Getting Played Read online

  I grab the table and slide into a kitchen chair. “Oh…hi. What’s up?”

  “Just checking in,” he says, and there’s absolutely no reason for the goose bumps making all the hair on my body stand on end. “How’s the head?”

  “Still hard, if that’s what you’re wondering.” I rub my right eye and get up to find my prescription bottle on the counter. “Though, at the moment it feels like a landmine went off in there.”

  “But…everything’s okay? I mean…you’re going to be okay?”

  For some reason, the fact he’s tripping over his words makes my heart race.

  “Yeah,” I answer, popping open the bottle and shaking a pill into my palm. I swallow it dry. “Got this rad new hairdo and everything.”

  “I saw it in the hospital,” he says. “Makes a real statement.”

  At the mention of the hospital, I cringe. I don’t even know what to think about the meltdown Marcus had front row seats to.

  “You know me.” I run a hand along the shaved patch of hair over my right ear, careful not to touch the bandages. “Into statements.”

  Which is so a lie.

  Third key to invisibility: Never make a statement.

  “So…when will you be back?” he asks.

  There’s an eager edge to his question that sets off those goose bumps again. A big part of me wants to go back, but another part of me knows that the flood of hormones Marcus unleashes in me has made me very not invisible, and I need to figure out how to contain them before I see him again.

  “Not sure,” I answer honestly.

  “Well, your spot’s here for you…whenever you’re ready.”

  “As captain.”

  He must hear the resignation in my tone, because there’s a pause before he says, “We can talk about that.”

  “Okay. We’ll talk.”

  “Get some rest,” he says, his voice softening to a caress and making muscles in parts of me I didn’t know had muscles in contract. “I’ll look for you at practice when you’re back at school.”

  “We’ll talk,” I repeat, hypnotized by his voice and unable to form an original thought.

  “We’ll talk,” he confirms.

  “Bye, Marcus,” I say, and hang up before he can say anything else.

  Dad’s voice comes from behind me. “Who was that?”

  I turn and find him staring at me from the recliner.

  I lower my gaze. “My water polo coach.”

  “The pervert,” he grumbles with a scowl.

  My stomach tightens as my eyes widen. “Why would you say that?”

  He rubs the sleep off his face, but his frown only deepens. “He was looking at you wrong.”

  I lean against the counter, trying to come off as if the thought of Marcus looking at me any way didn’t just level me. “He wasn’t looking at me at all.”

  “He was,” he says, straightening in his chair. “In the hospital, while you were out, he kept looking at you.”

  My heart thuds hard in my chest. “He was there?”

  I knew he came in after I’d woken up, but I so hoped he hadn’t been there the whole time.

  “Told him to leave, but he said he wouldn’t go till you woke up.” He gives his head a slow shake. “It wasn’t right.”

  “That doesn’t make him a pervert, Dad. He just wanted to make sure I didn’t die and sue him or the school or whatever.”

  He kicks the down the leg rest. “The way he was looking at you—all possessive, like he thought he owned you or something—that makes him a pervert.”

  “Why do you even care?” I turn away from him and move to the door, because I’m afraid my face is flushing and I don’t want Dad to read anything into that. “I’m almost eighteen. I’m graduating from high school in May and then I’ll be out of your way.”

  The reality that I have absolutely nowhere to go is the only problem with that plan, but my high school counselor has been feeding me scholarship applications at a rate of two or three a week, which I’ve diligently filled out. The only California colleges on my application list are in San Diego, and that’s only because my counselor said I might need a cheaper state option depending on how much scholarship money and loans I’m able to score. Everything else is on the east coast. I want as far away from here as possible.

  “Addie, don’t talk like I want you gone,” he says, his voice a low warning.

  I turn on him. “Don’t you?”

  The pain in his gaze shovels one more layer of guilt on the pile that is burying me alive. He scoots to the edge of the chair and rubs his face, then takes a deep breath and blows it out slowly. “I know things have been hard the last year or so, but I’m going to find a job and everything’s going to be fine.”

