(Finding the shorts was always in Rae’s POV in ch. 13)

Originally Chapter 14

“I owe you,” Pax says, straightening the athletic shorts.

“Damn right you owe me.”

He chuckles.

“What happened?” I ask, looking around the empty attic where a large carpet sits in the middle, with a table and two couches bordering it. A deck of cards sits in the middle of the table.

Pax grins. “Strip poker.”

I pull my head back, staring at him until the stupid smile he’s wearing like a cape slowly shrinks.

“What?” he asks.

“You know what,” I tell him.

“Nothing happened.”

“You don’t know that. Pictures were probably taken. You’re going to show up on ESPN with headlines. You aren’t going to want to be associated with you for the rest of your life. You don’t get rid of nicknames like rumpleforeskin.”

He laughs. “More like King Dong.”

“Or Millimeter Peter.”

“Trust me, if manaconda makes it on ESPN, I’ll be basking in the headlines and will want them to follow me.”

“Til you have to explain to your girlfriend why you ghosted her to play strip poker, or you have to face your sister.”

He sighs. “You’re right.”

“I know. This is why I don’t do relationships. They cause you to grow a conscience, and you don’t get to shed that shit when a hot chick asks to see your tuna torpedo.”

“Candace and I break up every other week.”

“Dude, I know. You’ve heard my thoughts on the situation. I give my unsolicited advice every damn time she starts screaming like a banshee, but you doing this is worse than her acting like a possessive nut case—in fact, acts like this would only validate her concerns.”

“I saw her making out with someone.” His gaze drops to the floor, shame tenting his shoulders.

“Then dump her ass. Don’t act stupid and put yourself in a compromising position where you look like the cheating asshole.”

“We’ve been together for two years.”

“Two years too long.”

He flips me off.

I grin. “I know you guys have gone through a lot. Her mom passing, football, school, vacations—but, Pax, you’ve got to make up your mind. Either resolve things and stop fighting all the time or make a clean break. Otherwise, you’re both going to get hurt, and you’re going to be spending your millions on NDA’s, divorces, prenups, and counselors.”

“Is there really a way to make a clean break after this long?”

“Not while acting like this, there’s not.”

He sighs again. “Did you tell Rae?”

“She helped me get the shorts.”

Pax groans. “She’s going to be pissed.”

“Maybe you should let her talk some sense into you.” I turn, heading down the basement steps where Poppy and Rae are sitting with their backs against the wall, both laughing. Poppy stops when she sees me, but her gaze is stuck on the stairwell behind me where Paxton is slinking down.

Rae glances at me, her smile dimming from radiant to a shadow. In the couple of years I’ve been around her, she’s mostly kept to herself. I’m realizing behind those watchful eyes, there’s humor and fire that only makes that intrigue that Paxton created grow more fiercely.

“Rae needs to know if the story is PG before I ask what happened,” Poppy says, climbing to her feet.

“It’s a boring story,” I tell them.

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard a story ending without pants that was boring.” Poppy tilts her head to the side, looking at Rae. “Have you?”

“Technically, it’s ending with pants.” Rae waves to the stairs. “Really tight pants.” She cringes, looking away. “That’s so gross.”

Poppy laughs again. She has a distinct laugh that over the past couple of weeks since I’ve been spending more time with them, I’ve started to recognize. It’s high, almost shrill, and is always a giggle, never anything less. Rae, on the other hand, has a quiet, subtle laugh that is slightly deep and throaty. When I hear it, I’m forced to pause and listen more closely.

“You guys found the smallest dude in the house to borrow clothes from,” Paxton says.

“Actually, those are now yours, courtesy of the ex who never came and got his stuff. You’re welcome.” Rae stands. “If you guys are good, I think I’m calling it a night.”

“It’s barely one.” Poppy gives a pleading look to her.

Rae shrugs. “We kind of missed the boat on the party. Everyone is either drunk or passed out by this point.”

“Some are both,” I add.

Rae motions to me. “See?”

“We could go back to our place?” I extend the offer before considering the ramifications. Lust spoke before reason, forgetting about the boundaries I’m crossing with Paxton’s friendship and how I’m only guaranteed to make this harder on myself.

“I’ll buy you guys shakes and fries if you promise to never speak of this moment again.” Paxton offers.

Rae stares at him. It isn’t anger or even accusation that levels Pax. I’m not certain what she’s thinking, yet Paxton seems to because he releases another long breath. “I know. I know.”

