Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.
Of all the things I expected to see when I reached the cabin, I didn’t expect to see that.
Taylor, little Ms. Perfect, fingering herself in the hot tub and calling my name when she came. When she saw me, she looked like a cornered animal, unsure of whether to flee, freeze. fight, or attack.
No way.
No fucking way.
A few seconds after I hear her get out of the tub, I hear her storm into the house. My dick urges me to follow her, but, much to its disappointment, I resist the temptation. I’ll give it some attention later.
I didn’t know she would be here. I figured she would be at the same camp as Chelsea. The same camp they go to every year.
If I’d known, would I have changed my plans? I’m not sure. I know it would be easier for her if I left, but that’s not going to happen.
Right now, I need a beer to help process what I witnessed. That and my hormones need to cool down.
She called my name. My name. She also called God’s name, but that’s neither here nor there.
Sure, I’ve had women call my name during sex before, and perhaps they’ve called my name when they masturbated, but it’s not something I’ve ever observed. I should have walked away when I first saw her, given her some privacy, but I was frozen to the spot.
The whirring hot tub and bubbles must have drowned out the sound of my car coming up the dirt driveway. I blow out a breath and glance at the steam coming off the water. Perhaps I should get in the tub and jerk off. Relieve the tension crawling through my veins.
Taylor comes outside wearing a pair of short shorts and a tank top. She might as well be naked for all the skin they cover up.
She crosses her arms and stands statue still, like she’s ready to go ten rounds in the ring with me.
“Number one,” she begins, “your dad said I could stay here. He said nothing—not a word—about you being here. If I’d known, I wouldn’t have come.”
I grin. I want to go back at her and say you already came, sweetheart, but I keep my mouth shut.
“Number two. Stay out of my way.”
I gesture towards the house. “This place might not be big enough for us to avoid each other.”
“Don’t come near me. Understand?”
“That’s not what it sounded like a few minutes ago.”
Heat flames her cheeks and fury fills her eyes. “I don’t want to see you. I don’t want to be around you. That—that was just a moment of madness.” She looks at my crotch. “Don’t let it go to your head.”
I shrug. “Is there anything to eat? I’m starving.” I glance at her pussy and lick my lips.
She follows my line of sight. “You’re a fucking asshole.”
“It’s my cross to bear.” My phone rings, interrupting our sparring match. I dig it out of my back pocket and look at the caller ID. It’s Kayden. Maybe he has some news about the doctor. “As much as I want to stand here and argue with you, I have to take this.” I don’t want her to hear my phone conversation. The last thing I want her knowing about is the issues I’m having with the team. Hell, I don’t even want to know about the issues I’m having with the team, and I’m living through them.
I walk down to the water’s edge and answer. “Hey, dude. You find out anything?”
“Nothing, Man. Just calling to see how you’re doing. How’s your shoulder?”
“Hurts like a mother. Driving for three hours hasn’t helped.” I walk over the rickety deck towards the boat.
“You know I can get you anything you need. I have oxy and Vicodin left over from my knee surgery.”
I laugh. “I’m good thanks. The last thing I need is a pain pill addiction. It’s nothing some Advil and couple of beers won’t help. Appreciate the offer, though.”
“What are friends for? Where are you anyway, dude?” Kayden asks.
“My dad’s lake house. Keeping my head down for a few weeks.”
“Where’s the lake house? Don’t remember you ever mentioning it.”
“Eagle Lake in Blue Ridge.”
“I know it,” he says. “Spent a few summers there at my uncle’s place before he sold it. Well, see you around. Take care of your shoulder.”
“Will do.”
We both hang up. Kayden is like my brother, but it wasn’t always that way. When I joined the Bruins, I was a cocky freshman quarterback—still am cocky. He was a sophomore. The star of the show until I came along and took some of his thunder.
At first, we had our issues. We were more like rivals than teammates. During one game, in extra time, Coach yanked him off and sent me on. After I won the game with a Hail Mary pass, we worked out our issues for the sake of the team.
We’ve been best friends ever since. He’s a good guy, and I’d be lost without him.
After grabbing my bag from the car, I walk up to the house and look around for Taylor, but I don’t see her. She’s probably in her room sulking. Or masturbating. I laugh at that thought. I wonder if she needs some help.
I throw my bag in the downstairs’ bedroom, change into a pair of shorts, grab a beer from the six-pack I’d bought on the way and go sit on the dock.
I glance up at the master bedroom window. Is she watching me? Fantasizing about me. Wanting me the way I want her?
***
The next morning, the smell of frying bacon wakes me from where I fell asleep on the sofa. I scrub my hands over my face and make my way into the kitchen.
Taylor is there wearing a skimpy pair of gray cotton shorts and a loose pink vest. Again, not leaving much to the imagination. If I didn’t know better, I would think she’s doing her best to tease and tempt me.
She looks over her shoulder. Disdain flashes across her face. If looks could kill… “Morning, brother.” She sets a fried egg topped with cheese and bacon between two slices of toast.
