Handful by C.R. Grissom

CHAPTER TEN

Everest

Today I’m going to help Faith and CW move Kirsty into the dorm. Kirsty shipped most of her stuff to Faith’s dad’s place. Between my Bronco and CW’s car, we’ll have enough space to move everything over in one trip.

I’m looking forward to seeing her again, determine whether those sparks still ignite between us. Our New Year’s Eve kiss was better than a defensive touchdown in my book. I’ve kissed a lot of women, and tripped over a few excellent first kisses, but ours was different. When our lips touched, my brain and body almost fried from the sizzle and heat.

We weren’t alone. I couldn’t do anything more than play it off—hugged friends after the clock struck and wished them all the best, while my body fizzed. I wanted nothing more than to explore her mouth in privacy.

I’ve never chased anyone. The decision rests on her side of the field, so to speak. Kirsty will either want to explore something more or not. Dad taking off on us all those years ago taught me the value of letting go. Obsessing never changes the outcome.

I learned that no matter how hard you try, or how much you care, you can’t control anyone or compel them to stay.

My brother hasn’t approached again. I’m fairly certain he isn’t finished with me though. Why go one and done? I push the thought from my mind and focus on today, which doesn’t involve someone running a con on me.

I find a space in the vicinity of the building. A miracle at the wildly popular Santana Row. I consider it a win. I press the buzzer for Mr. Lacerna’s condo and Faith buzzes me in.

Kirsty opens the door. She’s wearing tan shorts and a dark blue tank top. “Hey, you. What’s as light as a feather but even the strongest man in the world can’t hold for long?”

I grin. “His breath.”

“Dang.” She exhales. “I wanted to trip you up. Come in. And thanks in advance for helping me,” her lips curve.

It’s more of a smirk. Kirsty’s dimple makes an appearance. My pulse kicks. “No problem.”

I step inside the condo, and shake Faith’s dad’s hand. “Hello, Mr. Lacerna.”

He’s kind of my idol. He sold a game to Microsoft when he was only twenty-five. I’d love to do something big like that, too.

“Eric, I hear you’re today’s equivalent of a U-Haul.”

“Yes, sir.” I glance around at the boxes Kirsty has set in the hallway. “We should be able to fit most everything in the Bronco in one trip.”

His eyes light. “Which year?”

A fellow car fanatic. “The 1972 Baja.”

“The Stroppe edition?” His smile spreads. “That’s a beast of an SUV.”

Cars and code, we share interests. “It sure is, sir.”

Faith rounds the corner. “Hi. We’re ready to pack it all up.”

CW joins us and pounds my back. “Looks like it’s you and me doing the heavy lifting.”

Kirsty bats her eyelashes, a glint in her gaze. “And I’ll forever be in your debt. Pizza will be on me. The cheap kind.” She grins. “Nothing but the most affordable food bribes for my friends.”

I snort. “Cheap chow works for me.”

“Eric, I have a hand truck downstairs in our storage unit. Why don’t you help me get it?” Mr. Lacerna asks pleasantly.

“Sounds good, sir.” I know better. Faith and Kirsty have been friends for at least a decade. He’s going to make sure the only move I make on Kirsty consists of packing her stuff into my SUV and hauling it to school.

We step out into the corridor and make our way toward the elevator. “Eric, I’m sure you realize that Kirsty spent a lot of time in my house. In fact, she’s like my second daughter.”

I nod, but something sharp bites deep in my chest. I’m a good person. I don’t hurt women. “Yes. I assumed as much, sir.”

The elevator arrives and we step inside.

“The thing about Kirsty is that she’s independent, sharp, and loyal. I don’t think she’s ever met her match in that regard. I doubt she’s shared her deepest hurts with Faith.”

This is not where I expected the conversation to go. “Sir?”

We hit the ground floor and exit the car. “She’s had boyfriends, but I don’t believe she’s ever met someone who respects and challenges her. Someone who gives her space when she needs it, but who’ll stick around when she doesn’t.”