“Do you?” Her tone is gentle, almost apologetic.

He nods. “It was stupid.”

“It’s okay to be stupid. Stupid we can always recover from, but regret is a lot harder to overcome.”

“You’re right. Lincoln already told me I was being a selfish asshole. Trust me. I got the memo.”

She blinks several times, her eyes growing wide with disbelief as she glances at me, then back to Pax. “Well, I’m going to say this, and then I won’t say anything again: you’re better than how you acted tonight. You aren’t the kind of person who cheats, so don’t start now.”

We find Arlo downstairs, a drink in one hand and a girl in the other. He’s smiling, working his charm like a street performer.

“You want to get Arlo or tell him to catch an Uber?” I ask.

“Last time we left him to his own devices, we didn’t see him for four days,” Paxton reminds me.

I chuckle. “He didn’t seem to regret it.”

Pax shakes his head. “I sure as shit did. Coach was livid.”

“Then go get him, and let’s go.”

“You guys sure? We could…”

“No, come on over. You guys can help me figure out what to do about this Candace situation.”

Rae wrinkles her nose. “Gosh, I hope someday a guy refers to me as a situation.”

“Are you going to ride my ass all night?”

“Are you going to be sensitive all night?”

“I’m just saying….”

“That you’re going to get me onion rings and a chocolate milkshake. Thanks. We’ll meet you there.”

“Can you just wait five seconds?” Pax asks. “There’s all kinds of drunk dudes looking for someone to go home with.”

“And I’m really good at saying no.” Rae flashes a smile that is neither sincere nor friendly.

“And they’re really bad at listening. So, just hang out for a few.” Pax looks at me, a silent request to have his back.

Just what I need to drive a shard of guilt into my consciousness.

He turns toward Arlo. I face the girls, expecting sarcasm or defiance, but Rae stands there patiently, listening to something Poppy is telling her. Her earlier words of telling me her role, how Maggie is the rebel and Pax is the athlete comes to mind, and I wonder how much of the role she fills has been self-constructed and how much is a pattern her family has built.

I stare so long, she must feel it, because she looks at me, a recycled smile still in place. Then, her gaze shifts just over my shoulder.

“President. You’re here!” A girl cries. It’s Nikki, a friend who is sometimes more, is dressed in a low top and jeans that leave little to the imagination. She extends her arms and cheers as she makes a direct beeline for me. I glance back at Rae, noticing her smile slip into a frown and she takes a long breath that makes her chest expand.

Is she jealous?

Bothered?

“Your game tonight was epic!” Nikki says, tying her arms around my neck, plastering her body to mine. It’s soft and warm, but doesn’t feel nearly as good as it should.

“Paxton!” she cries, her voice so loud my left ear rings as she pulls back and latches onto Pax at my side.

My attention again cuts to Rae, curious to see her reaction. I could swear her shoulders are lowered, her frown now absent. Poppy says something I can’t hear over the noise, and Rae’s gaze skips from Paxton and Nikki to me, our eyes meeting. She doesn’t try to hide the fact she’s looking at me this time or avoid the fact, but when Poppy leans forward and says something more, she turns her attention to Poppy.

“What are you guys doing here?” Nikki asks, moving onto Arlo before circling back to me.

“We’re actually getting ready to head out,” I tell her as she links an arm around the back of my waist.

“What? No. Stick around. Andrea and I just got here.” She stands on her tiptoes, looking around for her friend.

Paxton steps forward. “Not tonight. We’ve got practice in the morning.”

“Always the responsible one,” she sings, hugging him again.

I move toward Poppy and Rae, draping an arm over each of their shoulders so I’m anchored by each of them. Rae doesn’t miss my intention, but I can sense her hesitation, uncertain if she wants to be an accomplice.

“Oatmeal blister,” I whisper into her ear.

Her shoulders bob with a muffled laugh, and the scent of her perfume—sweet and floral—reaches my nose. I picture it like the cartoons I watched as a kid on Sunday mornings when I went down to our family room in the daylight basement. It was the only day of the week my parents weren’t up and shuffling me off somewhere by 7 a.m. and I relished the time, eating a bowl of dry cereal and watching cartoons—the scenes where a scent would waft upward in a distinct trail you could trace with your eye.

Nikki stares at me. Her blonde hair is curled and perfect, looking soft and smooth, and her eyes are smoky and dark, making her red lips even more distinct. “I’ll call you,” she says.