“You got any extra there,” I ask, ignoring her sarcasm.
“Yeah, I do.”
“Great. I’m starving.”
“You’ve got two hands, right? You know how to fry an egg and make toast.”
Taylor sits down at the kitchen table and skims through her phone while eating. I pull out a chair and sit down opposite her.
“What are your plans today,” I ask, doing my best to remain polite.
“That’s really none of your business, is it?” She continues scanning her phone, not bothering to look up when she speaks.
“I guess not.” Just because she’s acting like an ice queen doesn’t mean I have to act like the asshole she thinks I am.
“I was thinking about taking the boat out later. Maybe go fishing and then do some hiking if you want to join me.”
At my invitation, she sighs and sets her phone on the table. “I’d rather jump into an active volcano filled with venomous snakes, but thanks for the offer.”
“Ouch. Message received.”
I eye the coffee percolating on the countertop. “Can I have some coffee, or do I have to make a pot for myself?”
She shrugs. “Help yourself but clean up when you’re done. I’m not here to pick up after you. Got it?”
“Loud and clear,” I say. When I stand and move toward the coffee, I purposely brush my hand against her bare shoulder, and I don’t miss her intake of breath.
That one autonomic reaction shows how much I affect her. Plus, her masturbating session in the hot tub yesterday more than proves how much she wants me.
If Little Miss Perfect wants me, she can come get me, and she will come get me. I’ll make sure of that by teasing her to the point of insanity.
“I’m going out to the rocks to read,” she announces, standing from the table and putting her plate in the dishwasher.
“Did anyone ever tell you, you know how to party.”
“You’re such a—”
“Asshole, I know.”
“I was going to say jerk.”
Taylor goes out back with her kindle in one hand and a bottle of water in the other.
I take my coffee outside and suck in a deep, head-clearing breath. There’s nothing like the silence of the lake on an early summer morning to make everything in the world seem right.
Sitting down at the sun-bleached picnic table, I take out my phone and check my emails. The first email I see is from my coach. My stomach drops, and I prepare myself for the worst. It’s not like him not to call if he has something to say.
Aaron,
I’m not going to lie. It’s not good. Call me when you get a chance.
Short and sweet.
I delete the email. I don’t want to call him. I don’t want to talk to him because I’m not ready to hear what he has to say even though I already know.
He’s dropping me from the team.
Permanently.
My career is over.
I’ll never make the pros.
I’m no longer a quarterback.
What the fuck am I going to do?
“Aaron!” I hear Taylor scream from the rocks dotted all over the lake, but this scream isn’t filled with ecstasy, it’s filled with sheer terror. All thoughts about football vanish, and I sprint towards the lake.
“Oh, my God, Aaron. Please! I need you I need you.”
She’s standing on the crop of rocks in the middle of the lake.
“S-s-snake! Oh, my, God. What should I do?” Her voice edges on hysteria.
If there’s one thing I know about Taylor, it’s that she’s deathly terrified of snakes.
“What kind of snake?” I ask jumping across the rocks. “Don’t disturb it.”
“I think it’s a copperhead. It has diamonds on its back. It’s moving! It’s going to kill me! I’m going to die!”
“It won’t bite unless it feels threatened.” I jump onto the rock beside her. “Don’t panic.” I look closely at the coiled reptile. “It’s a water snake.”
“How do you know?” She jumps on my back, wrapping her arms around my neck, and I grab her legs to hold her steady. “Are you sure?”
“The bands of brown, black and dark green on its back. Plus, a copperhead has a flat, flared head.”
“Is it venomous?”
“Nah.”
“Are you sure?”
“Very sure.” I start carrying her over the rocks, and when we get to the bank, I set her down. “Nonvenomous snakes have round pupils. They have small teeth and no fangs. A bite would hurt but not kill.”
“What’s it doing here? Shouldn’t it be in the water? Are there more in the water? I’m never getting in the lake again!” She wrings her hands, and her eyes are as wide as saucers.
“They like basking on rocks during the day, or hanging out on tree limbs.”
Glancing at the trees overhanging the lake, she clings to my arm. I won’t lie, it feels good to have her need me like this.
“I thought I was going to die. I thought—thank you so much. Thank you. I’m so glad you were here.”
Her gratitude makes me want to puff out my chest.
“Don’t worry about it,” I say and smile. “Glad I could help.”
“Let me make you dinner as a way to say thanks. If I’d been on my own, I could be dead. I could have lain undiscovered for weeks. The rats would have eaten me.” Her eyes widen even more, and I want to laugh at her over exaggeration, but I don’t.
“Are we calling a truce?” I ask holding out my hand.
“Truce,” she agrees, and we shake on it.
***
For the rest of the day, after uncovering and cleaning the boat, I go fishing, throwing back most of what I catch. Ignoring the pain in my shoulder every time I cast off.
Taylor stays on the deck, reading and every so often, I catch her eye and wave. It’ll be a while before she comes into the water again, but I have a feeling if she comes hiking with me tomorrow she will. There’s someplace special I want to take her.
