Out of Play

Mitch got wasted after we lost in the finals last year, and it was my first time drinking more than one beer. Our kiss hadn’t been perfect. It was sloppy and forced because we’d been drinking, but the point is that we both wanted it. He kissed me. I kissed him. Mutual. Mitch and Pe

I woke up practically in a minefield of bodies in Chomps’s basement because no one was in a position to get their keys back the night before.

“I’m sorry Pe

And if I’d just kept quiet, I wouldn’t have been able to be rejected another time. “I’m okay with it. I mean. I think it can work.” And I even leaned forward. Toward him, but not nearly as far as he leaned away.

It’s like he didn’t know where to look. Where to put his hands. Where to put his body. He wanted out, and I didn’t know how to make him want me as someone more than his friend.

“Sorry,” he said with a low voice full of pity.

I rubbed my face to hide my tears, which were an awful mix of sadness and humiliation. “We’re cool, Mitch.” And my voice sounded okay, even though I was breaking.

“You here, Jones?” Matt slaps my helmet as he races past snapping me back to the present.

I have to get my head in the game or I’m going to get hurt.

Rebecca puts her lips on the glass, and then her chest. Mitch races to the edge, and I swear part of her doesn’t think we all see her doing this.

Practice is no place for this kind of ridiculous flirting. Mitch rests his helmet against the glass so they can do some sort of stupid kissy face thing that’s completely beneath him.

“Totally whipped, hey?” I elbow Chomps and tilt my chin toward Mitch, hoping he’ll break up their ridiculous show.

Chomps cackles before speeding across the rink and doing a half-bump, half-slam into Mitch’s backside.

“Sorry, man!” Chomps yells as he speeds away, Mitch right on his tail.

“Chomps!” Coach shouts.

“S’up Coach?” He slides to a stop next to him in the center.

“Don’t ‘s’up’ me. We’re five days away from semis and you just slammed one of your own. Not okay.” Every word has that hard edge of anger he gets when he’s seriously pissed. Not good. His dark hair is closer than military cut, and his jaw is clenched and brow’s pulled together.

Now I feel bad I started this, but there’s not much I can do about it now.

“Okay!” He blows his whistle for us to gather and starts shouting orders.

Mitch bumps my arm. “What’s with the sour face, Pen?”

“Does she need to watch over you wherever you go?” I whisper back. But I’m standing too close and looking at him in a way I shouldn’t. Mitch and I are close, though, so it’s always muddying the lines for me. He meant it the other night when he said he’d have come to my house. And he’d have left Rebecca behind to help. Or at least there used to be a point where he’d have left her behind. I’m not sure anymore, and I hate how that weighs me down.

“I like her here, and she doesn’t mind sitting in a rink for hours to be with me. So yeah, it’s cool. Becca’s cool.” His eyes are on me, but I look away. Talking about deep stuff before practice won’t help my concentration any. I keep my eyes on Coach. I know the question will be all over Mitch’s face—are you sure we’re okay? That kiss was a year ago. Or even worse, he’ll look sympathetic. The problem is Mitch knows me well enough that I’m easy for him to read. At least the rest of the team hasn’t caught on…or I don’t think they have.

It sucks when he says he likes her. Part of me wants him to be using her. Okay. All of me wants him to be using her. Maybe it’ll be better when he goes to college next year. I stick the guard in my mouth and try to focus on Coach. After sitting in Dad’s car, still barely seeing Mom, and watching Rebecca’s boobs smashed against the glass, I need to skate.

…

It’s lightly snowing, which is my favorite time to sit in the hot tub. The flakes melt before touching my skin, but the cool drops of water still feel good. The ten-person hot tub was a present from Gramps when I hurt my back a few years ago, and we can fit a mess of people in it. Too bad Rebecca doesn’t see that there are like six other places not on Mitch’s lap that she could be.

Chomps’s girlfriend, Tri

Also, I’m fine in a sports bra and black boy shorts from my bikini. Rebecca’s suit would fall off with a tug of one tiny little string. Mitch’s hand traces her collarbone as their faces rest together, and they kiss again—the kind that spreads black heaviness in the pit of my stomach because he’s never looked at one of his girlfriends the way he looks at her. The hot tub was not a good idea.

“Pizza’s here!” Matt yells. “Damn am I glad Ditch thinks you’re hot.” He kicks me under the water.

I shrug. I know I’m the only one out this far that he’ll deliver to, but I’ve never given much thought as to why. He just always has.

A sliver of light from the closest cabin catches my eye, and Gary walks toward Bishop’s door. When Bishop appears in the doorway, his eyes narrow as he sees Ditch climb out with three large pizzas. Right. He would be pissed since I told him no one delivered out here. I don’t feel bad, more like itchy, uncomfortable.

Just as Ditch gets out of the delivery-mobile, Matt leans over. “Who’s the pretty boy?”

I follow his gaze to Bishop’s scowl and the back of Gary’s head as they talk. “Why? You want me to get his number for you?”

He grabs my head before I can get away and dunks me.

The chlorine water burns my eyes. “Watch it asshole!” I sputter as I break the surface. “Payback’s a bitch!”

I try to shove him under, but I should know better. He laughs as I try to knock him down. Matt is quick and strong. It’s why he’s such a good goalie. I lean all of my weight against the side of his head, but still can’t get him to budge.

“He’s enjoying that way too much.” Mitch shakes his head and sends a splash of hot water flying toward me. And this is the jealousy from him that lets me know he still watches. That Rebecca hasn’t taken him from me yet. At least not completely.

I glance down at my bare stomach that was just pressed into Matt’s head as I slide back into the water. Both Matt and Chomps shrug like of course it was enjoyed. Boys.

There’s a flicker of light from Bishop’s porch, a lighter I guess, and my eyes rest there a little too long.

“Be nice, Pen. Invite the guy over,” Chomps says. Tri

Inviting Bishop over is really the least I can do. I’m supposed to be helping them like a hostess as Mom would say. I stand in the tub and wave.

“Bishop! We got pizza! Come over!”

When I stop waving, Ditch is staring at me, jaw slack with our three pizzas. He was kind of a geek when he graduated, and not much has changed in the three years since. Maybe Matt’s right and he has a crush on me or something. “You joining us?” I ask, trying to play nice. He did drive, like, an extra five miles for me.

“Uh…” His eyes hit my stomach, then my face, then my stomach, then my chest as steam from my body fills the air. “I’m on shift. Just wanted to drop your food off.”

“Thanks.” I grin. And then notice Bishop walking over, pulling a hat on. He looks pissed, which kind of makes him look hotter and me lose every coherent thought in my brain. It’s one thing to wrestle with Matt, but it’s completely another to try and be cool around a guy who sets my nerve endings on edge in a way I’m not at all used to. As Bishop gets closer, my mouth starts to dry out. This doesn’t happen to me. Ever. I have to try to come up with the same courage I have on the ice. In about two seconds.