Hard Facts by Penny Clarke

17

Grayson

Ipush back my glasses, tilting my head at the arrangement on the table. “I think I can make it.”

“Like fuck you can,” Spencer snorts. He settles back on a stool with his beer, tapping his cue stick on the ground.

But I adjust my head to the other side, staring at the last three balls. If you compensate for the eight ball… use just enough force… and maybe… yes. There it is. “It’s doable. Easy. I’ll get it.”

Another snort.

“In fact, it’s so easy…” I step back from the railing, pointing across the table with my cue. “Summer can make it.”

“What?” Summer perks up at her name. She and Kennedy had been deep in conversation on their own stools, and now, the redhead teasingly smiles as the blonde shakes her head at the balls. “No way. That shot’s impossible, Grayson James.”

So I go over and drag her off the stool. Position her where I’d been and wrap her fingers around the cue. Then, standing behind her, I murmur in her ear, “It’s really not. Just take a look.”

And she does, analyzing the game as I just had. When her eyes catch on the same angle I’d found, I grin. “Think you can do it? There’s a lot riding on this.”

“That is a lot of cash,” Summer sends a look to the far pocket, overflowing with the wagers that Spencer and I had placed.

My hands on her hips, I guide her closer to the railing. Position her into a balanced stance. “I meant my reputation. Make me look good.”

She rolls her eyes, grinning and muttering something about manly pride.

“You’ve got this,” I whisper through her curls. “We’ve been practicing, haven’t we?”

Because we have. On this very pool table. On slow nights like this one at Kellermann’s, where the music’s calm and the chatter lively. While my friends sit at their table, eating pretzels and drinking and joking, and I tutor Summer in everything I know about winning at billiards.

A trilling sound makes us jump. Kennedy, at Spencer’s side now, whistles through her fingers once more. Then, waving between Summer and me, she says, “‘Working together secretly to do something dishonest’.”

Under my hold, Summer stiffens. Until Spencer laughs, slinging one arm over Kennedy’s shoulders, “Stop colluding, she means. Make the damn shot.”

Summer and I both roll our eyes this time. Looking back at the table, she musters a breath, then releases it with a nod.

“Fine. You might have to guide me, though,” she finally says to me. “But I’ll get you there.”

She bends over, hiking the stick up on the felt. Her positioning’s impeccable. Legs apart, arms forming a perfect triangle with the cue. Exactly as I taught.

Still… I hold firm behind her. Imperceptibly arranging her arms. Her fingers. Using any excuse to have my hands on her. Over her. The hem of her skirt swishes against my thighs. It raises as she leans forward. I can feel the heat from her legs, as my hips brush her ass, and fuck, that touch—

Peanuts are used in dynamite. Florida experiences more lightning than any other state. The largest fireworks display ever took place in the Phillipines.

Focusing, I help Summer line up her shot. Whisper encouragements. Squeeze her hips as her arm pulls back—

She shoots.

And she fucking makes it.

Cheering, she drops the cue and spins to me. Wraps her arms around my neck. Drags me into a kiss. I forget the game. The cash. Spencer and Kennedy. Anything but the tight clasp of her body to mine. My mouth on hers. Summer, in my arms.

She pulls back first. Way too soon.

That’s been happening way too much recently.

Brow furrowing, I don’t have time to ponder that, since Spencer grunts out, “Sharks. The both of you. Fucking sharks.”

He throws the last of his cash on the table, and Summer leaves me to collect it. Kennedy hands her the cocktail she’d been safeguarding, then she and Spencer return to our table with the rest of my friends.

“Your winnings,” Summer hands me the money. “I hope you’re planning on putting some of that to our fake children’s college funds.”

I grin, tallying the sum. When I look back at Summer, she leans against the railing with her drink, her teasing replaced with a curious expression. “So, tell me, what’s with the bets? You guys make them all the time.”

Stuffing all the cash in my pocket, I grab my own beer from the stool I left it on and take a drink before answering. “You know how I said I used to sell papers freshman year?”

She nods, and I make my way around the table, plucking balls out of each pocket. They land with heavy thunks on the green felt. Summer watches as I go, listening. “Well, Morris caught me. And he was… Not happy, to say the least. He said if I needed extra cash, he could always spot me.”

