“Is this some Tinker Bell shit? Believe?” I scoff.
“Hey, that bitch is earning billions in royalties what, a hundred years after her creation? You should dial back on your critiques of her. She might be basic, but she knows what’s what.”
Randall and I stare at each for a moment and then burst into laughter. Only Heather would call a fairy who can make people fly basic. We laugh until we can’t stand, leaning against each other until we end up on the floor on our asses.
And that’s where Matty and what looks like the entire football team finds us—on the dusty floor of the high school that is hosting the competition—laughing like a couple of loons while Heather stands over us, tapping her expensively shod toe near our heads.
“Matty, what are you doing here?” Wordlessly, he hands me my insulin case. “Did you drive out of your way to bring me this?”
“Of course he did,” Heather interjects with exasperation. “How else would he get here?”
“That basic bitch Tinker Bell?” Randall suggests and I start cracking up again because this situation seems utterly absurd.
Matty reaches down and hauls me to my feet. Over his shoulder, he says, “I think she’s loopy.”
Hammer nods. “Better test her.”
Matty takes the case out of my lax hands and efficiently runs the test before I can issue a protest. The monitor beeps and the read out says I’m perfectly normal.
“What’s the verdict,” Randall asks slowly, as if dreading the response but I’m the one who’s filled with dread.
“It’s normal.”
Heather smirks. “The show must go on.”
“Good thing you’re sick or I might have to punch you in the face.”
Heather flaps her wings and Matty drags me away as if he thinks I’m serious.
“I think I need to retake the test,” I whine when he sets me down a short distance from the crowd.
“Sure,” he says far too agreeably. We both know the second test will show the same results.
I’m feeling awful because my nerves are about to overtake me, the same ones I suggested that Heather suffered from yesterday. Oh, the hubris.
“You’re going to do fine,” he says, rubbing my arms.
“Do not give me a half-time inspirational speech,” I order. The last thing I need is some rah-rah-rah about being my best.
“Sure. We can go to the bathroom and fuck away your nervousness.”
I mock punch him, but I can’t say the idea doesn’t have appeal. Maybe we’d spend too much time in there and then Heather will be forced to go on with Randall. The judges will feel sorry for us because Heather’s so obviously impaired and—
“I was actually just kidding.” Matty brings my runaway-train thought process to a halt.
“What if I open my mouth and I can’t remember anything? Again.”
He shrugs. “So what? You already went through that. You survived. If it happens again, then you know you’re not cut out for this sort of thing. But if you don’t try, then you’ll always wonder. That sort of wistful regret isn’t something you want hanging around.”
The matter-of-fact delivery of his risk assessment helps calm my nerves. And frankly, it’s not like I have a choice because Randall can’t do this on his own, and Heather’s clearly too ill to go forward. I can either try or sit out here in the hall and hate myself forever for being a coward.
Yesterday, when I was hiding in the closet, there were a dozen different outcomes that kept cycling through my head, from Matty literally tossing me out into the hall to him joining me in that small space. The last one is ridiculous because not only is he too big to fit in that closet, but because why would we have sex in a closet when the bed was five feet away? But being stuck in a closed space for a half hour gives one plenty of time to come up with silly scenarios.
Despite the harrowing moment in the beginning when he wouldn’t smile at me, the rest of the night was one blissful reward. I grab onto that for courage.
Matty bends his knees until he’s eye-to-eye with me. “What are you thinking?”
“That last night’s risk was worth the reward.”
“That’s my girl.” He dips toward me and gives me another reward—a long, hot wet one.
* * *
Matty
“How’s this work?” Hammer whispers in my ear.
“I don’t really know.” I’ve only picked up bits and pieces from watching Luce. “There’s lawyers and there’s witnesses and something called oral arguments.”
“Oral.” Hammer snickers into his hand. Darryl nudges him and wants to know what’s so danged funny. Hammer whispers something behind his hand and pretty soon the entire side is sniggering.
Luce turns around from the table and glares at me. I hold up my hands to show her I’m innocent but Christ, we’re a bunch of guys. The word oral kind of sets us off. I slice my hand in front of my throat, and the guys try to compose themselves.
“All rise, the honorable Cristal Cain is presiding.”
Three people stream in from a side door and take a seat at the front of the room behind a barricade. Like the mock trial team is going to rush them or something? I guess it looks official. Like a smaller, lower rent version of Judge Judy’s courtroom.
Fortunately for all of us, we’re told we can be seated. I take a moment to ogle Luce’s ass as she brushes her hands down the back of her skirt when she takes a seat.