5

-NORTH-

BECKI SITSacross the checked diner table at Sal's. She looks nice and she's clearly put effort in; her hair curled in soft brown coils, and a low-cut top hugging her ample cleavage. She looks damn great in fact, and a month ago I would have been going crazy over her. But instead, I'm sitting here thinking about someone else. And I'm very aware of the fact that she's not him.

I only came this evening because he said I should. I can't pretend that didn't hurt, but I need to face the facts. Malcolm just isn't interested in me romantically, no matter how much I want him to be, and nothing is going to change that.

Anyway, maybe this will make me feel better. Take my mind off Mal for a while. Becki is almost the complete opposite of him, so this could be exactly what I need.

I've gotten too used to spending time with Malcolm. Over the last few days since the game, we've fallen into a regular routine. I sleep at his place most nights in the spare room, he wakes me up first thing in the morning for a disgustingly healthy breakfast, and we go for a run, followed by football practice and drills. After that it's classes, then at lunch he takes me out or back to his for yet more healthy food. If I do well in class or eat right, he rewards me. Sometimes he gives me that hungry look that I know so well, and I know he isn't going to wait until we go back to his to give it to me. Those are my favorite days. Then it's a fumble in the closet, a hand job in the restroom, a blow job in the shower stalls. Gotta say I'm pretty thrilled he's added that one to his playbook. I don't know why he's suddenly started going down on me, but I am not complaining. Once classes are over for the day, we go back to his place and I study. Then he takes me into his kinky sex den and does whatever he wants to me, and I beg him for more.

This morning I assumed he wouldn't wake me up early because it's the weekend. I assumed wrong. After our run and drills, soaking with sweat, I plucked up the courage to tell Malcolm I'd be busy this evening.

He accepted it without even a blink of an eye. He was entirely unbothered. He didn't even ask what I was doing.

I pick at the edge of the table with my thumbnail.

"North?"

I startle and look up to where Becki's looking at me expectantly on the other side of the table. I realize I haven't said anything for too long and cycle back through the last five minutes. What were we talking about? Luckily, I'm saved when a waitress comes over to the table with a pad and pen, and Becki is distracted.

"What can I get for you, honey?"

I order chicken and waffles and cheese sauce, and an extra-large salted caramel shake. It feels naughty because Malcolm wouldn't like it. If he were here he'd raise his eyebrow and tell me it was going to cost me, and I'd get that excited flutter in my chest. But he's not here, and I'm feeling rebellious. So fuck it.

Becki starts talking again and I try to concentrate on what she's saying as, absentmindedly, my hand slides up the side of my neck. The place where Malcolm marked me after the game is still tender, hidden under the high-collared shirt that Malcolm bought me from a posh boutique a few days ago. I rub my fingers over it, working the sore flesh, and remembering how it felt to have his lips enveloping me.

"What's that?" Becki says, and I snap back to the present.

"Huh?"

Becki's looking at my neck. I pull my collar up and drop my hand quickly.

"You've got a mark on your neck," she says, nodding toward it and frowning.

Shit.

"Uh . . . oh. Do I?" I say lamely.

"Yeah. Did you hurt yourself or something?"

"Er."

My mind is completely blank, and I can't think of a single thing to say that could possibly make sense. At that moment, The waitress brings my milkshake and sets it down on the table between us, and I'm grateful for the momentary distraction. She is getting the biggest tip of her life.

"So?" Becki prompts.

"Oh, it's nothing." I laugh nervously. "It's just . . . I hit it on a, er . . . when I was playing football."

That doesn't even make sense. I curse my lack of lying abilities.

Her frown only deepens. "Oh. Did the football, like, hit you in the neck or something?"

"Er. Yeah, that's right." I latch on to it, silently thanking her. That sounds like as good an excuse as any.

She leans forward, trying to get another look, and I cup my hand over the side of my neck. "Ouch, that must have hurt. It looks really sore."