“Ah,” Summer’s lips part in understanding. “And you’re prickly about taking money.”

I snort, drinking. Prickly’s one word for it. Morris would call me a pain in the fucking ass. “So we came up with a system. Of placing wagers. On anything. Everything. Whatever we could think of. Levi and Spencer got in on it, too. If I won, I could keep the money. Because I’d earned it. With my mind. Through knowing probabilities and statistics and observations. But there’s always the element of chance. Of luck. That someone else can win, that it’s not all in my favor. And I liked it that way. Because it didn’t—”

“Feel like a handout,” she finishes.

Using the excuse of racking the balls, I think of what’s supplementing my income now. Her money. Also, technically, not a handout. Because I’d earned it. For tutoring her. From pretending to date her. Every last cent.

Yet…

Guilt swirls low in my gut.

Because fuck, it doesn’t feel right to take it.

Not when, as she’d been bent over the table in front of me, I’d imagined gripping a handful of that tempting skirt, while slamming into her from behind.

I want to give it all back.

I wish I could give it all back.

And fuck, did I wish I didn’t fucking need it.

My pool winnings sit heavy in my pocket. Enough that I leave the balls where they are, still in the middle of the table, the triangle keeping them in place. I come back to Summer. Lean against the railing beside her.

“Can you tell me something now?” I ask her. Softly. Barely enough to be heard over the lively bar noise. Because I need a distraction. Something to get my mind off the money in my pocket, the money in my bank account, the money Summer paid me.

“What?”

“Anything,” I give a small shrug, racking my mind. I just want to know more. Her secrets. Her thoughts. About her. The very fabric, the structures, that makes up who she is. “Tell me… Tell me about your mom.”

Summer’s whole body tightens. I know she doesn’t like talking about Nolan. Since that day with the group home, unless it was about the internship, I hadn’t asked for more. Even if fifty percent of her DNA is part his, I hadn’t cared to know any more.

The other fifty percent, though… she’s even less forthright about.

When she slowly takes a sip from her cocktail, I think she’ll refuse, until… “She had a fake leg.”

I almost spit out my own sip of beer. “What?”

“She did,” Summer laughs, and she takes one hand to mimic slicing the middle of her thigh. “She and Nolan… It happened before I was born, after they’d just married. This awful car crash. Mangled the whole thing, so she had to get it cut off. That’s what got Nolan on to prosthetics. Hers was his first ever creation. So… she had a fake leg.”

“You’d never know it, though.” Summer smiles in memory. “She rocked that thing, Grayson James. It never got her down. Never stopped her. She coordinated all of Prescott Biotech Industries’ philanthropy projects, was an active alumna for ABB. Even learned how to walk in heels with it. Wedges, because they were easier to manage, but she did it.” She kicks up one of her own feet, in its tall, laced bootie, and I chuckle.

But then those perfectly bowed lips curve down. “She had me.”

It’s enough, that frown, to tell me all I need to know. That unlike Nolan, her mother had wanted Summer. That Summer had had her love, in the brief years before her passing. And I see it now, that Summer had loved that love. That she cherishes it’s legacy. Misses it. Mourns it.

Thinking of my own parents—well, I try not to do that. Even now, years and years after I’d last seen either, the memory of them still fills me with hopeless, miserable anger. So I don’t press for more.

Instead, I press my mouth to her cheek. To make those lips stop curving down so much. She turns her head. Allows her lips to find mine. I set my beer bottle on the pool table and place my hand on her back. Deepen this kiss—

But she pulls away again. Too soon. Too fucking soon.

That’s smart, I think. So smart of her. To back away. Because it’s getting harder—so much fucking harder to stop myself anymore. To keep my hands off her.

So I speak again, to distract myself from touching her, to distract her from sad thoughts, “I don’t think I ever told you… I really enjoyed the fundraiser you pulled together last spring.”

Because I know, without her having to tell me, that that event had been all her. All her hard work. I know it even more when her whole face blooms. “Did it make you completely geek out?”

“No.”

“You’re smiling. You totally did.”

