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  “Chloe and I have issues we need to work out.”

  “When Lana and I have problems—”

  “I said no,” and I know I’m not the only twenty-one-year-old virgin. For half the guys I knew it was just a bunch of talk. They were bullshitting everyone to save face.

  “But why? What’s stopping you?” he asked. “I know you haven’t been with anyone because of her. She’s the reason why you keep your pants zipped. If you don’t ask her out, you’ll be waiting forever to tap that.”

  I lowered my voice. “Think really hard, Kyle. Chloe Baker. Ring a bell?”

  “Dude! That’s her?”

  “Yup.”

  “When you fuck it up, you really fuck it up.”

  Max barreled into the dugout. “Hey, if you don’t want the hottie, consider her virginity mine.”

  Kyle snorted. “Today must be asshole day.”

  I choked, literally. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

  “Nothing.” Max said.

  “Something.” I eyed the guys around me, specifically, the ones that followed Max. This was a game I wanted no part of. Max and his idiots would target a girl and pick someone to have sex with her. See who put out easy, who was a nun, and if it took less time than the girl before. It was disgusting.

  “We’re not going to have a problem, are we, Warren?” Max cracked his knuckles

  Half the team evacuated the dugout, leaving Max and three of his guys with Kyle and me.

  Tobey hovered in the doorway. He wouldn’t be much help in a fight. He weighed one thirty soaking wet, and only got on the team because I convinced coach to give him a chance. Which turned out in our favor.

  Tobey could run faster than anyone in school. Stealing bases was cake for him. He wasn’t a bad hitter either.

  “Chloe Baker is off limits.” I said.

  Max frowned, running a hand through his shaggy hair. “She’s just a girl. Plenty of them to go around.”

  “So if she’s just a girl,” Kyle asked, “why don’t you find someone else?”

  An evil grin lit Max’s face. “Because the thought of me with Chloe makes Warren crazy. You watch her like a hawk.”

  “You don’t want to see me really, truly crazy Max.” I nodded at the doorway. “Just go.”

  “I think I do.” He planted his feet.

  I pushed off the bench. In three strides I was nose to nose with two hundred pounds of sweaty, smelly, ass hole. The thought of him getting near Chloe made my blood boil, and I had to dial down my temper. My reaction took me by surprise, too. But I didn’t stop to think on it. I’d go with my gut, analyze later. “You want to see if I’m kidding? I get that you think this is funny. Just wait till I’m really pissed—you won’t be laughing then.”

  “So, the star player can talk the talk.” He backed up, grinning. “And here I thought you were just some pretty jock.”

  “Watch it, McFarland. I’m not in the mood to fight.” He was trying to bate me, upset me to the point where it came to blows.

  “I think I remember you calling Chloe a pain in the ass, not too long ago.” Max smirked, ignoring my warnings. “I’d like to be a pain in her—”

  I pinned him to the chain link fence, fisting my hands in his shirt. “I know exactly what you like to get out of your games, and I’m sick of it.” I raised my voice, keeping Max firmly in place. “This goes for all of you. No more sex games if you like your spot on the team.”

  “Okay, sorry, man.” Max stiffened. Guess he wasn’t expecting me to react in such a physical manner.

  I let him go. “Hit the showers, practice is over.”

  Max didn’t move. Neither did anyone else.

  “I’m captain. I say it’s over.” I shouted.

  Everyone, including Tobey and Kyle, filed out of the dugout. I took a minute to cool off, considering my options.

  Coach took what I said to heart. If I wanted someone off the team, it wouldn’t take much to convince him. And if my influence over coach didn’t stop Max, my extracurricular activities would. I practice martial arts—judo, karate, some street fighting, and even though Max was bigger, heavier, I’d flatten his fatty ass without breaking a sweat.

  I kept this information to myself though. The only person who knew was Kyle. He only found out because I saved his neck a few months ago when he mouthed off in a bar. It was me against three bikers, bailing out his drunken butt with nothing but a broken pool stick. After that night, Kyle formed a theory that I’m a superhero disguised as a baseball player.

  I had plenty of trophies and belts, but I wasn’t an attention whore. So I guess I had one thing in common with Clark Kent—no one knew what I did with my spare time.

  Max wasn’t privy to the information. He thought his size was enough, and he was good at throwing his weight around. It worked on most people, but he was dead weight to me.

  I headed for the locker room. If Max tried anything else, I’d talk to coach.

  “Warren,” Coach said, speeding up his golf cart. He was old, suffered a broken hip earlier in the year. That didn’t make his approach to practice any easier. He could be a real ball buster.

  I was looking forward to a shower, and a quiet Friday night—no parties, no games. But first I had to deal with the consequences. Coach probably saw Max and me, and he’d be interested to know what happened. Being captain didn’t mean I was above punishment.

  “Hey, Coach.” I said.

  His bushy gray eyebrows lowered. “You want to tell me why you had McFarland squished up against the fence? Little chucks of his hind squeezing out the holes?”

  “Uh, well,” I stole a look at Chloe, finally walking toward the dorms. “I’m not sure how to explain.”

