, May, just imagine what else this man has up his sleeve.

‘You’re so perfect,’ he mouths, lips moving against the side of my neck. ‘So perfect.’

Well. CJ Bradley definitely just apologized to me. And I’m eating up every crumb of it.

My hands creep down to the button of Colt’s jeans, and I press a kiss to his cheek. I whisper, ‘I accept your apology. I’m gonna thank you for it.’