Gimme Everything You Got - Iva-Marie Palmer Page 0,108

and what we’d done to the field, and how we’d gotten caught and Bobby had managed it. “I was really afraid he’d be pissed, but he actually approved of it.”

“So you and him . . . talk a lot?” I could sense the bigger question—whether I had a thing for Bobby—underneath the one he’d asked. But he was the one who’d had about thirty different girlfriends since we’d met, and Bobby was just my coach.

“He’s . . . a good coach,” I said. “But that’s it.”

“Huh,” Joe said. The same “huh” from outside. Then he leaned closer to me, his mouth right next to my ear, and whispered, “Do you think I need to kick Ken’s ass on Monday?”

Before I could tell him I was happy with the way the team had handled it, he said, “Wait, sorry, I’m being a douche. I mean, a jerk. You already got him back.”

“You don’t need to defend my honor,” I said in a light tone. “But if you feel like kicking Ken’s ass, I’m sure he deserves it for other reasons.”

“Yeah, I never told you the whole story, but he and I used to be friends.”

“What?”

“He joined the team after me and he was my backup at goalie. And I guess he didn’t like that, because one day he was tending goal and I was playing forward at scrimmage and he tripped me on purpose. And if you pull your foot back right when the other guy is flying, you can really fuck up their quad muscle. But he got what he wanted, and I’m better off, I think.”

“You’re such a good player, though,” I said, and looked into his eyes so he’d know I meant it. “But . . . I guess we might not have met if you were still hanging out with him.”

“Yeah, I’m better off,” Joe said. He bit his lip and my heart pounded. At that moment, my entire focus was on him, with no distractions or daydreams intruding. No Paul Newman, no Han Solo. I wanted Joe to kiss me, and I felt like he wanted the same thing. I felt like if I stared at him longer, I could make it happen.

But I also liked the feeling of anticipation. I glanced away, looking around the dance floor.

“The concert the other day—why did you ask me and not Jeannette?” I asked. “Or Lizzy, or one of the other ones?”

Joe pulled back so our eyes met again. He put the tip of his tongue against his upper lip, like he was thinking of the right answer. Then a smile came over his face and, without looking away from me, he said, “I guess I can have a good time with a lot of people, but when you know the person you like hanging out with best, why waste time hanging out with people who aren’t her?”

“Oh, I think I get it,” I said, hiding my smile as I tested resting my head on his shoulder. I trusted that he meant what he said, and wasn’t just saying it. It explained why he kept asking me to practice, and to do other things. And I liked hanging out with him, doing anything. He gave me the same feeling I’d get from holding a hot pizza box on my lap. Being with Joe was comforting and exciting at the same time. It wasn’t how I felt with Bobby.

His hands ran down my back until his fingertips grazed the top of my butt. I cocked my head back to look at him and he said, “I’m sorry, is that okay?”

“Yeah,” I said. “It definitely is.”

I closed my eyes and enjoyed the pressure of his fingertips, and then Joe was whispering into my neck, “I’m enjoying this dance,” and I could feel the light stubble where he shaved. I pressed my body closer to his. There was no space between us now. A deep sigh emerged from him, and he clutched me tighter.

“Me too,” I said. “It’s nice.”

But it was better than nice, and way worse than nice. I felt like I couldn’t get close enough to Joe. I’d worked myself into a state of horniness so thorough, I couldn’t take it. My breath was coming short and shallow, and I put my lips just at the top of his collar, where it touched his skin.

I heard him take a sharp breath, and his fingers pressed into my hips. The very idea that I’d made him feel what I was feeling