Yes, I did.Because she’d turned Prescott Hall into a science fair. Complete with bubbling punch in a volcano, a sundae bar tricked out like a mad scientist’s laboratory, and a set of autonomous robotic arms that served cookies in the shape of atoms. Even some of my professors were there, performing simple experiments in booths to convince onlookers to donate funds.

To everyone who had attended, the fundraiser had been good fun.

But to me?

Seeing my world, the things I think about on a daily basis, come to life in such a grand, cohesive design? For everyone to experience the joys and wonders of science? For them to see it, rather than brush off my random facts and rambling tangents?

Mind-blowing.

So I share with Summer, in a fresh bout of honesty, “I really liked it.”

“Well…” I wait for a snarky remark. Something about nerds or geniuses, or even a roll of her eyes. But she glances away, biting her lip before saying, “Thank you. I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

And fuck, it’s adorable, that sweet bashfulness on someone so usually bold. I slip a curl behind her ear. “How will you top it this year?”

Her shoulders tense. “I… I have some ideas.”

“Like…”

Pewter eyes glance down at the glass in her hand, before looking back up at me. “That’s the thing. I have so many ideas. And so many people in this community I want to raise money for. I want to help them all.”

I nod, because I know. The rescue kennel. Elementary school. The library. Nursing home. Places she’d taken me. Where I’d helped her with her service projects.

“I actually hated that fundraiser for Prescott Hall. And not just because it was named after Nolan, or because he ruined my credibility with my sorority by not showing,” she confesses. “But because it’s a fucking building. Unfortunately, ABB votes on all our big projects, so that was left up to chance. All my plans now, all I want to do, for all those I want to help—my sisters would never go for it. Philanthropy’s not fun for them. It’s work. And unless there’s a big party, where they get to dress up and take pictures, they want no part of it—”

“So why not do something yourself?”

Summer’s eyes widen. I lean into her again, nodding. “Yeah. Do what you want. Without Alpha Beta Beta.”

“But—”

“Why not?” I ask. “You have enough money. You know the work. All the hoops you have to go through for an on-campus event. So why not just… do it yourself? You don’t need your sorority. You just need you.”

“And I…” I wind my hand behind her again. Settle it around her waist as I nod at the pool table behind us. “I can help. If you need it. Like I did with that shot.”

“You would?” she says softly.

“Well, yeah, theoretically, it’s what—”

But Summer flattens her mouth on mine. Twists one hand in my collar to join our mouths together. I tighten my arm around her waist. Haul her body against mine. Press my mouth to hers again. Desperately.

I hoist her onto the pool table. Finally let her go, when those lips smile under mine. Laughing, she squeezes the arm I’d used to lift her. “Damn, Grayson James. Maybe you don’t have powers of speed and time, but that definitely felt pretty super to me.”

Laughing loudly, I rest my hands on the pool table railing on either side of her. Step between her knees. “Wait until you see my Halloween costume.”

Summer stills, hand dropping from my arm. An awkward beat passes between us.

Because fuck—the party tomorrow night. The one she’s not coming to. I forgot.

“Right. Um, take lots of pictures.” She downs the rest of her drink.

“Sure,” I shrug too-casually. Then, because it still feels like the silence is hanging over us, I take her empty glass. “What are you drinking? I’ll get you a refill.”

“Hmm, I’m in the mood for something else. Some shots. How about…” Her smile returns, as she slowly kicks out her heels. Her calves brush against my thighs, and I step back, already turning to leave. “A quick fuck?”

I knock over two stools on my way to the bar.

* * *

“Where’s all the oatmeal?” I ask Spencer the next morning, lifting the empty box from the kitchen cabinet.

He grunts that he doesn’t know, passing a steaming coffee mug to Kennedy. She sets it on the counter, waiting for it to cool, as he finishes making their breakfast. When he shoves aside several packages of plastic cups, Kennedy saves them from falling to the floor. “You think we’ll have a lot of people tonight?”

“Whole team’ll be here,” Spencer mutters into his own coffee.

“Summer’s got her sorority thing, right?” Kennedy asks me.

I impersonate Spencer’s shrug.

“That’s too bad. We were looking forward to hanging with her. Maybe the next party.”

“Maybe,” I shrug again, making my way back to my room. Suddenly, I’m not in the mood for breakfast.