  Fine. The biggest lie in the English language.

  I breathe, in and out, forcing myself to remember that it’s my fault he’s the way he is. “I know, Dad. Sorry.”

  I turn and pull the door open.

  “Where are you going?”

  “To the market,” I answer without turning to look at him.

  “You look like shit,” he tells me, matter of fact.

  “I know. But we’re out of milk and coffee.” I know the coffee will get him. He’s almost as addicted to that as his Jack Daniels.

  “I’ll go.”

  I glance at him over my shoulder and consider telling him that he looks shittier than me, but hold my tongue because there’s no point. We spend enough time beating each other up over things that actually matter.

  He drags himself up and looks for a second at the empty bottle of JD on its side on the floor next to his chair, then lumbers my direction, feeling in his pockets.

  When he comes out with his car key, I step in front of the door. “Just go to Mimi’s, Dad. It’s right on the corner, so you can walk. Your coffee’s almost ready.”

  Plus, Mimi’s doesn’t sell alcohol. But I can’t say that out loud.

  He looks at me for a long second with an expression that tells me he heard it anyway. I wait for him to explode. Instead, he takes a deep breath and grumbles, “I’m going to the grocery store. I’ll be back in an hour.”

  I let him push past me and watch him climb into the car.

  Two hours later, I decide on toast instead of Cheerios. Two hours after that, I give up on seeing Dad for the rest of the day. I’m not really sure where he goes when he disappears like this, but he usually ends up at the Sam Hill Saloon, because they’re the only bar in town. I’ll probably hear from the bartender at some point, but that won’t be until later.

  It’s a sunny day so I grab my sunglasses. At the last minute I decide on a hat too, because let’s face it, Dad’s right. I look like shit. My right eye is purple and black, just like someone punched me. There’s a raised welt with an angry red gash covered in butterfly bandages over my ear. Which means the hair is shaved there. It’s a unique look.

  Which is in direct violation of the fourth key to invisibility: Blend in.

  I trudge down the street to the park and find my favorite bench, along the path away from the shelter at the bottom of the hill and the playground at the top. It’s tucked under a copse of trees so it’s quiet and always in the shadows, no matter how sunny the day. The bench slopes a little with the side of the hill, so I lay on my back with my head on the uphill side and crack open A Day No Pigs Would Die. Number twelve on the list.

  I’m halfway through chapter three when I start dozing off and decide this one might be a DNF. I roll my head to the side and start reading the back of the bench instead. It’s infinitely more interesting. In the middle near the top, someone has carved MARCUS EATS PUSSY so deeply that it would leave an imprint on my back if I leaned there too long. Next to it reads, NATE IS A DOUCHE in smaller letters, but neater than the Marcus comment.

  I trace my finger through the words, wondering if it’s my Marcus. Out of the corner of my eye, I’d watched him climb the hill on the day of his sister’s wedding. He was definitely heading toward this ben
ch…until he saw me and pulled up short.

  At the memory of that day, I shudder. I honestly didn’t know he didn’t recognize me. I feel supremely stupid for thinking he might have been into me, but I’m not going to lie (at least to myself) and say it didn’t feel amazing to have his arm around me. And, God, that smile could melt my bones.

  So, despite my humiliation over everything that happened that day, I come here when Mom is haunting me more than usual, or when I just can’t stand to be in the house with the ghost of Dad anymore. Marcus called this his bench. I think of it as ours. Being here takes my mind off everything else. And everything else is far worse than my mortification over Marcus.

  I sit up and trace Marcus’s name again. What did he call this place? Graffiti Park? I close my eyes and imagine a younger version of my hot water polo coach sitting here. I remember the way his fingers stroked my shoulder as his arm rested behind me, and those muscles I didn’t know I had contract again. My skin prickles into goose bumps and my breath gets short.

  “Arrrgh!” I growl, opening my eyes. Why do I let myself fantasize about Marcus?

  I cringe with the obvious answer. I’m infatuated.

