Chapter Three
CHARLIE
September 2012
“Okay, so in hindsight, maybe throwing us into the water fully clothed wasn’t the best idea,” Jeremy says with an apologetic smile.
“You think?” I say, sitting on the tailgate of his Bronco, towel-drying my hair with a shirt that was in one of the several gym bags Jeremy has in his car.
I’m trying to act cool. I’m trying to be calm. So… I’m drenched in ocean water on the date I’ve been the most excited about in forever. The Davenport inside of me won’t allow me to make him feel uncomfortable for throwing me into the water. I mean, he doesn’t understand the time and attention that went into the hair and makeup and outfit selection for this date. It’s not like he did it on purpose, and he probably wouldn’t have done it if he knew it would bother me.
I take a breath. In. Then out.
But on the inside, I am so not cool. I feel completely thrown off my game, and incredibly conscious of the fact that I now have raccoon eyes and smell like a wet dog. I mean, come on! I wanted so badly for this date to be perfect and now I feel gross. How am I supposed to make a great impression when I look like a swamp creature!?
So I take another breath. Lighten the mood, Char.
“If I smelled that bad, you could have just taken me to a pharmacy to grab some deodorant or something.” I add a smile to set him at ease.
He chuckles, his muscles flexing under a workout shirt he pulled on after we got back to the car. “If I’d thought far enough ahead, maybe I would have told you to wear a little bikini.” His eyebrows go up and down. “Now that, pretty girl… that’s something I wouldn’t mind seeing any day of the week.”
His eyes linger on my face and I’m suddenly in equal parts hyper-aware of how I look and wanting to hide, as well as dying for him to move closer to me and kiss me again regardless of how I look.
I shrug, slowly allowing myself a chance to get back into a flirty mood, where I’m far more comfortable. “Well, if you had just asked, I could have stripped down to my panties before you heaved me into the ocean.”
He gives me a roguish grin. “You are such a tease.”
I just shrug and give him a playful look. “Am I teasing?”
He chuckles, then steps into my space, his arms braced on the bed of the truck, his face inches from mine.
“Wanna know why I threw us into the water?” he asks, pressing a small kiss to the side of my neck. Before I can respond, he answers his own question. “Because if I hadn’t, I might have gotten us arrested for public indecency.”
I let out a shaky sigh as he shifts and kisses the other side of my neck.
“Well it’s good you beat me to it. I’m basically a WWE fighter, and I don’t know if your ego could have handled me body slamming you into the water.”
His lips freeze, planted on my collarbone, and then his forehead falls forward onto my shoulder and he starts shaking with silent laughter.
I smile, enjoying that I’ve made him laugh. But I still feel entirely off my game with him. Normally, I go full-on flirt. I don’t know where this goof-ball joke teller came from or why she’s hijacking my date. But I can’t seem to stop being silly with him. And if I’m honest, I really like it.
His head finally lifts and the smile there is soft and genuine.
“Like I said. A tease.”
“Well, someone needs to be the comedic relief, so please consider me your jester for the evening.”
“Really?” I nod. “Okay, gimme some one-liners, then.”
I shake my head. “Sorry, Charlie. They come out when the mood strikes. You’ll just have to wait and see.”
“Charlie is your name.”
“Yeah, I know. But it’s not my fault the saying sounds weird when coming from someone named Charlie. Like, if someone named Deborah called you a Debbie Downer. Or if someone named Nellie called you a Nervous Nellie.” I put my hands in the air in a what can you do gesture.
He rolls his eyes playfully, then grabs my jeans off the door of the truck bed and starts wringing the water out of them.
“Thanks for the backup clothes, by the way,” I add, resting my elbows on my criss-crossed legs and my face in my hands, watching him. “I definitely think these gray sweat pants and green shirt that says,” I pull it forward and slowly read it upside down with a giggle, “World’s Okayest Runner, are much sexier and will be much more likely to turn you on than the outfit I was wearing before. Especially since I’ll still be wearing my dope-ass boots!” I finish with a flourish by kicking out my legs to show them off. “I mean, they match the shirt, so…”
Jeremy’s face has a smile on it as he pulls his wet wallet from his jeans pocket and sets it in the enclosed bed of the Bronco, next to his ruined watch. But it doesn’t look completely genuine. He looks… if I’m totally honest? A little constipated.
