First Flight, Final Fall by C.W. Farnsworth

Chapter Seventeen

“You’ve had a busy few weeks, Adler. You just recently returned from coaching a clinic at CFOC’s junior women’s camp, correct?”

“Yes.”

“That must have been quite the experience.”

“It was. I had a chance to work with some very talented athletes.”

“I’m sure you were a big hit there,” the sportscaster replies.

“Only one player tried to get me fired,” Beck responds. The guy interviewing him laughs, obviously reading it as a joke.

There’s a loud hoot from the direction of the couch, and I give up on pretending I’m not eavesdropping on the interview Emma’s watching on her laptop as she lounges on the couch. “Wonder who that could be?” she calls out.

I scoff as I hit the “delete” button for the thousandth time. Which is approximately how many times I’ve been grilled about Beck since we left CFOC.

“I still cannot believe you had sex with Adler Beck and didn’t tell,” Cressida comments from the stool next to me where she’s typing her own essay. “If it had been me, I would have told everyone I know.”

Yup, Emma kept that secret for about twenty-four hours.

I grit my teeth as I watch another sentence disappear. I’m flying home tomorrow for my dad’s wedding, and this essay is due the following day. I know myself better than to think I will get any work done on it once I depart in the morning.

“That might scare off other suitors,” Emma replies, shutting her computer and strolling into the kitchen to refill her glass with water. “No guy wants to follow Adler Beck.” She takes a sip. “Which makes your question at the gym all the more interesting…”

My plea to not discuss Adler Beck lasted about as long.

“What question at the gym?” Cressida asks.

I close my computer more firmly than I mean to. “I’m going upstairs. I’ve got to get this done tonight.”

Silence descends as I stomp up the stairs.

* * *

The kitchen isn’t empty the way I’d hoped it would be when I return downstairs. It’s after midnight, but I’m packed and I have submitted my essay.

“Well, well, well. Look who decided to emerge from her cave,” Emma quips when I appear in the doorway. She’s sitting at the kitchen counter, and Cressida is rolling balls of cookie dough.

“I had a paper to write,” I reply. “Some of us take school seriously.”

“I can’t believe you managed to say that with a straight face,” Emma responds. “Wasn’t it just a couple days ago you were bragging about your C average? You’re trying to avoid—”

“I don’t want to talk about him anymore, okay?” I growl as I grab a glass and fill it with water and ice.

“You haven’t talked about him at all,” Emma replies.

“It was just a weird… blip, okay? Can you drop it?” I implore as I take a seat on the stool next to her.

“Maybe if you’d gotten me an autograph at CFOC,” Emma grumbles.

Cressida laughs, then bites her bottom lip. “What Emma means is we’re worried about you. You’ve been acting strange ever since you got back from Scholenberg, and even weirder since CFOC. We’re just trying to make sure you’re okay. It’s not healthy to keep stuff bottled up.”

“And if you felt inclined to share some details about…” Emma lets her voice trail off as Cressida shoots her a glare. “I’m just saying! Friends don’t sleep with the guy voted ‘Sexiest Athlete Alive’ three years straight and not share details.”

Anne walks into the kitchen just then, twisting her hair up in a bun. She stumbles to a stop when she sees us all standing around the kitchen island. “Wh—what’s going on?”

“Saylor is finally going to spill about Adler Beck,” Emma replies, resting her chin on her hand and looking at me expectantly. “Specifically, the size of his co—”

“Emma,” Cressida hisses.

“Should I go grab a ruler?” That’s the thing about Anne. Most of the time she’s quiet and shy, but every now and then she’ll shock the rest of us by playing along with our crude humor.

“See? Even Anne wants to know about his dick, and she blushed at my cucumber joke yesterday!”

“That was one of your more vulgar ones.” Cressida dunks another ball of dough in cinnamon and sugar.

“Thank you,” Emma replies pertly.

I finally intercede. “Okay. I get you guys are curious. I would be too. But…” I pause, glancing down to watch the cubes of ice bob along. “I don’t—I think…” My three best friends all lean forward expectantly, and I can’t do it. I can’t share details. I can’t admit to them I like Adler Beck beyond his bedroom skills. More than like him if the amount of real estate he occupies in my brain is any indication. “There’s nothing to say. It was just sex.” I stand and grab my glass of water. “I’m headed to bed. My flight leaves early tomorrow.”

No one says anything as I head for the stairs.

So much for being fearless.

But Adler Beck and I would be a cacophony of calamity and catastrophe.

We’re too alike.

Too different.

He elicits a flight-or-fuck response in me, and now I need to choose flight.

I get ready for bed and have just climbed between the sheets when my phone dings. I grab it from the charging station. It’s a text from Emma. I open it, and there’s just a link to an article. I click on it, and a photo fills the screen.

It’s one of me and Beck.

There was press at CFOC for our scrimmages, but obviously at least one photographer stuck around for the clinics, because the photo is one of Beck and me on the field after everyone else had left. When he dropped the I-want-to-be-with-you bomb on me. We’re looking at each other, but only my expression is fully visible. It’s an unsettling mixture of adoration and anger.

The caption reads: International icon Adler Beck and Lancaster University superstar Saylor Scott. The article itself is about the camp more generally. I’m mentioned a couple more times, as is Beck, but we’re only linked in the photo.

The picture doesn’t fully fit with the article, but I get why they chose it. There’s tangible emotion frozen there. Not just in me, but in the set of Beck’s jaw. The flex of his forearm.

I stare at until I fall asleep.