Interesting. “I’m attracted to strong women. I don’t toy with them—that’s not my style. I have five sisters. I’m protective of them.”

He unlocks the door to a storage unit and pulls out the hand truck. “Five? That must have been a challenge growing up.”

“Yes, sir. While I still don’t fully understand women, I respect them.”

He grins at me. “Good to hear. I’m going to advise you to be patient. I’d like to see Kirsty find someone worthy of her affection.”

My pulse kicks. “I’m not quite sure she’s interested but thank you for the vote of confidence.”

We head back toward the elevator. “Don’t make me regret it.”

“No, sir.”

“Faith tells me you’re into coding.”

My stomach clenches. I had no idea she spoke to her dad about me. “Yes. It’s a passion of mine.”

The elevator door opens and we step inside.

“You’ll need to think outside the box—create something no one else has thought of—it’ll look good on a résumé. Be sure to check out internships in the Valley.”

“Thank you. I’m exploring options.”

We reach their floor and make our way back to the condo.

“I’d like a first look at any projects you want to pitch, if you’re interested in my feedback,” he says casually.

My heart stops for three beats and then restarts by hammering my ribs. “Yes, sir. Thank you.”

*

Moving Kirsty intothe dorm didn’t take long. The girls are grabbing pizza and will head over to my place. We plan to play cards, too. TJ and CW will join in, along with Phoebe.

I’m going to have to pick something phenomenal for my project. Maybe the idea I’m working on isn’t big enough. I should take more time to plan it. Mr. Lacerna could open doors for me.

The doorbell rings and I head to the front door. Kirsty, Faith, and CW carry pizza boxes, a couple of bags of what smells like breadsticks, and a few two-liter bottles of Pepsi and Diet Coke between them.

“Hi,” Kirsty says as she passes one of the bottles to me. “Phoebe and TJ are right behind us.”

“Come on in.”

Faith pats my shoulder. “Thanks for hosting. Mama Ria has a cleaning crew scouring Caleb’s place right now.”

“No problem. Take it all into the kitchen. CW, you’re a lucky bastard.”

CW has his hands full with a couple of pizza boxes. “Yeah, Mom said the place was a pit, and that the crew would need hazmat suits.”

Kirsty wasn’t kidding. She promised cheap pizza, but it looks like she made up for it in quantity. It happens to be one of my favorite affordable pizza take-out shops. My stomach rumbles. Closing the door, I follow everyone into the kitchen. Faith has already grabbed a stack of plates and a roll of paper towels.

We’re low-key here. I glance around. Speaking of pits.

I’m going to have a house meeting soon, and get Chrysler and Dex to pitch in. I refuse to clean up after my roommates. I keep my bedroom tidy. Mom drilled it in us all. As a single working mother of six kids, she had zero time for major clean-up efforts. My sisters and I took care of the chores. Mom taught us how to do our own laundry from the time we each turned eight.

There are two sharp raps on my front door. TJ and Phoebe step inside calling out, “Hey, we hear there’s pizza.”

I raise my voice. “We’re in the kitchen.”

Kirsty asks, “Do you have drink cups?”

“Upper cabinet.” Our exchange feels friendly. As in friend-zone friendly. Disappointing, really.

TJ sets a bag of ice in the sink and two oversized bags of chips on the counter. “What did we miss?”

“Not a thing.” Kirsty tears off paper towel sections for everyone. “Grab plates. We’re ready.”

CW brings two folding chairs in from the garage and sets them at the table.

“Thanks. I was about to grab those.”

“Figured.” He grins. “Since we couldn’t have moved Kirsty in one trip without your help, you get to sit back while we take care of dinner logistics.”

Sometimes I take this for granted—friends who treat you like family. “Good. You can sweep the floor after dinner.”

“Hey, now,” CW cajoles. “That’ll be Kirsty’s deal. Her move. Her broom.”

Faith knocks CW’s elbow with her own. “Chauvinist much? Sticking cleanup to the humans with ovaries.”

Kirsty smirks. “Well, I’m sure he’d still stick me with the chore regardless of gender.”