And just like that, any frustration I felt at him for throwing us into the deep blue drains from my body. I might look disgusting, but I can’t let him feel bad about being spontaneous. I mean, isn’t that something I usually admire in people?
“Hey,” I say, waiting for his eyes to meet mine. And when they do, I know that I couldn’t be upset at him anymore even if I wanted to. “I’m not mad about the dip in the water. I promise.” I reach over and rest my hand on his. “I’d rather be dripping wet with you than dry with someone else.”
The minute the words come out of my mouth, his eyes widen and he looks like he’s choking on a laugh.
I roll my eyes, but can’t help the giggle that pops from my mouth. “Okay,” I say, drawing out the word, wishing I could be flirty and dirty in this moment but struggling to find something to say. “So what’s next, mister?” I decide that moving this date along is the best course of action. Would I prefer an hour or two to get myself back to what I deem date-worthy in hair and make up? Yes. Do I have that? No. So my choice is to suck it up and enjoy the evening, or pout like a little asshole and make him take us home.
I hop off the tailgate and strike a pose, “We strutting our fine selves down the boardwalk?”
He pauses to look at me. “You’re still up to wander around?”
I furrow my brow. “Did you not see the complete insanity that was my reaction to coming here? I may be in sweats and boots, smell like a dog, and have mascara dripping down my face, but I will not give up on this extravaganza.” I throw my hands into the air. “I am here to be entertained!”
He smiles and nods, chucking the rest of our stuff into the back of the Bronco. “Well, then. We can’t disappoint the lady.”
I huff. “Of course we can’t.”
“My god, does it ever stop?” he says with a laugh, closing up and locking the doors.
I just point to myself. “I told you. Jester.”
He grabs my hand and we start walking to the boardwalk, chatting about all things random. The more we walk and talk, the more I see Jeremy’s flirty confidence return. He eyes me up and down, flirts his fingers with mine, rests his hands on my hips… I’m getting smacked with a wall of in-your-face interest. And in reality? I don’t entirely know how to respond.
In the past, I was the one with the confidence, the one doing the flirty thing with the guys. I’d touch their shoulder or smooth out their hair, or brush past them just slightly. It was an ego boost, for sure. And the guys ate it up.
But Jeremy… he’s this entirely different breed of man that my eighteen-year-old self hasn’t come across before. He reeks of confidence, but every so often there is the hint of vulnerability there too. I can tell he’s a man who likes to be in control, which feeds the kid inside of me who lived in an overly controlled environment, and he looks just a bit frazzled when he isn’t in control of the situation. I know how horrible that feels, too.
So, now that I’m faced with the reality of his confidence and flirtation, I feel a bit more nervous. Heaps more overwhelmed than I had originally felt when agreeing to this date.
Ugh, get out of your head, Charlotte. Just enjoy this date with the hottest guy you’ve ever had acknowledge your presence.
The cool thing about visiting a place like Venice Beach is that it’s filled with weirdos, so no one looks twice at you if you’re in sweats and sexy boots. I find that the more he talks to me – like now, about how he got into playing soccer – the less concerned I am about what other people think I look like.
After a while of wandering outside, I spot an independent bookstore and lead us inside. When I see the Clearance section, I make a beeline straight for it. I’m not a big reader, but I love do-it-yourself books. Not things like “Weight Loss for Dummies” or “Anybody Can Be Cool… But Awesome Takes Practice” – which is a real book I found once, no joke. I’m more about the ones that teach you to crochet or make loom potholders with the illustrative photos and bright colors. It’s how I got really into hair and makeup. There was this tiny bookstore in my hometown of Kilburn that had Bookworm Wednesdays, and all of the clearance books would drop to a dollar or less.
We had tons of money growing up. If I’d asked my mom for any new toy or gadget or, when I got into my teen years, a new car or a trip into Omaha to go shopping at the outlets, there wouldn’t have been an issue. But ask her for money to buy do-it-yourself books? I’d tried that once.
“Why would you pay for books to learn how to do it when you can just pay a person to do it instead?”
Yeah, that conversation had been scintillating.