"Yeah. Just my luck." I take a gulp of my shake. I don't know how I'd deal with other people finding out about us. It's still relatively new to me as it is, and everyone knows my reputation: North Nolan, star football player who could get any girl he wants. The bro's bro. I don't know how that would change if people knew about me and Mal, and the idea is kinda scary.

She tilts her head and giggles. "It's funny, though, 'cause it kinda looks like a hickey."

I choke. Milkshake sprays across the table and Becki draws back in disgust. "Oh my god."

"Oh shit! Sorry!"

I snatch a bunch of napkins from the dispenser on the table and wipe the foam dribbling down my chin.

"Are you ok?"

No, I am very far from ok. I'm the furthest from ok it's possible to be because apparently my brain thought it'd be a cute idea to develop a crush on my repressed teammate who couldn't recognize his own emotions if they walked up to him and kneed him in the nuts. And who turned me down when I confessed my feelings for him, even though we're fucking like there's no tomorrow. And he's left a hickey on my neck the size of the empire state building, which has just been spotted by the girl I'm trying to date to get over him, resulting in me spewing a mixture of dairy and phlegm across myself and the table.

But I'm pretty sure that's not what Becki means.

"Yeah. I'm fine."

As I'm wiping the table, the waitress reappears again with our food and lays the trays down. And I shoot a silent prayer of thanks up to God that I don't have to try to come up with an explanation why a football injury looks exactly like a hickey.

"Oh, this looks great. I'm starving."

Before I land myself in any more hot water, I grab my fork and start shoveling the food in, barely leaving room to breathe. If my mouth is full, I can't talk.

I keep stuffing my face and after a while she goes back to chatting about normal things while I nod and hmm, laughing at the appropriate times and making encouraging noises, and my pulse slows to a more acceptable rate. There's no reason for her to think anything is happening between me and Mal.

When I'm stuffing my tenth forkful of cheesy waffles and chicken into my mouth, my phone goes off, and I pull it out without thinking about it. It's a message from Mal. My heart picks up. I should just leave it unread, I'm on a date, it'd be rude, and anyway, I'm trying to move on. I should just leave it.

I open it.

Mal: You left your running shoes here.

Kinda random. I frown and type out a quick reply.

Me: ok

Becki doesn't seem to have noticed, so I go back to eating and nodding. But two mouthfuls later it goes off again.

Ding.

Mal: In case you weren't sure where you left them.

Me: ok thanks :)

I tuck the phone away and get back to my food. If Becki's noticed me texting under the table she hasn't mentioned it, and she carries on with whatever she's talking about. I try to listen but now I'm mentally picking apart the messages.

Why would Malcolm bother texting me something so trivial? He's never done that before. He barely texts me and when he does it's always a blunt instruction. "Come over here" or "My house. Ten minutes" or "Restroom, now." And now he's texting me to tell me I left my track shoes where I always leave them?What does that mean?

"So I heard you're doing really well in bio now," Becki says, pushing the fries around her plate with her fork, and I smile and nod half-heartedly. "What's your secret? Maybe you could teach me." She smiles and raises an eyebrow.

Heat spreads up my neck and I rub at Malcolm's mark again. If only she knew.

"I just, er, learned some self-discipline—"

Ding. My phone goes off again and I whip it out a bit too quickly, dropping the conversation.

Mal: You have a test coming up, so we're going to do a study session tomorrow.

I smile. He keeps better track of my academic schedule than I do.

Me: ok

"What's that?" Becki asks, and I glance up at her.

"Huh? Oh, it's nothing. Just Ma—my mom checking in."

Becki pouts. "Did you tell her about me?"

"I—"

Ding.

Mal: What are you doing?

My thumbs fly across the screen. "I, uh. Sorry, what?"

Becki makes a frustrated noise. "Does your mom always text you this much?"

"Sorry, she likes to know the gossip," I say, not taking my eyes off the phone. "She can get a bit cranky if I don't reply. You know how moms are."

Me: im doing what you told me to do

A long pause. I watch the screen.

