Home > Drumline(13)

Drumline(13)
Author: Stacy Kestwick

He held my gaze, and I couldn’t suppress the shiver of unease that slid down my spine. “Yeah. You’d do good to stay out of my way.”

I moved ahead of him, my left side throbbing with every step. It didn’t help that the snare rested along my hips, so that every movement I made prodded the point of impact. But I kept my pace steady, my gait even, because I could feel his eyes burning into me as I continued down the sidewalk, and I refused to let him see me struggle.

Guys like Marco preyed on the weak, if for no other reason than to make themselves feel better, bigger. Being lieutenant of a college drumline was probably going to be the pinnacle of his musical career, and no doubt he was trying to squeeze every ounce of power he could from the position. The fact that a freshman girl threatened him so much reflected his own insecurities, I reminded myself, as I hurried to the far side of the field away from him. If I wasn’t good, he wouldn’t care.

But I was good. And we both knew it.

I compartmentalized the pain, learned the maneuvers, and made it through the rest of the day. Smith tried to stall me when we put away our equipment after practice, concern evident in the angle of his eyebrows and the tilt of his lips, but I waved him off. “Girl stuff,” I muttered, pressing a palm to my lower abdomen. When he backed off, I made a stealthy escape, knowing I was nearing my breaking point.

The only detour I made was to Sammy’s, the popular deli on the edge of campus. Nothing made me feel better than a hot turkey-and-cranberry sub, and if there was ever a time for comfort food, it was tonight. The line wasn’t bad, only half a dozen students deep, but by the time I’d collected my sandwich and filled the largest Styrofoam cup they had with Cherry Coke Zero, I was having to bite my lip with every step.

Stopping to poke a straw through the lid and add a handful of napkins to my tray, I tensed when I heard my name spoken from right behind me. I whirled around too fast and my hip protested the sudden motion, my knee partially giving way beneath me.

Laird’s arms shot out, his hands catching my hips to steady me and I couldn’t stop the yelp that tore from my throat. “Careful there, Reese, mind if I join—”

His words cut off abruptly, his attention focused on where the fabric of my shirt was bunched up beneath his hand. Below it, the purple bloom of a fresh bruise darkened most of my side. Swallowing back a groan, I tried to back up, but he tightened his fist, and the cotton-blend material digging into my skin stopped any further movement.

“What. Happened?” He spat out the words like they tasted bad.

I licked my dry lips, heat rushing to my face. “I tripped earlier at practice, and—”

“And why the fuck didn’t you say something then?” he finished for me.

I sucked in a sharp breath and lied again. “I didn’t think it was that bad.”

He yanked my shirt higher and tugged the waistband of my shorts down an inch. The discoloration was larger than the span of his oversized hand.

“Hey, Palmer?” Laird didn’t look away as he called out to the guy behind the sandwich counter. “I’m gonna need you to repackage her order to go, and get me one of whatever she ordered as well.”

“What? Stop. It’s fine,” I gritted out, swatting his hand away and readjusting my clothing.

“Were you not listening at practice earlier?”

I paused. “When?”

“When I told you that if your vet tells you to do something, you fucking do it.” His forced smile was tight, but his eyes spoke volumes. Those shamrock green irises warned me away and promised me everything at the same time.

A skinny guy with freckles, whose name was apparently Palmer, took my tray from me and disappeared into the back.

“And what are you telling me to do exactly?”

“You’re coming home with me.”

Laird

She was so fucking stubborn. I both hated and loved that about her. When I offered Reese my hand to help her climb into my Wrangler, she pretended she didn’t see it, the same way she tried to cover her wince of pain when she tucked her tall frame into my gray leather seat with an awkward laugh.

But after watching her bite her lip every time I hit a dip in the road on the six-minute drive to my townhouse, I’d had enough. The idea that she’d been in pain all day while I’d been blindly unaware infuriated me. I should’ve known. After I put the car in park, I raced around to open the door for her and lifted her down before she could say a word to stop me, careful not to touch her left hip in the process.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I demanded as I unlocked the door to my two-story home. I had an end unit. It was nice because I only had to listen to one neighbor’s bed frame slamming against the wall when he had sex, which was way more often than me these days.

Before she could answer though, Oscar came flying around the corner, his short legs scrabbling for purchase on the tile floor of the kitchen as he howled out a welcome. He rejected me completely in favor of sniffing every inch of Reese’s legs he could reach.

Predictably, she cooed and stooped down to stroke the sleek, speckled fur of my piebald dachshund. At least one of the wieners here tonight is seeing some action. Yeah, I’d reached a new low. Jealous of my own damn dog. And despite her injury and the fact that she was only here because I hadn’t given her a choice, I couldn’t stop my eyes from appreciating the way her shorts clung to her tight ass in that position. That sweet curve would fit perfectly in my palms.

“Aren’t you handsome?” Reese asked my dog, who thumped his tail enthusiastically in answer.

“Oscar,” I scolded, using my foot to herd him gently back inside the door, “quit humping her long enough for us to come in.”

“His name’s Oscar?”

My lips twitched. “Oscar Meyer. What else would I call him?”

She didn’t even hesitate. “I mean, you could’ve gone with Frank.”

I scoffed as I skirted around the end of the galley kitchen and retrieved a bag of frozen peas from the freezer. The cool air felt good against my overheated skin. “Frank is far too plebian for a wiener that good looking, c’mon now. Oscar has a certain amount of class.”

She stood just inside the doorway where I’d left her, studying my downstairs living area with blatant curiosity. I wondered how it looked through her eyes. A matched pair of navy blue couches, a square coffee table I’d stained driftwood gray on top of a blue-and-green striped rug. A kitchen table with two wooden benches in the same stain. The flat-screen on my wall played Animal Planet on low volume. Some show about sloths was on, one of Oscar’s favorites. Yes, he had favorites.

“So, you live here… alone?”

I snagged a blue-striped towel from a drawer in the kitchen and headed back her way. “Just me and my giant wiener.” Oscar was a standard-sized dachshund, not a mini. But the other interpretation was accurate too.

“Right…” Reese rolled her eyes.

“C’mon. It’s time to play doctor.” I held up the peas. “And you’re gonna tell me what the fuck happened.”

“This really isn’t necessary, I can —”

“— sit your sweet ass on the bench so I can check you out better? That’d be perfect.”

She glared at me, but carried the bags containing our subs to the table and sat down. Ignoring me altogether, she pulled out the sandwiches and placed the one I assumed was mine on the opposite side of the table. I picked it up and dropped down on the bench right next to her instead, close enough my thigh brushed hers. Oscar situated himself at her feet, panting with excitement. I didn’t blame him. He had the best view in the house.

I covered the peas in the towel, then tucked the veggies in the waistband of her shorts, pulling her fitted shirt over the top to hold it in place. She hissed in a breath, but refused to look at me, her focus completely on unwrapping her dinner and taking a giant bite.

“First, we eat. And then, we’re going to talk.”

I tore the paper off my sandwich with a lot less finesse than her and chowed down. “What is this?” I asked, taking a second to study the food after I’d swallowed my first mouthful.

“Turkey and cranberry.”

   
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