  But he’s my coach. And twenty-three.

  Fifth key of invisibility: Avoid relationships.

  With anyone.

  Hooking up with Marcus would be the equivalent of spray painting NOTICE ME in fuchsia across my body in that walking-down-the-hallway-naked nightmare.

  Not that hooking up with Marcus is even an option. There’s not a snowball’s chance that he’s even interested in me that way.

  I breathe deeply and focus back on my book, trying to settle my raging hormones. They’ll pass when I don’t have to look at him every day. I have to get a job to pay the hospital bills, which means no more water polo. Out of sight, out of mind. Problem solved.

  I just need to keep Marcus Leon out of my sight.

  Chapter 5

  Marcus

  By the time I finish up practice and grab a quick dinner, I just make my seven o’clock shift at the gym. A friend of mine, Brenda, runs the place. She was in my graduating class at Oak Crest High, which is how I got this job and scored my current living arrangement with her older brother. She’s in the back room with a small group, leading a cardio class, and there are three guys up front at the free weights. I’m surprised to see one of them is my roommate, Bran. He’s usually here in the mornings because of his work schedule behind the bar at Sam Hill Saloon.

  I head over to the bench press to spot when I see him struggle with his last few reps.

  “You off tonight?” I ask, helping him hook the heavily weighted bar on the rack.

  He swings around and sits. “Yeah. Mom’s got the bar. Took a get-my-head-screwed-on-straight break.”

  Bran and Brenda’s parents have both ends of the spectrum covered. Their dad owns the only gym in town, and their mom owns the only bar.

  I drop onto the bench next to him. “What’s up?”

  He shrugs with a small shake of his head. “Damned if I know. There’s this new girl at work that has me twisted around backwards, and I can’t seem to untangle myself.”

  “So, don’t. You’re not seeing anyone else, right? So what’s the hang up?”

  He grins. “I’m seeing plenty of people.”

  Branson Silo is seriously ripped and a hell of a lot better looking than me. He was three years ahead of me and his sister at Oak Crest High, then spent five years in the Marines, three of them on two tours in Afghanistan. He came home to Oak Crest last fall all dark and brooding…which means that the ladies can’t resist him. He gets his share of action tending bar. That I know. But I’ve never seen any of them get under his skin.

  He stands and runs the towel dangling around his neck over his dark buzz cut. “There’s just shit with this one I don’t want to step in. But she’s making it tough—fucking with my head.”

  I give him my best shit-eating grin. “Thought you used to blow shit up for a living. Wouldn’ta thunk a girl could rattle your cage, but whatever.”

  He chucks his towel at me. “Blow me, Leon.”

  “Sorry, dude, not really my thing.” I throw it back at him. “But thanks for asking.”

  He cuts me a look, then drops onto the bench for another set. “I’m going to complain to the management. Thought you were only here harassing people in the mornings.”

  “Need some cash, so your sister gave me a few extra shifts,” I say, shrugging it off. “Can’t keep crashing on your couch forever.”

  “Damn straight,” he says just as the bells on the door chime.

  Deanna comes sauntering through in a purple sports bra and black leggings. Her blond hair is pulled up in a tight ponytail and she looks ridiculously hot, instantly catching Bran’s attention.

  He racks the barbell and sits up. “Now that’s something I’d like to tap. Pretty sure she could make me forget all about my problem at work.”

  “I’m pretty sure that’s my date.” I watch her cross the room to the lockers on the wall and stow her bag. “We’re getting drinks after work,” I say, turning to Bran, “so I’ll look for that problem of yours at the bar. What does she look like?”

  “A younger version of that,” he answers with a nudge of his chin at Deanna.

  I feel my eyebrows go up as I cringe. “Ouch.”

  He drops back onto the bench and grasps the bar. “Tell me about it, bro.”

  I check in with the other clients as Deanna makes her way to the treadmill and starts running. When I got here for my first night shift on Wednesday, she was just leaving, so I know her normal routine is to come in right after school. I’m sure she’s here late because she’s expecting that date.

