Page 9 of Taking It To Overtime
There’s a reason beyond my dislike of flying that kept me away from this town. I knew I’d see Robbie Oakes in every corner of my community, even if he wasn’t there. At the local playground hanging from the monkey bars, skipping rocks over the shimmering water of the reservoir, the flop of his dark hair as he sat on the porch swing at his parents’ house. It was hard enough to survive my last two years of high school after he’d skipped town.
Avoiding those old phantoms seemed like the best way to preserve my sanity. But the joke’s on me. Even leaving NewYork didn’t stop me from following his career, making mental notes of the colors and mascot he was repping, changing my team allegiance with each new season. Or it’s possible my loyalty didn’t change at all. Not when I was always rooting for the only player that mattered. Him.
What’s a single car ride with this man when he’s the gold standard no one else has ever measured up to? There’s nothing he can do in a single span of sixty minutes that could raise my opinion of him. If I’m lucky, he might even pick his nose or roll through a stop sign orsomethingto actually lower it. Maybe someday I’ll meet someone who will replace him. It’s not an impossibility, especially when I haven’t exactly tried looking. Wasn’t I just lamenting that I should start planning the next piece of my life? That could include putting myself out there. Trying to find a partner that can fill the aching hole in my gut.
I’ll get on that just as soon as I’m back home.
“Thanks for the offer,” I say and loop my arm through the crook of his elbow. I mean for the move to be proof of just how casual I feel about accepting a ride. So casual my heart is slamming a staccato beat against the cage of my ribs. I can do this. He’s just a man. A man who turns my internal organs to jelly and sends goose bumps up and down my arms.
Snap out of it,I remind myself.It was sixteen years ago. I’m a full adult in full control.
“I’m not about to turn down a ride,” I tilt my lips up in my tried-and-true photo smile.
Robbie looks right through me, as if he can read the truth on the backs of my eyes. His mouth opens, and he wets his lips. He looks older, which I expected, but also the same. Even with the dark beard and mustache covering the hard line of his jaw. There are threads of darkest red in the shadow of his facial hair. The dark swirl of a tattoo covers the left side of his neck. A tree, I think. I’ve seen it in photos, but never in person.
He’s bigger than I remember. Not just taller, but broader, too. He’s grown into his muscles and his hundred-yard stare. He’s still every inch as attractive to me now as he was to teenage me at seventeen.
“As you wish,” he says, and my eyes blink, blink, blink as I talk my heart rate back to normal.
I look around, desperate for a moment to breathe, and realize we’re already in the parking lot. I keep forgetting how just how small Genosa is. Jack stands by the trunk of an old sedan, one ankle crossed over the other and scrolling on his phone. It’s like peering through a window into the past. I’m back in high school and another junior hockey player is waiting for me. One with dark eyes and the five-o’clock shadow he could never quite get rid of. I refuse to let my eyes drift back to the man two steps behind me. I just have to get through this car ride and then I can make myself scarce during the week. I’m here for my family, after all. Not to rekindle past flames.
“Shotgun,” Jack calls out as we make eye contact, bright blue eyes crinkling at the corners as he grins at me.
I smirk back. I’d intended to ride in the backseat. The further I am from Robbie, the easier it will be to disassociate for the drive and stare out the window. I can guess the over/under on the number of buggies we’ll have to skirt around. I reach for the door to the backseat as a shadow blocks out the light. The rookie is already halfway in the front seat. I wrench the door open, feeling the wall of stifling hot air billow out at me. The car wasn’t even sitting that long, but already the interior resembles a sauna.
“No.” The word is a firm rebuke, one that takes me a minute to figure out. I stare into the tan upholstered interior, wondering what I did wrong until I hear the word, “Backseat.”
“Right. Got it.” Jack says, wiggling back out of the car. “Sorry Dad.” He winks as he slides past me and across the wide seat andreaches for the seatbelt, buckling himself into the middle seat. Like a complete psychopath.
“I don’t mind,” I tell both men. “I’m the random addition to the carpool. I can take the back.”Please let me take the back.