“Damn straight,” CW agrees.

Faith shakes her head. “Don’t get me started about gender roles.”

“No need.” Kirsty flexes her arm. “Fellow feminist here. Gender roles and/or specificity is annoyingly antiquated. Full stop. Too limiting—because not everyone can check a box—unless we add more boxes,” she qualifies. “But nearly everyone is capable of wielding a broom or taking out the trash.”

Faith claps. “Brava.”

I tap my plastic cup against Kirsty’s in solidarity. “Well said. I’ll pass you the broom when the time comes, and not because you’re female.”

She smirks, and that damn dimple pops. Kicking my heart rate up.

“Ha. Funny guy. Thanks though, I do appreciate your help today, which is why there is pizza for all. I plan to beat your butts at cards. Fair warning.”

“Noted. I don’t consider this payment for our lost bet. You still owe me dinner.”

She slants her gaze my way. “Of course. I don’t renege on bets.”

I grin at her. “My stomach is grateful.”

We all dig into the pizza.

Kirsty glances at me, and our gaze holds. She’s the first to break contact. Color climbs up her neck to fill her cheeks. As she lifts another slice of pizza to her plate she asks the table in general, “When’s your first game?”

“We play Stanford on Labor Day weekend. It’s our first non-conference game to kick off the season.”

“Home or away?” she inquires.

“Home. There’s a slight chance we’ll beat them. Ordinarily preseason is a time to learn what works and what doesn’t in our playbook.”

“Losing sucks,” TJ gripes. “Maybe we’ll win this time.”

“That’s the spirit,” I add.

Kirsty pauses with the pizza just shy of her mouth. “What do you mean?”

She appears to be genuinely interested, which is nice. Charlene went glassy eyed anytime football became the focus of any conversation. “We play better teams in the preseason. That helps us prepare for in-conference games while serving up a boatload of humility to the team ahead of our actual season.”

She smiles at me with her mouth closed as she chews her pizza, and swallows. “Like TJ said, you might be victorious.”

“That’s the plan at any rate.” I stick my right hand out to the center of the table where TJ and CW slap their hands against mine. Sure, it’s superstitious, but like the commercial says, it’s only weird if it doesn’t work. This year might be the year we win our conference.

I make eye contact with CW. I know he’s thinking the same thing. To say it out loud might jinx it. We leave it unsaid.

Faith pours more soda into her cup. “What’s tonight’s game plan? Poker, gin rummy or something else?”

CW reaches for another slice. “Let’s play thirty-one.”

At the same time TJ says, “Wizard.”

“Okay people, we need a vote.” I glance at Kirsty and get lost in her witchy-green eyes. After a beat I manage, “You’re up first. What card game do you want to play?”

“Thirty-one,” Kirsty declares.

Faith chimes in, “Yes, please.”

“Phoebe, what’s your vote?”

“Same as my roomies.” She grins.

“All right. That’s four with CW.”

Kirsty whoops. “I’ll clear the table. Okay to put the leftovers in your fridge?”

“Absolutely. Let me help.”

“Nah. I’ve got this. I’ll clean up after I win at cards,” she informs the table at large.

Faith taught the rest of us an alternate version of the original game she and Kirsty played back home. We’ve adopted what I call “Lola” rules for the game. It’s about being bold and making the best of the cards you’re dealt by knocking early to get other players out. You’re safe as long as you’re not the lowest card. If players tie for the lowest number, they both lose a chip rather than determining which hand beats the other.

Kirsty is bold. It’s an interesting peek into her head while discovering her game strategy.

TJ and Phoebe each lost two chips. Lola lost one. I still have all four chips, as do CW, and Kirsty.

On the next hand, I deal myself a thirty-one. Everyone else groans and places a chip into the center of the table.

“Dang, Everest,” Kirsty gripes.

I wink at her. “Well, a win here isn’t all that big of a deal. We have no stakes.”

Her eyes narrow. “Fine. What shall we play for?”