  He leaned back, folding his hands over his asteroid sized stomach, following the direction of my gaze. “Oh, I’ve got all the time in the world.”

  “You’ve heard about the game, I assume?”

  “The baseball game?”

  “No, sir.”

  He looked back at me, “I don’t want you going out for soccer. Don’t even try to talk me into it.”

  “Uh, the other game.”

  “Basketball? If you blow that shoulder, you might as well kiss your chances of the major leagues goodbye. And you and I know you’re the top five to watch.” He cursed. “Those scouts are all over you son. Which is probably why McFarland is in a pissy mood.”

  I lowered my voice, bending to his level. “I told you about it last month after you walked in on Max and a cheerleader in the storage closet. The sex game.”

  “That game?” his eyes went wide, face purple. “I thought it was a joke!”

  I shook my head. “No, no joke.”

  “They actually pick girls to…and compare?” he was older, so I understood why he had trouble wrapping his head around sex game. Hell, I had trouble. I mean, I had urges like any other guy, but I wasn’t twisted like Max.

  “I had a talk with them.”

  “Uh-huh,” He had droopy eyes. Normally they weren’t very expressive, but coach was more perceptive than people gave him credit for, and right now the glint in them was unmistakable. “Must have been a special girl to get you so riled up.”

  “Oh, she’s special alright…” a special pain in my ass.

  “Anyone else does it again, they’re off the team.” He gave me a nod and his double chin wiggled. “Of course, I think the idea of being pummeled by you is a better deterrent. Not that you’d actually hurt anyone.”

  “No, sir.” Okay, so maybe the coach knew a little bit about my extracurricular actives too. Though it was only because Kyle had to tell someone.

  “Scare them?” he flexed his arm, smiling at an old navy tattoo.

  “Maybe.”

  “Ah, good man. But what else can you do? That’s the problem.” He frowned, fishing a lint-covered mint from his pocket. “We treat everyone the same and hope to god they learn a lesson from timeouts for bad behavior. In my day, getting the shit beat out of you meant something.
Have a nice spring break. Stay out of trouble.”

  After a cold shower in an empty locker room I made the two and a half hour drive home to find my dad had packed half the house and ordered pizza for dinner. He was pretty good in the kitchen; we just didn’t have the time to bother with cooking when all of our stuff was shoved in boxes. Though most of my things were back in my dorm at school, I didn’t mind spending my spring break helping him move.

  “Hey sport, how was practice?” he asked, taping up a particularly large box marked for the office.

  “Fine,” I said, throwing my backpack on the dining room table. In the corner I spied one small box he normally kept in the attic with a picture of my mom peeking out. Her smiling blue eyes beamed from across the room.

  “I miss her too.” Dad stood beside me, mouth grimly set.

  “Yeah, but she’d want you to be happy.” She died when I was in the sixth grade, a car accident. She’d want me to be happy too. And I am. Just, from time to time, I missed her. The anger I felt at first was unbearable. I didn’t know what to do with myself. My grades slipped. I got involved with a bad crowd. In the eighth grade I pulled a fire alarm to get out of a math test. Chloe happened to stumble across me in the hallway.

  The look she gave me, full of shock and disappointment, stopped me dead in my tracks.

  “Zack, why are you doing this?” she’d asked. “What happened to you?”

  I stared at her, unable to answer.

  Why was I doing it?

  I took a long look at myself and realized I didn’t know who I was anymore.

  It felt like I’d let her down. I’d let myself down too. I never wanted her to look at me like that again. So I sat with my dad and the school counselor. He recommended I channel my anger and frustration into a physical outlet that would teach me discipline and respect. I really owed that guy a lot, my whole future even. And if it hadn’t been for Chloe showing up at the right time, I don’t know what would have happened.

  Drugs, drinking?

  I didn’t want to know.

  Despite all that, Chloe and I weren’t exactly friends. In the past I’ve irritated her, done my best to avoid her, and pretended to be angry with her. For all she knew, I hated her. I had my reasons for keeping her at arms length, wanted her thinking I couldn’t stand her…up until practice today. Everything changed. Max made me realize exactly how much I owed Chloe.

  The problem I faced was trying to figure out a way to approach her and form some sort of friendship. If we could be friends, I think I’d be okay with that. But I had a feeling the second I got a little close to Chloe, I‘d want to be closer.

  Mere friendship with Chloe Baker would not satisfy me. But it would have to be enough. If it wasn’t, I’d revert back to my old ways of ignoring her, making her think I wanted nothing to do with her, and I’d hate every second of it.

  I went to my room and packed the rest of my things, leaving out the necessities. Tomorrow would be interesting, an adventure, or so I’ve been told.

  I wasn’t so sure this was an adventure, more like a test of my patience and self-control. Because at some point, I knew Chloe Baker would tempt me.

  Chapter 3

  Chloe

  I stood in my bedroom, staring around at the sad empty space.

  Bare white walls begged for decoration and posters. The puttied holes where my pictures and mirror used to hang reminded me of Swiss cheese. Little indentations could be seen in the carpet where my furniture once sat. Happily covered in a sufficient amount of dust, books, and clothing.

  This space was my refuge, my home. I didn’t want to leave.