I eye Jack again and the fucker waves at me. Maybe it’s a good thing my parents had no more kids. If the undeniable urge I have to beat this man with my handbag is any sign, I wouldn’t have survived siblings. I remember a ten-minute window, at age nine, when I wanted a twin, but growing up with identical twin boys for friends definitely dampened that desire. Vic and Erik had the mind-reading thing down, but I had Robbie. Basically the same thing.
I lean down to get a better look at the baby hockey player sitting in my seat. I might be in good shape—not exactly a surprise given my profession—but my look is all about sleek long lines; toned but slender. Not a single bulging muscle I would need to drag the kid from the car. Not that I would do that. Vera-the-freckle-faced-new-kid adopted by three feral boys? She absolutely would. Vera-the-international-model who learned the art of not making a scene? She probably shouldn’t.
Over the car roof, Robbie meets my eyes and I feel the shiver rush to the tips of my fingers and toes.
“No, no, no,” Jack calls back, his voice echoing in the vehicle. “Ladies up front. Especially special ladies. Special lady friend ladies. Special—”
“Okay,” I cut the kid off before he can make any more vague insinuations that make me sound like a sex worker. “You sure?”
This time I ask Robbie. It’s a ridiculous question. Not only because he already told me to get in the front—or rather punted Jack to the back—but because I spent years living out of Robbie Oakes’ car and he mine. From the day he showed up after lunch with his shiny new license and a beat up old truck, the passenger seat had an imprint of my ass. It wasmysparkly AUX cordthat controlled the music. It wasmyChapstick rattling around his cup holder. My extra pair of socks on the back floorboards. My fingers he twined with his as he shifted gears. My thigh he gripped when he didn’t.
But this isn’t Robbie’s car. It’s most likely his dad’s, and it’s been years since I slid into the seat next to him. Things have changed.
He doesn’t answer me, just ducks down into the driver’s seat and closes the door with an audible click. By the time I fold myself into the seat next to him, he has his eyes trained on the rearview mirror, dark brows furrowed together, scowling at the third person in the car like he’s a puppy who chewed through a seatbelt.
“No fucking manners—” Robbie says to his unfazed teammate. “Raised by goddamn wolves, Spags.”
“I’m sorry for crashing your party,” I tell them both. The humidity and the wait time are the only things stopping me from launching myself out of the car window as Robbie backs out of the spot. He clearly doesn’t want me here, something I’m not too stupid to know Jack finds absolutely delightful.
“Don’t worry,” Jack’s chin tips down, leaving his shadowed smile more on the evil-scheming side of things. “You’re not the party crasher. I am. Dad’s just grumpy that he waited sixteen years and didn’t even get you all to himself.”
I turn in the seat, almost recoiling when it leaves Jack and me nose to nose. He’s leaning so far forward he reminds me again of a puppy. Like the dogs I’ve seen on the internet, desperately trying to break through the safety nets their humans put up to keep them in the backseat. Then again, this car wasn’t built for people our size. The guys have me beat on width, sure, but I’m a respectable five foot eleven and my legs are accordion-folded just to fit under the dashboard. Jack probably can’t help how much space he takes up, although I can’t help but think that hecould’ve sat sideways and been more comfortable. My eyes dart to Robbie’s quads. He must be in actual pain driving this car.
Ten minutes later and I’m valiantly trying to pretend I’m anywhere else, even back in Porto for my SI swimsuit photoshoot. Even though we shot in the winter. And the high was fifty. Jack is humming what sounds like a mashup of songs off the newest Taylor Swift album, and Robbie has been grinding his jaw to the point I think his teeth might be actual powder.
This car ride is on a one-way road to hell and I’m regretting every single decision in the universe that put me here. Tandy’s dad for mainlining a diet of only beef and pork products that caused his heart to punk out without warning. My dad for being supportive and wonderful, but living too damn far away. The boy to my left for leaving me on his back porch at the tender age of sixteen, tears dripping down my freckled cheeks.