So any time my mom would give me money for something, and she said to keep the change, I’d take the coins and toss them into an empty shoebox in my closet. And on Wednesdays after school, I’d head to The Bookworm Shoppe and browse. I rarely ever bought anything, but I did find some great books on doing smoky eyes and really interesting braids. Sure, I could have just watched YouTube tutorials, but there was something satisfying about tucking my new-to-me book into my backpack and then returning home, knowing I was going to wait for mom and dad to go to some dinner or swanky thing to crack it open and practice.
Grey always sat and watched me, helping some of the time, even knowing his friends would have teased him mercilessly about doing hair and makeup with his sister. But Issy would huff and storm off, frustrated that I was breaking the rules – again – and probably going to get away with it – again.
There’s always a thrill I get when digging through clearance bins at bookstores. Even finding older books that have women with hair like Farrah Fawcett’s, I still can’t help but smile.
I’m running my fingers along the clearance shelves for who knows how long when I bump into someone.
“Sorry.” I look up and finding Jeremy’s eyes on me. “Oh my god.” I clutch my hands together and press them to my mouth. “How long was I zoned out?” I ask, speaking through my fingers, my eyes wide.
He smiles. “Only about 15 minutes. No big deal. I had fun watching you. You were very focused.”
I laugh through my hands and exhale a breath, glad that he isn’t offended. “I get really into this sometimes,” I say. “I love hair and makeup, and some of these old-school supermodels have classic looks that never go out of style.
He steps towards me. It’s just a normal step, nothing rushed or calculated about it, but I can’t help the hitch to my breath at his sudden nearness. Maybe it’s because we’re in a slightly darker corner, or because I’m suddenly pressed up against the bookshelf behind me. Regardless, the surge of energy that flows through my body when he gets close to me… it’s a heady feeling.
He leans down, bracing an arm on the bookshelf, right by my face. “I’ve never understood why so many women have to cake their faces to feel beautiful,” he says, his eyes searching, flitting over my nose, my cheeks, my lips. “ You wanna talk about classic beauty?” he asks. His other hand tilts my chin up. “I bet the most beautiful thing in the world would be your face, completely naked, waking up in the morning.”
I’m caught up entirely in his reference to me being naked – even if it is just about my face, because, let us all be completely honest here, he’s not just talking about my face. I’m so caught up in what he said, that I don’t realize he’s waiting for me to respond, his face inches from mine.
“Well…” I finally choke out, feeling a whole lot flustered. “Well… yup.”
Yup? Get it together!
“I mean… yes, that does sound…” I clear my throat, but I just can’t seem to say anything.
He chuckles, then leans down and presses a soft kiss against my neck, which is rapidly becoming my new favorite thing. I close my eyes, breath in, and try to calm my racing heart.
“Having trouble coming up with a response, are we?” he asks, and when I open my eyes, I see the twinkle in his.
I let out a breath, then lift up slightly, our noses touching, our breaths mingling.
“Sorry about that,” I say, bringing my hands up to press them against his chest. I slowly run them up and down his torso, and delight in the feeling I get when his eyes flare at my boldness. “I got a little caught up in the visual of what would happen before waking up in your bed.”
He stares at my lips. “I never said my bed.”
I shrug a shoulder, watching my hand stroke his shirt. “Oops. I forgot. I meant to say a towel on the beach. That is what you meant earlier when you said public indecency, right?”
He smiles, a slightly devilish little thing, then lets out a little laugh, shaking his head. “What am I gonna do with you?”
I move my mouth to his ear and whisper, “I thought that’s what we were just talking about.”
Then I side-step and duck under his arm, which is still planted on the bookshelf, and begin walking over to the register.
* * * * *
JEREMY
September 2012
I watch her walk away from me, her hips swaying, and I realize I have gotten myself into quite the predicament.
This girl is hot – like, flaming hot Cheetos dusted with ghost peppers hot – no question. Being my sister’s roommate added a bit of the forbidden factor. Not gonna lie, that shit can be quite the turn on. And if I’m reading her correctly, she’s pretty down for whatever happens tonight.