  But I didn’t have a choice.

  I squared my shoulders, telling myself I wasn’t going to cry, and said a silent farewell to a magnificent room. A room that saw numerous slumber parties, me dancing in front of the mirror, singing into a hairbrush, and the place where I had my first kiss with the boy next door.

  The kiss hadn’t been my idea.

  My room was also the first place a boy ended up with my handprint on the side of his face.

  I trudged down the hall to the bare living room. My sneakers squeaked on the terracotta tile. I swear my breathing echoed around me. The space felt ten times bigger without my mom’s ginormous couches and stone coffee table.

  A cave with skylights and built-in shelving.

  I groaned, wishing this was a bad dream. That we came home to find our house had been robbed, everything taken, right down to the last dust bunny.

  It wasn’t a dream and we haven’t been robbed.

  My mom came to stand next to me and sniffed, just as sad.

  “I guess this is it, Chloe.” She could pass for my older sister. We had the same silky straight hair and hazel eyes. Although she was five-eight, I got the short end of the family genes and barely hit five-three.

  “Yep,” I crossed my arms, following her out the front door. The sound of it closing behind us felt so final, ominous. We stepped off the porch and I wanted to protest. Chain myself to the railing with a sign saying: Hell no, I won’t go!

  “This is going to be fun, a great adventure.” Mom said. I didn’t agree, not even a little. Hiking up a volcano, dog sledding, swimming with sharks—those are adventures and this wasn’t my idea of fun.

  I shoved my hands in my pockets and followed her down the front path we slaved over to lay the pavers perfectly last summer. If I’d known we’d be selling it wouldn’t have been a priority.

  I eyed the edge of our driveway with unconcealed hatred.

  Two gigantic moving vans waited, packed to the point of exploding. Mom’s blue Mini Cooper was hitched up to the back of the first van, a prisoner.

  “Hey, honey, were all set.” Mom giggled, meeting her new husband halfway down the drive.

  “Excellent!” Glenn kissed her. He was tall, bald by choice, and had unnaturally blue eyes. For a forty year old guy he wasn’t too bad looking…except he reminded me a little of Mr. Clean. He even had an earring in his left ear.

  Glenn and met my mom at the grocery store eight months ago. After a long conversation about how much they both hated broccoli—which I’m sure was packed with innuendo—they eloped.

  How could my mom say no?

  Especially when the rock he presented her with sparkled so darn much you had to shield your eyes. That sucker could land a plane.

  My mom deserved a happy ever after. I could see her wanting to be wedded blissfully after her first sucky marriage.

  She had me at the tender age of sixteen. By seventeen she and my dad, Vince, attended their very own shotgun wedding.

  Vince seemed like a real winner then. He was the star of the debate team and ran an underground gambling club. What more could a teenage girl want?

  Lots more.

  Vince grew up to be the slimy car salesman you avoided on a used car lot, right down to the gold pinky ring and oily hair. He was king of the creepers, and could talk a blind man into buying a Buick.

  Thankfully, he ran off eight years ago with a German sausage maker turned model named Helga.

  Mom is super happy now, and I really liked Glenn. In fact, I liked him more than my own father. But before they went to Vegas to say I do in front of Elvis, mom sat me down to have a talk.

  This is never good, whenever your parent shows up at your dorm on a Saturday asks you to sit for a conversation. Why couldn’t she just call? Why did she drive almost half way across the state to me for a conversation?

  So I prepared myself for the bad news…

  “Honey,” mom said in her sweetest voice on that fateful day two weeks ago, sitting slowly across from me, as if any loud noises or sudden movement might cause me to have a coronary. “Glenn bought a house. It’s closer to his job, and a lot bigger.”

  “Good for Glenn,” he wouldn’t be moving into our house and junking it up with all his golf clubs and guy stuff. Even though I wasn’t home all that much anymore. When I did go back, our space would be clean. “I’ll make a banner for the
going away party.”

  “He bought it for me as a wedding present.” She sent me a smile full of hope and anticipation, flashed the massive ring, and I knew my goose was cooked.

  “You’re married?”

  “Vegas!” she squealed.

  “We’re moving?”

  “It’s a nice big house with land. Land! Like I could grow plants and try my hand at yard art. It’s an adventure, Chloe!”

  Adventure.

  The one word capable of striking terror in my heart.

  “Wow, you’ve really planned it out.”

  She snorted. “You know me, I’m a fly by the seat of my pants gal. Glenn’s the one with all the idea’s…did I ever tell you he keeps a planner? It’s highlighted and color coded.”

  “No, really?” but Glenn is like that, very by the book, black and white. My mother is like throw up, everywhere. Somehow they managed to meet in the middle and balance each other out. For this I was very grateful. The last thing I needed was the male version of my mom for a stepdad. Then we’d really be in trouble.

  When she told me about our new place my eyes bugged out of my head. I thought I’d die of shock. Our new home was located in a general area about forty minutes east of our old home in Naples and into the land people forgot. The area didn’t even have a name, just a county road.

  Believe me. I Googled it.

  Goodbye civilization, hello swamp hell.

  Thank god I went away to school.