  I swing by her treadmill on my way back to the desk. “Looks like you were right about Friday nights,” I say with a gesture at the nearly empty gym.

  A suggestive smile curls the corners of her mouth. “I’m right about a lot of things.”

  The hair on the back of my neck stands up. Deanna’s the first girl I’ve slept with since I’ve been back in my hometown. Something about shitting where you eat, I guess. She came on pretty strong the night we met at Sam Hill and I let her take me home. I thought we both got that this was just a hookup. But she’s started expecting things, like that she was invited to Blaire’s wedding. I need to put the brakes on this—or at least make sure we’re both on the same page. I’m just trying to find the best way to do it.

  “I should be able to close up by ten,” I say. I’ll talk to her at Sam Hill…get it straightened out. “Does that work for you?”

  She nods. “That will give me time to finish up and shower.”

  “Great,” I say, backing toward the desk. I drop into the desk chair in front of the laptop and pull up the bookmark for the TeachAmerica.com job database. I plug in my password and scan my profile for any matches. Nothing. Not even in Nebraska. Though, I’m fairly certain I wouldn’t really take a job in Nebraska.

  Maybe.

  I glance up at Deanna again, hating her a little. There had to be something in Texas she was qualified for, so why the hell did she have to come here and steal my job? It’s not like there’s a whole lot of draw to Oak Crest…especially for someone young and single. No nightlife, except for the Sam Hill Saloon. No culture. The nearest movie theater is a forty minute drive. No one in their right mind would want to live here.

  But here she is.

  I spend the next hour, when I’m not spotting or setting weights, scrolling through a few more databases. I come up just as empty.

  It’s eight thirty when the door to the studio out back opens and Brenda comes to the desk. She waves to her clients as they trickle past on their way to the door, wishing each a good weekend. When she looks down at the desktop screen she scowls. “Inappropriate use of company resources. I’m docking your check.”

  “Well, hell. There goes my Starbucks tomorrow morning.”

  Her eyebrows go up. “Is that where you spend all your hard
earned money?”

  “No, actually. It’s going to a much worthier cause.” The second I think of Addie, my breathing changes.

  Brenda must notice because she leans closer. “You okay?”

  I nod. “Yeah. As long as you don’t dock my pay. All it means is your brother won’t get any help with groceries this month.”

  She shoves me out of the chair. “Between the two of you, don’t know how there’s ever a scrap of food in the place. You’re both freaking vacuums.”

  Blaire used to tell me the same thing when we still lived at home. She did all the grocery shopping, since Mom and Dad worked long hours, and she would always complain that I ate everything before she even bought it.

  I stand and move around the counter, patting my stomach. “Not my fault. Growing boy.”

  She snorts a laugh then pulls up the billing program.

  By nine thirty, the gym’s empty. Deanna is in the locker room and everyone else is gone.

  “You mind closing up, Marcus?” Brenda asks, grabbing her bag. “I’ve got a date.”

  “No problem,” I say, shutting down the desktop. I glance toward the locker rooms as I grab the keys and follow her to the front. “I’ve got a date too.”

  Her eyes widen. “So Bran’s on his own tonight.”

  I shrug. “We’ll see how it goes.”

  “Why would this one go different than any of your others?” she asks.

  “Good question.” And the answer is I’m just not feeling it, but I don’t say that, because I’m not ready to answer the question that would come next, which would be some version of “Why?”

  She gives me an eye wiggle, then turns for her car. I lock the door behind her and wipe down the equipment while I wait for Deanna. When she emerges from the locker room a few minutes before ten, she’s primped and polished, in a black tank top and a short white skirt, smelling of soap and some sweet perfume.

  “You ready?” she asks, looking around the empty gym.

  “Just need to set the alarm,” I say, walking with her to the door. I punch the code and usher her out, locking the door behind us.

  Once again, I catch myself hesitating. I place my hand on the small of her back and guide her toward the parking lot. “Sam Hill?”