Normally, these pieces would be enough for me to start moving things along. My typical M.O. with women is pretty consistent. Flirt and be charming in whatever way that works for them. I’m not trying to be manipulative, and the girls I go out with know the score. They know it’s just a fling, nothing serious. So they get it when I lay on the charm, because they know what they’re in for when I take them out, which is typically the same thing they’re looking for. I’m not saying every date ends in the bedroom (or car, or limo, or club bathroom stall), but I do have a pretty high success rate, and trust me when I say the ladies never leave wanting.
So I flirt and charm. We grab a meal or a drink or go dancing. And then things move back to my place or hers, a hotel or a private spot. She gets off, I get off, and then we’re done. I mean, that’s pretty standard procedure for most guys I know. So I’ve never seen anything wrong with it before.
And here’s where my predicament comes in.
I’m not entirely sure where this date is going.
Shit, don’t get me wrong – I’m having a blast. On top of the stuff I mentioned before, Charlotte Davenport is also a really nice person, and she makes me laugh. I’ve never been a particularly laughy guy, and I’ve laughed like, at least ten times since I picked her up a few hours ago. Not only that, but there’s this feeling I’ve been having where I feel like I could tell her… anything.
So, a part of me wants to wrap this up and take her back to my place – because we both know her room at Glendale College isn’t an option. Why put it off when she keeps hinting that she’s down?
I have no fucking clue.
Maybe I know this isn’t gonna go anywhere, but I love her company, so I’m delaying moving things along?
Maybe I wonder if someone as sweet as her, regardless of her expert flirting, is someone I should take home at all?
Or… maybe I’m considering just taking her home and scheduling another date?
And that’s when I get those film zoom scenes. You know, when the camera zooms in on the character and the background zooms out, super fast, in a moment of shock or realization.
And my moment of realization?
I’m not sure I’m in this for a romp in the hay.
Sure, that may have been where things initiated. Any man that looks at Charlie and doesn’t think about sex is absolutely insane, and I know things between us would be so hot.
But I can’t really process this other feeling I’m having. This feeling that rushing things along would be a mistake. That spending time with her might be more than a casual fling. That it could be something special and meaningful.
And that’s why I’m in a predicament. I literally have no idea what I’m doing.
Sure, my confidence and charm come out full force. It’s natural. But earlier, when we were talking about what made me get into soccer? I felt like I could really talk to her. Tell her the nerves I’ve been feeling with the recruiting season coming up for MLS teams. Or my fears about leaving Rachel behind when I move away to play professionally.
Because it will happen. I hope. I try to be as confident as possible, mainly because big egos are what makes professional sports fun to watch. You don’t become a Beckham or a Messi or a Ronaldo without some serious fucking certainty that you rock on the field.
I sigh and watch her pay for her book at the register, finally following behind her after standing like an idiot in the clearance section and just watching her from a distance.
She turns once she’s finished and flashes me that absolutely gorgeous smile of hers. I know she feels self-conscious about how she looks right now, but I think she’s way more beautiful without all of that stuff on her face. It makes her seem softer somehow.
I may have no idea what I’m doing, but she doesn’t seem to be too upset about it. So I smile back at her, take her hand in mine, and lead us out of the store.
“So, tell me about what it was like growing up with RJ,” she says, as we wander aimlessly through the throngs of people that populate the Venice Boardwalk every day. “I mean, I’m really enjoying living with her, but she seems like kind of a closed book.”
I nod. “Yeah, she’s always been like that. I love that girl so much, but it’s hard to open up to people when you’ve spent your entire life living in the embarrassing shadow of our dad.”
She looks to me with a crease in her brow. “What’s the deal with him? RJ hasn’t mentioned him at all. When we were getting to know each other she would only refer to you as her family.”
I give a pained smile at that.
“Yeah, he’s pretty much a raging alcoholic. The kind of dad that scares other families. It’s hard to be a kid and want to play with your friends, and then find out they’re not allowed to come to your house. RJ had a handful of friends when she was younger, but she pushed a bunch of them away. I’ve never really understood why, but everyone responds differently to pain, I guess.”
Charlie gives me a sweet smile. “I’m sure having you around helped. I’ve heard her extol the virtues of her amazing brother.
I let out a laugh at that. “I don’t know about amazing. I mean, I try to be a good brother but I’m never sure if I’m getting it right. In some ways, I act a bit more like her dad than her brother, which she doesn’t appreciate.”