“Uh-oh.” Faith winces. “I know that face. The last time Kirsty wore that expression Tadd Turner ended up losing a bet to her where he had to choose between shaving his head or dying his hair pink.”

Kirsty smirks. “Tadd was a butthead who enjoyed humiliating people. He deserved to lose.”

Faith’s lips twitch. “He chose the hair dye.”

“Pink wouldn’t be so bad.” TJ grins.

“Except he forgot it was the week we were scheduled to take senior pictures,” Faith adds.

Phoebe bursts out laughing. “Yikes.”

“We had more than our fair share of bullies.” Kirsty and Faith make eye contact, and something significant passes between them.

I glance at Kirsty. “What do you have in mind?”

Her dimple pops. “How about a double-or-nothing bet between the two of us? Loser is determined by the first one of us out of the game. If I lose, I’ll have to clean your kitchen and buy you a meal. If you lose, I no longer have to sweep your floor, and I will not owe you a meal, either.”

There’s something about her that draws me in. Not sure if it’s her proclivity to make questionable bets or her loyalty to Faith, but I’m hooked. At some point I’ll have to decide whether encouraging this behavior makes me an irredeemable human being. Right this minute, I plan on winning the game. It will net me a clean kitchen and more time by default. “Deal.”

She sticks her right hand out for me to shake. When our palms touch, the spark between our hands makes my abdominal muscles clench.

Her eyes widen, and she releases my hand, scooting back in her chair. “Deal,” she repeats softly.

Neither one of us is immune to the other. It’s fascinating.

“What’s cut on a table, but is never eaten?”

Kirsty rolls her eyes. “A deck of cards.”

Phoebe’s to my left. She shuffles the cards and sets the deck in front of TJ to cut.

He grabs the top third of the cards and sets them side by side.

Phoebe combines the two stacks and deals us each three cards. She places the remaining cards in a pile face down in the center of the table. She flips the top card over to start the discard deck. It’s a five of clubs. TJ ignores the card and chooses from the fresh card pile.

I’m dealt two face cards in the same suit, but the third card is the deuce of hearts. I need one more spade in a number higher than seven. I’ll feel more comfortable knocking at that point. I don’t have to have the highest card total to keep my chip, but I want to avoid being the lowest. When it’s her turn, Kirsty knocks instead of discarding.

The top card from the discard pile won’t help me. I reach for the draw pile hoping there’s a spade, otherwise I might have the lowest hand with twenty points for the two suited face cards. I pull in a six of spades. Not great, but it might help total points against the rest of the table.

After my turn everyone else chooses one last card. Since she knocked, Kirsty flips over her hand first.

She has three face cards, all diamonds—the king, queen, and jack—for a total of thirty points. I flip my cards face up. The rest of the table turns over their cards. Lola has the lowest hand.

I lose the next round. Then Kirsty loses the following round. CW then Phoebe for the two rounds afterward. We’re all still in. We’re pretty much heckling each other now. Groans from the loser of each round. Kirsty and I tie for lowest hand and we each lose a chip. I’m down to two chips. Kirsty has a single chip left.

She’s the dealer. This time we go through several draws. No one knocks. It’s gotten to the critical stage where even twenty-eight points might not hack it. I have twenty-nine points in hand. On my turn, I pull from the newly shuffled draw deck. I pull an ace, and smile wide. Flip my cards to declare thirty-one and earn a grunt from Kirsty.

She now owes me a meal and a full kitchen clean. Score!

“You’re too damn lucky,” Kirsty complains.

“It’s true, Lady Luck favors me.” I wink at her.

She shakes her head at me, but her lips curve, betraying her humor.

I take out my phone and open the calendar app, even though my schedule has etched itself onto my memory. “I’m available Thursday night for a meal and kitchen cleaning. If that fits your schedule?”

She sighs. “I’ll need to check on something first.” Her brows draw together. “I’ll let you know.”

Does she already have plans? CW told me she’s kept in touch with the dancer. “We can change the date if it’s a problem for you,” I say casually.

“No,” she concedes. “Can I give you a tentative yes?”