"North?"

Ding.

Mal: Are you with her now?

Me: yes

"Hey," Becki says.

Malcolm doesn't reply. What the hell, he can't just leave it at that.

"Hmm?" I hum as I fire off another message.

Me: why

Still no reply. He hasn't even read my message. Why would he ask that and then not even bother to read my message? I sigh and take another big gulp of shake. What is going on with him?

Becki is watching me, unamused. "You done?"

"Yeah. Sorry."

She readjusts her hair and flicks it over her shoulder, as I take another big mouthful of shake, my own petty rebellion against Mal. "So, what's with you and that Malcolm guy?"

I choke for the second time, barely managing to hold the shake in, and cover my mouth with my hand. My mind races as I gulp it down and clear my throat, eyes watering.

"Er, what do you mean? Malcolm?" I croak and shake my head. "I don't really have anything to do with him."

"I dunno there's this weird energy between you guys. Like, he's always looking at you in bio class."

"Is he?" I say weakly. When the hell did Becki get so observant?

She leans her elbows on the table. "Yeah. Is he like, jealous of you or something? What's his issue?"

"I wish I knew," I say, meaning it more than she knows.

"Well you're ten times better at football than he is," she says. "And he's so weird. He really creeps me out."

I frown. "Well—"

"Did you know, his dad is like super rich, and he made all his money selling illegal guns to criminals?"

"What?" North doesn't talk about his dad at all, but I'm pretty sure that's not true.

"Yeah, Staci told me." She drops her voice down to a conspiratorial whisper, eyes gleaming. "And once he tried to bribe a professor into giving him a good grade, but the professor refused, so Malcolm followed him home and stabbed him."

Laughter bursts out of me in a snort. "No way," I say. "That's not true."

She leans back in her chair, looking offended. "Why not?" she says.

"Well, come on. Which professor? If a professor got stabbed it'd be all over the news, plus Malcolm would be in jail."

She shrugs, disappointed that I'm not joining in with the gossip. "Not if his dad covered it up using all his illegal gun money."

I flick my hand. "Nah that's baloney. And anyway, Mal would never cheat to get a good grade, he works way too hard and he's way too self-disciplined for that. He has to do everything for himself, it's like some sort of pride thing he has. He won't even let himself eat a cheat meal, let alone bribe someone. There's no way he'd try to force his grades. No way."

There's a moment of silence as she studies me and then she frowns.

"I thought you said you didn't have anything to do with him?"

I freeze. Oh. Shit. I did say that didn't I. My mind races as I try to retrace my words.

"Oh. No, I meant . . . like, I don't have anything to do with him . . . like, personally. But I do . . . you know, like, spend time with him. sometimes. Like we're on the same team and everything so . . . like . . . I know him, but I don't know him. He's my teammate, so we, like, hang out and stuff . . . with other people there too. But. I just don't know-know him. If that makes sense . . . you know?"

She's watching me with that expression that means "what the fuck are you talking about?" and I'm cringing inside so hard my soul wants to shrivel up and crawl out of my body. Jesus, this is painful. But she doesn't say anything, just nods and puts a fry in her mouth, the first thing I've seen her eat.

While she's chewing, I take the chance to chug my milkshake. God this is going wrong in every way. This was a really terrible idea. What was I thinking? How the hell would I even be able to date someone without them finding out about Malcolm? I'm at his house every damn day. I'm an idiot. I need to wrap this up before I say anything else really stupid and out both of us. This couldn't get any worse–

I'm so busy chugging my milkshake in humiliation that I don't notice Becki sliding into the booth next to me until her shoulder nudges up against mine. I lower the glass and look at her, startled. What is she doing?

She pushes my hand down, resting the shake on the table, and then runs her hand up my chest and onto my shoulder. Her other trails down across my thigh, and I almost yelp as her fingertips brush against my clothed dick.

"You know, North, you're kinda oblivious," she says quietly, tilting her head into me. "But I like it."

Then she closes her eyes and leans in.