I smile in response. I hope she doesn’t.

Poppy wraps an arm around my back, and holds my hand at her shoulder. She’s completely comfortable and relaxed. Rae on the other hand moves like my shadow again. I move and she moves. She bends, I follow. Images of her naked, responding to my body fill my thoughts until a cold wind hits my face like a slap.

Rae curls her shoulders and crosses her arms over her chest, which makes it easy to pull her closer. I tug Poppy close on my other side, feeling their heat at my sides and chest.

“I’m not ready for it to be cold,” Rae says, blowing into her cupped hands. More invisible tendrils of her perfume wrap around me like invisible ropes.

“Which way are you parked?” Pax asks, appearing with Arlo next to Rae who looks to Poppy.

Poppy points to our left. “Two blocks that direction.”

“We’re good though. There’s no one outside tonight, it’s too damn cold.”

“We’re over that way, too,” I tell her.

She doesn’t look at me when I talk the way she did with the others.

“What’s the story between you and Nikki?” Arlo asks. “Because when a fine lady like her asks me to stay, I stay. So did you get hit in the head tonight or am I missing something?”

Our pace is fast. Maybe it’s the cold or my own lead that’s pushing us.

“You never heard that story?” Paxton answers.

“Obviously I didn’t, or if I did I was drunk.”

“She tried to get Lincoln to date her. She wanted to be exclusive.”

We reach the edge of the sidewalk, and as we step down, Rae pulls away. It’s a fluid move that I likely wouldn’t be considering if I hadn’t noticed the way she’d watched Nikki.

Arlo chuckles, like what Paxton said was funny. “Okay, okay, so she does want you.”

“She doesn’t know what she wants,” I tell him.

“Well, she. Is. Fine. I’d hang around and let her figure out what she wanted if I were you.”

“Be my guest.”

“You wouldn’t care?” It’s too dark to make out his features, but I catch him turning to look at me.

“You don’t need my permission. Go.”

Arlo looks back at the house. “I’m too lazy and buzzed, but next time….”

Paxton chuckles.

“Wait, so you didn’t date?” Poppy asks.

I shake my head. “Nope.”

“But she wanted to date.”

“I already said she didn’t know what she wanted.”

“What does that mean?” Poppy leans her head back to look at me.

“It means I fit her agenda.”

“Could you be any more cryptic?”

I sigh. “She liked me because I was popular. Because I started appearing on the news and reporters were calling me.”

“Does that scare you guys?” Poppy asks. “That people aren’t going to be genuine?”

“All the fucking time,” I admit.

“I mean, we only hang out with you guys because we’re hoping it makes us popular. And of course, to date hot guys—obviously.”

“Obviously,” Rae echoes. “I mean, come on, I met so many hot guys tonight while procuring a very small, very tight pair of shorts that are going to induce nightmares for months, but it was totally worth it.”

Poppy giggles. It might be the sound, so free and easy, or perhaps it’s knowing that Rae is making a joke, which I’m hoping means she understands I’m not a complete asshole. Either way, I’m smiling.

I intentionally step closer to Rae, and when I bump into her side, she ignores me until I bump into her again, a more deliberate shove. She turns her head, the outline of her face cut out like a silhouette behind the streetlight we pass. I place a hand on her shoulder and shake her. It’s juvenile at best, but right now, I just want to touch her—have some sort of connection when she’s only giving me fleeting glances. She meets my stare again, and this time, I smile before wrapping my arm around her shoulder and tugging her back against me.

“This is us,” she says as we near her black Civic. She disentangles herself and then runs toward Paxton, jumping on his back. He catches her easily, the move rehearsed. I’ve seen it a dozen times, at least. He carries her for several feet, then leans over so far, she cries out a plea between giggles.

It’s a joke. A game. Yet, my muscles are so fucking wound up, I’ve got Poppy stapled to my side.

Paxton stands upright again, and Rae slides from his back, still giggling. “I seriously was inches from the ground. You almost dropped me this time.”

“Have I ever dropped you?”

“The beach. That time in Mexico when we were at the pyramids. Football. Football. Oh yeah, football.”

“I haven’t dropped you in at least three years.”

She shoves him and unlocks her car. “You guys want a ride, or are you close?”

“We aren’t all getting in the back of your car. Are you kidding me? It would be like a sardine tin. My head hits the ceiling when I’m in the front seat. There’s no way I could fit into the back.”

