And I think I’m okay with that.
For now.
Chapter 20
Talon
I secure a towel around my waist Saturday morning as I step out of the locker room showers in a cloud of steam.
“Dude, you’ve been MIA this week,” Vin Chalmers says, snapping a towel at me—and missing—when I get to my locker. “What’s up with that?”
“Bullshit. I’ve been here every day.” Not that it’s any of his business. “Just not at five AM anymore.”
“You’re screwing that weird Irie chick, right?”
My jaw flexes. Weird? “You want to try saying that again?”
Just because someone goes left when everyone else goes right doesn’t make them weird.
“That Irie girl. You’re screwing her,” he changes his tune. “Right?”
“Fuck off, Vin,” I say, not in the mood. Now that I’ve got Irie right where I want her, I’m not going to let anything jeopardize that, especially not nosy assholes who have no qualms about sticking their nose where it doesn’t belong.
“Jesus.” He flings his towel over his shoulder. A few guys on a bench a few feet down stop what they’re doing and tune into our conversation. “The fuck is your problem?”
He walks away. Maybe I was a little harsh, but Irie is a sensitive subject for me. She’s so much more than some girl I’ve been chasing the last few years, the embodiment of my failures, my weakness, and my hopes for the future.
As cliché as it sounds, Irie Davenport is my real-life dream girl.
I’ll protect that any way I can, especially if it means having to make a lesson out of Vin Chalmers. He’s always sticking his nose in everyone’s business anyway. No one wants to fuck his loud-mouthed ass so he lives vicariously through everyone else.
I get dressed and check my phone on the way out, listening to a voice message from Ira.
“Talon, it’s Ira,” he says. “Why the hell haven’t you signed yet? What are you waiting on, kid? The deal’s not going to get any sweeter than this, so hope you’re not holding out. Call me. Let me know what’s going on, if there’s anything I can do.”
I delete the message.
I’ll call him later.
I haven’t signed because I haven’t signed.
That’s all he needs to know for now.
A few minutes later, I climb into my car and drive back to my apartment, windows down and music so loud it makes me forget about everything but her …
… and what I’m going to ask her tonight.
I want her to be mine. Exclusively. Indefinitely.
I don’t want to have to beg Irie for another date and another, Saturday after Saturday. I want to be her standing weekend plans. I want to be in her life, in her schedule, in her mind … in her body.
No more playing around.
Tonight, I’m making her mine.
Chapter 21
Irie
“I signed the contract,” I tell Aunt Bette Saturday afternoon as I wash dishes. “It’s official. Two weeks after graduation, I’ll be the head of the Kira Kepner Interiors in Malibu.”
Aunt Bette throws her arms around me. “I’m so proud of you. I really am. You’ve worked your ass off for this.”
Knowing I’ll be leaving her, leaving the only real home I’ve ever known, is a jagged little pill that doesn’t want to go down all that easily.
“Are you sure you’re going to be okay without me?” I ask her. I offered to bring her with me to Malibu, but she insisted she stay here. All of her friends are here, her life is here. She told me if she outlives them all, she’ll join me, but until then she wants to stay put.
“I’ll be fine. I think Gladys is going to move into your old room and we’re going to share her assistant,” Aunt Bette says with a twinkle in her eye. I’ve seen Gladys’ assistant. He’d make my eyes twinkle too if he were going to be waiting on me hand and foot. “Just promise you’ll come back and visit.”
“Of course,” I tell her.
“This was more than an arrangement to me,” she says. “You filled a void I never knew I had. Never wanted kids of my own, but if I’d have had a daughter, I’d have wanted her to be just like you.”
She releases her hold on me and I turn away, blinking the sentimental tears away before she sees them.
I’ve never been good at showing emotion in front of other people.
“You’re going to go out and celebrate tonight, aren’t you?” she asks, taking a seat at the table.
“I have a date tonight, remember?”
“Oh, that’s right! With that hunky football player. What’s his name again?”
I turn to face her, chuckling. “You literally invited him to fly home with us to Lauren’s wedding and you don’t know his name?”
“It’s something with a T … Trent or Taron …”
“Talon.”
“Ah, yes. Like an eagle’s claw,” she says, rolling her eyes. “Who the hell names their kid Talon, anyway? What’s the matter with John or Ricky or Tommy?”