Once I’m alone, I stare at the clothes hanging over the back of my chair. My costume. I look away. See my phone on my desk, beckoning me to turn it on. Type out a message.

But I shake my head, go to the bathroom, turn on the shower, to distract myself from picking it up.

Water jets over my shoulders, the back of my neck, my spine, as I step under it. I soap up my hair. Tilt my head back, eyes closed, letting the warmth wash over me. Rinse away those stupid thoughts.

Really… what would I even say?

Come. Come to my party. I want you there. I want to spend every fucking moment with you. You spend all your time and attention on others. On your sorority. On all your projects. All these other people who need you. Spend it on me. On only me.

“Fuck!”

Soap gets in my eye. I turn around. Stick my whole head under the stream to rinse it out.

But still, thoughts of Summer remain. Her heels and her hair and all her pretty dresses. Fuck, she’s so gorgeous. So fucking beautiful. Even more than that first day we met. Because now—Now I know all those things, fuck, she uses all those things to hide it. How openly she wears her heart on her sleeve. How sweet she is. How tender and soft and how easy she hurts and how much she cares—

I close my eyes. They’re still there, though, those thoughts. Memories. Summer, smiling over a vase of flowers. Sitting across the couch from me. Fuck, the other day. Laying down. Her sweater riding up over her stomach. Her hips and thighs in those tight leggings. All those sweet round curves, for my eyes to feast on. Sending chemicals and blood and emotions pulsing straight to my—

I let my hand drift down.

Grayson James, don’t you know by now that everything’s easy with me?

Grip that stirring length with a sigh. A soft groan.

No. It’s not.

And, slowly, fuck, so slowly, I drag my hand. Up. Down. Gliding. Squeezing the tip.

It’s really fucking not.

More visions cross through my thoughts. Not memories. Inventive imaginings, from the furthest, darkest, most depraved regions of my mind. Things I’d tried to hold back. Tried to ignore for so fucking long, but fuck I can’t, I can’t—

Summer. On a pool table. Legs splayed wide, with my head between them. Under her skirt. My mouth. My lips. My tongue. On her. Over her. Inside her. Licking her. Tasting her. Consuming her.

Laid out on her couch. Me, pushing up the rest of her sweater. Over her head. Smoothing my hands over those tits. Pushing them up, squeezing them together, under my palms. Flicking my tongue back and forth over her tight little nipples.

The pool table again. Her legs around me. My cock slippery with her. Moving inside her. Hearing her moans. Her arms falling over her head, scattering pool balls in all angles.

The couch. Yanking down her leggings. Her panties. Sinking into her wet heat. Grasping her hips to mine. Pounding and pumping and fucking, fucking, fucking. Watching her tits bounce under my vehement thrusts. Seeing her face contort in pleasure. Feeling her pussy clench around my cock.

I mimic it with my fist. Use all that soap, slick and sudsy, to imagine her drenching my cock. The heat of the shower, fuck, shit, would she feel that hot around me? I gasp, water dripping over my face, but fuck, I pump harder. Faster. Feel my cock twitch and bob and swell with each jerk, each squeeze, each fucking vision of Summer naked and wet and hot and squirming and wanting me.

If it were easy, if we’d met any other way, if we didn’t have this damn falsehood hanging over us, if I didn’t have all that damn money, if it wasn’t so fucking fake, I’d be able to—to tell her.

Everything I want. All I want.

Give me your time.

Give me your attention.

Me. All for me.

You. I want all of you.

I choke out another gasp. Slip my hand against the shower wall, my fingers clutching for steady purchase. Coax my cock to swell, harder, up, harder, up, so hard, fucking hard, I’ve never felt so fucking hard in my fucking life, thinking about Summer’s face at the height of pleasure. Those red lips. Those perfectly curved, perfectly bowed, perfectly sweet lips. Moaning. Crying out. Crying out my fucking name and fuck—

“Knock knock!”

The bathroom door bursts open.

“Levi!” I roar through the shower curtain. “Get the fuck out, I swear, you fucking—”

“Just getting my pants,” he laughs, opening and shutting the dryer. “Sounds like someone needs to cool down.”

With one flush of the toilet, he leaves.

And as ice cold water rushes over me, I bellow more obscenities after him.