“A simple no thanks would’ve sufficed.”

This time, Pax shoves her but remains a grip on her, pulling her back when she sways.

“You’re staring,” Poppy whispers.

“And you smell like beer.”

She giggles. “I want a vanilla milkshake with extra Oreos.”

I drop my arm from her shoulders, and she heads to the passenger side of Rae’s car.

“Don’t forget to tell them extra Oreos,” Poppy says.

“I know, I know,” Pax says. “What do you want?” He looks at Rae.

“Chocolate milkshake and French fries. Extra package of salt.”

They slide into their seats and start the car. She backs up and trolls us to Paxton’s car, then shifts and takes off.

Pax shakes his head, mumbling something that I miss before “…drives like a goddamn bat escaping hell.”

Maybe we’re both in hell.

Ch 14 is the same, except Raegan and Lincoln kissed in the original. Here’s the original scene:

He stares at me, his gaze so intense and heavy, the soundtrack of Poppy telling me he watches me—likes me—begins to play again. I swallow and attempt to steel myself, recalling all the reasons and proof that he doesn’t. I grab my phone charger from the USB port and get out of the car, closing my door behind me, so the street goes dark. “Or don’t. Be your own obstacle.” I shrug with indifference and take a step to move around him when his hand catches mine, the movement so fast it nearly startles me. I look down where warmth radiates from his fingers to my skin and see the spark from his cigarette hitting the pavement beside us. His tennis shoe covers it, then his other hand goes to my waist, his pinky and ring finger sliding between below the hem of my sweatshirt, finding my bare skin. The roughness of his fingers and the warmth of his touch create a contrast that makes my heart feel like it’s hiccupping.

He stares at me, and I stare back. Where I’m fairly certain his eyes are searching for permission, I’m seeking understanding.

“Stop me,” he says. “Tell me this is a terrible idea. Tell me to go back inside because you’re not interested.”

My mind is spinning, reasons and thoughts tangling and knotting, impossible to separate. His lips part, and he leans forward fractionally, pausing so that he’s still too far away. His fingers constrict around my waist, and then his thumb pushes my sweatshirt higher and rests against my flesh. The faint scent of cigarette smoke hangs between us, along with the clean and masculine scent of his cologne that leaves a cool and spicy feeling in my nose.

“It’s a terrible idea,” I tell him, reaching forward and fisting his sweatshirt. “A really terrible idea.” I try to pull him closer, but I’m pretty sure I’m the one moving.

He nods, his breath falling like a warm caress across my skin. His fingers linked with mine slip free, and then under my sweatshirt, each digit pressing into my skin. It’s gentle and yet sure—his touch confident like he is on the field.

My heart is still hiccupping in my chest, and I can’t stop staring at his mouth, memorizing the outline of his lips, the fact that the right side is pulled slightly higher, and how the edges of his lips curve into a natural smile. This detail was something I’d noticed when first meeting Lincoln. It made me instantly attracted to him, liking the idea that he found humor and pleasure in life when so many focused on the negative and opportunities.

He leans closer at the same time he presses me backward, my hips falling against my car. The cold seeping through the denim of my jeans barely registers against the heat of his chest pressing against mine. His heart beats against my chest—as loud and unsteady as my own—and his breaths move him closer and farther in unmeasured breaths.

He’s so close I can taste the flavors of his breath, the salt from the fries and sweetness of the shake, the bitterness from the cigarette. With my eyes wide open, I lean in, closing the gap between us and sealing my lips against his. His eyes flare, and his fingers constrict further, and then his eyes fall shut. His kiss is as sure and hard as my feelings toward him, demanding and intense as our lips crush against each other, taking and giving until the lines between the two are so blurred I don’t know if I’m trying to please him or myself.

The sound of the front door is like a distant scratch at my thoughts, and then I feel the loss of Lincoln everywhere. He pulls me forward, and I stumble, but his hand catches mine, holding me up and grounding me until it too falls away, and he takes several steps back, facing the house.

“Everything okay?” Paxton yells from the stoop, the interior lights glowing around him, making his face dark.

“Yeah,” I call back. “I just needed Lincoln’s phone for the flashlight. I dropped my chapstick.”

“Clutz. Did you find it?”

“Yeah.” I glance at Lincoln. His chest is still rising and falling too quickly, but his eyes are on Paxton. “Yeah, I found it.”