“Sure.”

“What time are you thinking?”

I hope the dancer isn’t taking up her time. Classes loom next week following the holiday. Maybe she has class prep. “Five-ish?”

She nods. “Let’s plan for it unless I have to switch days.”

“Works.”

I ask Lola, “Are you going to the Stanford game?”

She nods. “Phoebe’s tagging along with me.” She turns to Kirsty. “You want in? Beau will be there, too.”

Beau is Faith’s other best friend. They’ve been joined at the hip almost from the beginning. I’m glad Faith asks Kirsty. It saves me from doing it myself. Kirsty is skittish about anything that looks or smells like it could be construed as connecting us. I keep my gaze on Lola, ignoring Kirsty, waiting for her response.

“Sure. Sounds fun.”

I don’t know why it makes a difference. It’s not like we can hang out together during a game. I’m on the field, not in the stands. Somehow it matters. I’ll figure out why later.

I happen to glance at TJ. He mouths, Are you going to call dibs?

Glancing away from his hyper-focused gaze, I ask the table at large, “Does anyone need a refill?”

I fill my cup with more Coke.

Kirsty asks, “Does anyone from Fortis tailgate at our home games?”

“Sure,” Faith nods. “The Chess Club peeps have a site they set up each game under the eucalyptus trees. They grill hot dogs and challenge each other to blitz chess. I’m not entirely sure they ever go inside the colosseum to watch you all play, but they set up every home game.”

CW laughs. “I heard about that. Gabe is a member of the Chess Club, he’s always bitching at his friends to come inside.”

“He would. He has definite opinions about his Gladiators. Sigma Pi always drags their tiki bar out, and sets up next to them.” She rolls her eyes. “They beg for food from the chess peeps. They generally have chips and salsa set out. One of the frat boys always buys guac from Goose. They make a kind of unusual alliance.”

“We’ll have to check it out someday,” Kirsty murmurs.

“Game days are fun.” Faith smiles. “The Fortis Boosters rent jump houses for kids on the east side of the colosseum. There’s a booth where kids can win prizes for throwing footballs through a target toss.”

Interesting. I’ve never thought about what happens outside the colosseum.

“Teen Space always has an informational table set up. I haven’t worked it yet. I’m always inside keeping an eye on eighty-three.” She leans into CW. “Your games draw many people from the community together.”

Pride swells. I’ll be sure to stay involved with the boosters after I graduate.

Kirsty places her hand on Faith’s arm. “I want to go to Teen Space and sign up to volunteer.” She shoots me a glance. “It would be good for you, too. Not just something to add to a résumé, but a great way to connect with teens.”

“Agreed.” I should have thought of it on my own without prodding from Lilly. “Faith, will you send me a link to register as a volunteer? I have experience as a handyman and I know my way around a computer. Happy to give my time to a worthy cause.”

“Excellent.” She grabs her phone. “Thanks.”

Phoebe’s phone pings with a text at the same time mine chimes. She swipes to check her screen. “Goose just asked whether I’m free to work tonight.” She glances at TJ.

“I’ll drop you off.”

My screen shows a text from Lola with the link for Teen Space.

“Thanks, Tiago. Sorry to bail on you guys.” Phoebe rubs her thumb, index, and middle fingers together to indicate money. “I can use the extra hours.”

“No problem.” I slap hands with TJ. “You want to come back after you drop off Phoebe?”

“Nah. I’ve got to get home. Check on the fam.”

“How’s your dad?” I ask. TJ’s dad was in an accident that nearly cost him the use of his legs.

“He’s able to walk with a cane now. He told me to hide the walker in the garage. He doesn’t want to look at it anymore.”

“That’s fantastic.”

Kirsty moans. “I’m going to start cleaning up. Do you want me to just sweep or pay the cleaning portion of my debt?”

“That depends on whether Lola and CW want to hang out and whether you’re okay with me driving you back if they want to leave.”

She glances over at Faith.

Faith shrugs. “We’ll leave it up to you.”

