The Jock by J.L. Beck Page 0,21
about the feisty brunette sitting beside me. My phone goes off in the cup holder for the tenth time, and I reach for it, pressing the button on the side to silence it.
I contemplate rolling down the window and tossing it out altogether but decide against it. I don’t want to seem anymore unhinged than I already am. You would think if I didn’t answer the first nine times my father called me, he’d get the hint and would stop calling. Guess all the whiskey was finally going to his head.
“Are you going to answer that or…?” The last thing I want to do is discuss my asshole father with her. I need to direct my attention to something else.
“Do you ever wish you could be someone else?” I ask, easing my back against the seat, doing my best to look less like a mummy and more like a human. My muscles are strung tight, and my stomach is a knot of shame and anger. This was not how I wanted my first time alone with Blair outside the library to go.
“I mean, I’ve wished a few times in my life that I was more popular, or that I was prettier,” she whispers the last part. I look over at her and find her staring straight ahead. Obviously, she doesn’t realize how pretty she already is. As if sensing my eyes on her, she twists in the seat to face me. “But I get the feeling that’s not what you mean. You’re speaking deeper than that, like wanting to be your true self?”
Fuck. Her blue eyes meet mine, and my heart skips a heavy beat in my chest. In an instant, the world around us falls away. It’s like she’s seeing through me, peeling back my layers to see inside. It’s freaky and scary and epic all at once.
It makes me feel vulnerable and reckless, and it occurs to me then that it’s the first time I’ve ever been honest with someone outside of Murphy or Evan. The first time I’ve ever had a meaningful conversation with a girl.
“Is that what you meant?” Blair’s soft voice filters into my ears.
Shit! I never answered her.
“Yes,” I drawl, sucking in a ragged breath. With that breath comes Blair’s intoxicating scent, and I still can’t pinpoint what fruit she smells like. Raspberries or cherries? I wonder if I took a bite out of her if she’d taste as sweet as she smells.
“You don’t feel like your true self?” She shocks the hell out of me, tossing my tantalizing thoughts right out the window and shoving me into dark, murky waters.
Do I really want to go there with her? Sink deep into my fucked-up life and past. No, I don’t think so, and yet I want to tell her, pour my guts out to her like an overflowing kitchen skin. Split myself in two against the concrete and let her see all the splintering pieces. I long for someone to look at me and see me for more than the star linemen, the sex god, the guy who fucks chicks like it’s a competitive sport.
Sighing, I grip the wheel a little harder. “No, and I haven’t felt like myself for years. I’m not even sure what normal would look or feel like anymore.” The honesty in my voice makes me cringe, and I stare out the windshield, navigating the truck around a Prius that is going slower than molasses.
“Normal is overrated, just be yourself.” Thankfully, she doesn’t push the conversation further. I’m tempted to tell her it’s a lot easier said than done, but I don’t. I’m not even sure why the floodgates opened the way they just did. It’s like verbal vomit wouldn’t stop coming out of my mouth. Like a seeping wound, I just spilled my emotional baggage on her.
“We’re about fifteen minutes from the diner.”
“Already?” She pushes her glasses up her nose, and my eyes are drawn to her face, the soft, delicate features.
“Blackthorn is only a two-hour drive. It’s not long.”
“Yeah, I guess I never realized how close it is. Then again, distance doesn’t really matter when you don’t have a car to drive.”
“That fucking blows. I can’t imagine not having Betsy.”
“Betsy?” A tiny little smile tugs on her lips. “Is that what you call your truck?”
“Yup.” I grin. “Just ’cause she’s not a real person, don’t mean she can’t have a name. She’s important to me, so I’ve given her a name.”
Blair shakes her head, sending more of her