I spend most of my time trying to figure out what I’m going to do regarding football and the poison floating around my body, but by the time the sun sets, I still don’t have a solution.
Feeling less than hopeful about my future, I come in off the lake and clean the fish I’d caught. Taylor makes a salad and after seasoning the fish, wraps them in foil and throws them on the grill.
“It’s actually kinda nice having you here,” she admits, wiping her hands with a paper towel, “I thought I wanted to be alone, but maybe I don’t.”
While the fish bake, we both sit by the firepit, and I throw a few logs into the snapping flames. “So how you been, Taylor? School? Life?”
“Same old same old. Life is nothing but school and cheering.”
“Crazy that our parents got married,” I say, grabbing a beer from the cooler at my side.
“Insane. But they make one another really happy, and I love that my mom found someone like your dad, he’s a good guy.”
I snort. “Says you.”
“I know you two have your problems, but he is a good guy. He’s so good to my mom, and he’s a good dad.”
“Yeah,” I agree, not wanting to get into it with her. He might be a good dad to Chelsea now, but to me, he was, and is, a tyrant.
“What brought you home?” she asks, reaching for a beer. “You haven’t been back in so long. Everyone was surprised to see you.”
“That’s what you call it?”
“Stop with the pity party.”
“Ever thought about being a motivational speaker?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.
“Ha-ha very funny. I just don’t like people feeling sorry for themselves over nothing. It pisses me off. I have no time for it.”
What would she say if I told her I’m about to be kicked off the team because of steroids, and because I can’t throw worth shit anymore. It’s on the tip of my tongue, but then I decide not to because I don’t fully understand it all yet, and she’d have too many questions I don’t have the answers to.
“Just thought it was time to come home.”
“Shouldn’t you be training for next season instead of sitting in a cabin in the middle of the woods with me?”
“I should be, but I decided I needed a break. One too many hits on the head.” I demonstrate this by rapping my knuckles against the back of my skull.
The look on her face tells me she doesn’t buy my bullshit.
“You’re okay, right? I mean you don’t have a brain injury. I know about your shoulder—everyone does.”
“I’m good. Nothing some rest can’t cure. Nothing that’s gonna stop me getting into the pros.” The lie tastes bitter on my tongue. I’m starting to think the pros is a dream that’ll never happen for me.
“Have you had any interest yet from anyone?”
“Here and there. But I want to make sure I finish college first. You never know how long a football career will last these days. Not everyone is Tom Brady and can play into their forties.” Was that last statement for her benefit or mine?
She raises an eyebrow and looks at me like I’m crazy. “Who are you and what have you done with Aaron Thompson?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I say a little more defensively than I intend to.
“Oh, please. Aaron Thompson, the star quarterback. The guy who coached his high school team as much as the coaches did. The guy everyone looked up to. The guy all the cheerleaders wanted to be with?”
I laugh and take a gulp of beer before answering. “He’s still around.”
“You’ve changed. Grown-up.”
“Nah. I’m still the same guy who does dumb stuff.” Like, get steroid injections from an unscrupulous doctor. “The same guy who got busted for drag racing down Main Street. The same guy who rides dirt bikes, likes fishing, drinking beers, and chasing girls. The same guy who hung his high school coach’s underwear from the flagpole.”
“That was a good one,” she says and laughs.
“I want to hear more about you,” I say, sick of talking about me. “Are you dating?”
She shakes her head, stands, and goes to the grill. “I just don’t have time, and I see how much time it takes up with Chelsea. She and Wesley are in each other’s pockets. No thank you. I don’t want to be at someone’s beck and call.”
I throw my empty bottle in the recycling bin and wander over to the grill. “She’s at his beck and call? My independent sister?”
“They can’t be apart for more than ten minutes without suffering withdrawal symptoms. They’re seriously attached at the hip.”
“Jealous?”
Using the tips of her fingers, she peels open the foil parcels. “These are done. Grab me a plate. And no, not jealous. More like concerned that she’s throwing away her life for the first guy she fell in love with.”
“And that’s a bad thing?” I ask, handing her a plate.
“I guess not. He’s aiming for the pros too, and everyone thinks he’ll make it. I just don’t want her to give up her dreams to follow him around. I don’t want her to give up who she is to become a Stepford WAG.”
“WAG?”
“Wife and girlfriend,” she explains. “They spend money on surgery and clothes. Their only purpose in life is to look pretty.”
“Doesn’t sound like my sister.”
“I hope it never does.”
For the rest of the night, we sit by the fire bullshitting about life, and I realize this is the first time we’ve ever sat and talked—really talked. Conversation with Taylor is easy. She’s smart and understands football—more than any other girl I know besides Chelsea, but that’s because my dad showed her plays the second she was old enough to hold a ball.
When Taylor stands and says good night, I see her hesitating. She’s waiting for me to make a move, but I simply say good night.
Perhaps I’m imagining it, but she seems disappointed.
I’m standing by my decision. If she wants me, she can come get me.