Kirsty’s gaze tracks back to me. “I’d like to make good on half the bet by cleaning tonight. The other bet is months old—it can wait until Thursday. If it’s no trouble to get me back to the dorm. I could also book Rides.”

“Save your money. I have no problem driving you back.”

CW wraps his arm around Faith. “Works. See you at practice.” To Kirsty he says, “Sweet dreams on your first night in the dorm.”

“Thanks, Caleb.” Her lips curve. “Drive safe.”

Once they’re out the door, Kirsty asks, “Point me to your cleaning supplies.”

I reach under the sink for the disinfectant spray and pass her the roll of paper towels. I put the bottles of soda in the fridge, while she cleans the counters behind me. We work in tandem without conversation for a few minutes. The sound the nozzle makes when she pulls the spray trigger can be heard in the quiet kitchen.

Kirsty turns toward me. “Can I ask you an awkward question?”

“Prepare yourself for an awkward answer.”

Her dimple pops. “Do you consider us friends?”

Do I? “Yes. Do you?”

She crosses to the opposite counter. Pulls the trigger, wipes the product off. “I also feel a pull between us—one that’s not so friendly. How about you?”

My heart slams against my ribs. I make eye contact. “Yes.”

She lets out a breath. “Okay, we’re on the same page. Here’s the thing, I don’t want to change what’s between us. I like being your friend. And I wouldn’t want us to not be friends.”

Denial rears and a rebuttal forms, but I swallow it back. “Why do you imagine our friendship would be different?”

“Sex often morphs dynamics between people.”

My nerve endings tingle as blood rushes through my body. “Sure, but it doesn’t have to alter a friendship. I’m not an either/or type of person. Are you?”

“No. At least I didn’t think so. Daniel made me believe otherwise. We weren’t in sync with each other. He convinced himself we had something more significant.”

“I remember.” I don’t like the implication that I’d be anything like the self-centered ass she dated back home. I cross to the opposite counter. She works efficiently—hands in perpetual motion—spray, swipe, spray again. She tosses the used paper towels into the trash can. “I’m attracted to you. This isn’t a news flash, since our New Year’s Eve kiss left no question.”

“There’s a huge question.” I touch her shoulder.

She turns to face me.

“One kiss—eight months ago—doesn’t equal consent or a willingness to pursue anything now. What are you saying, Lilly?”

“Would you be able to walk away from a sexual relationship and remain friends? No harm, no foul?”

She’s pretty much described every long-term hookup I’ve had. Still, I need clarity. “Depends. Are we exclusive while we engage in this hypothetical relationship?”

“Yes. I’m not going to bounce off you and onto someone else. I’d have a conversation with you if the status quo needs to change. Firm on that. Same rules apply to you.”

I like the direction of our conversation, even though it’s one of the strangest I’ve ever had. “Yes, I’m capable of maintaining a friendship with my former lovers. It’s never been a problem.”

She nods. Picks up the spray bottle and aims for the sink. She pulls more paper towels, attacking the sink while I remain both quiet and curious. When she’s finished cleaning, she puts everything away in its place.

She washes her hands. Still quiet. I’m in tune with her body language. I see her shoulders move—the smallest of gestures—as though she’s made some kind of a decision.

“Promise?” she asks.

“Do I promise to remain friends if we have sex?” I ask to be absolutely sure.

“Yes,” she whispers.

“I promise.”

She walks toward me with a glint in her eyes that bodes well for me. She stops about a foot away. Kirsty crooks her finger at me. I’m sunk. My grin spreads. “Yes?”

“Kiss me.”

Since that’ll put an uncomfortable crick in my neck. I reach down to lift her to the freshly cleaned counter and set her down carefully.

Her breath releases on a quick laugh. “I forget all those muscles aren’t just for my viewing pleasure.”

I snort out a laugh.

Leaning down, I capture her lips. The contact punches through me exactly like New Year’s Eve, when balloons rained down over us and sparks shot off behind my closed eyelids. Our tongues touch and everything ratchets inside me, pulling tight, and my abs clench with need.