Charlie giggles. “I’m sure she loves having you around.”
“I hope so. I get lunch with her almost every week, I even used to do it when she was still in high school, but it was a monthly thing. It petered out her senior year because she got so busy, but we picked it back up as soon as she moved in mid-summer to do that early arrivals course.”
I pause as we take a seat on a bench.
“So, while we enjoy spending time together, we are both basically waiting to see what happens next.”
“What will that be like when you get… what is it? Drafted?”
“The SuperDraft, yeah,” I supply, referring to the name of the period of time in January when the MLS teams will start picking their players. I rub my hand against the back of my neck. I guess that thing about wanting to share with her how I feel is coming to the forefront. Part of me wants to brush it off, but…
“I mean, I’ll get drafted, no doubt,” I say, pushing forward that confidence. “The good thing is that I’ll have a full-time job, with a full-time salary. So I can visit her and she can visit me, no problems.”
Charlie nods. “Well, that’s good. But I mean, it’ll be the first time you live more than a few hours from each other, right? Like, it’s not like you can just hop in a car and go see her for a day if you live in Maine.”
“Okay, first of all, there are no teams in Maine. And I don’t know if I could live somewhere that cold,” I say with a laugh. “But you’re right, it would be very different.” Taking a breath, I decide to launch into it. “The reality is that the chances are around 5% that I’ll end up in LA.”
“That’s… pretty specific.”
“Yeah, my coach and I have run the numbers on this, a few times. There’s 23 teams in the league, and the order of pick is based on who was the worst the year before. Coach is pretty certain that I’ll go in the end of the first round or the beginning of the second, which would mean I would be tapped by either a top ranked team or a shitty team. The teams in LA are one of each.”
I run my hands through my hair in mild frustration. “The problem, though, is that teams also pick based on positions they need filled. And both LA teams have a pretty full load when it comes to the position I play. So, the higher ups will probably find it more important to go after players in positions they need to fill first to make sure they get higher quality.”
“Wow,” she says. “I never watch sports, but I’m really impressed that you’d do all the research on all of that. Like, that’s amazing. Doesn’t that help with some of the nerves?”
I shake my head. “Not at all,” I laugh out. When she joins me I feel a bit of the tension drain from my shoulders. “Last year, one of the best teams traded away a pick and ended up picking someone who had already been in conversations with another team. It caused quite an storm.”
“So even though your chances are technically 5%, it could be higher just because someone decides to do something weird?” she asks.
I laugh again. “Yeah, something like that.”
“Seems shitty to have to leave your future up to someone else,” she says. It seems like an off-handed remark, but the way her eyes look out at the beach, slightly lost and searching, when she’d been previously so focused on me… it’s about more than me.
“Hey,” I say, and she turns to look back at me. “I know what I’m getting myself into, and it’s just par for the course. Every player goes through this. The worry and fear about what’s next. Wondering when they’ll get drafted.” I shrug. “I mean really, no matter how much I plan and prepare, and I’ve done a lot of it, we are all slaves to the big machine, right? Isn’t this how nursing is going to be, too? At some point you’ll have to apply for jobs and hope you get the one you want. But maybe you won’t and you’ll have to get excited about a different opportunity.”
“Oh lord, please don’t remind me,” she says, that smile returning to her face.
I smile back at her. “My point is, things happen in life, good and bad, easy and hard. To all of us. And what’s important is learning how to adapt to it.”
I love the nod she gives me, like she really gets what I’m talking about.
Hell, I’m surprised I make sense right now. I’ve never really shared any of this with anyone before, but that beautiful smile of hers is so disarming. I feel like I could tell her anything.
“So, long story longer, I’m nervous about moving away from RJ. I just know it’s gonna happen, and I don’t know how either of us are gonna cope.”
“Well, you seem to have a great relationship, so I’m sure no matter what happens, you’ll both figure it out.”
I smile at her positivity. It’s really refreshing.
“Well, I think it’s time for dinner, don’t you? I made a reservation.”
Her face falls, and a part of me wants to laugh, because I know she’s concerned about how she looks.
“Don’t worry about it,” I add. “We’ll be totally fine.”
I grab her hand and start walking us down the boardwalk. Time for a sunset view.