Play Safe (Make the Play Book 1) Read online

  ****

  It’s Friday night, and it’s pouring down rain. Water is coming down fiercely past my window. Grey clouds cover the sky making it pitch dark outside. Ashley groans and flings her back down on the bed. In her hand she holds her phone, her gaze glued to the screen.

  “Looks like the party has been canceled,” she whines.

  “Of course. Where would they have it?” I glance out my window, at the liquid splattering it. Above us it sounds like waves crashing over the roof of my house. “It’s not like they could have it at Old Willis’s farm. The wood slats in the barn wouldn’t keep anyone dry.”

  “What are we gonna do now?” Ashley rolls over onto her stomach, propping her elbows up on the bed and lowering her chin into her palms.

  “I guess we could have the sleepover you told your parents we were having.” I raise my eyebrows. Ashley’s parents are much stricter than mine. Her dad is a doctor and her mom stays home. They don’t let her go to parties or date boys. That’s where I come in. I swear, Ashley’s parents must think that she and I spend every waking moment together. Whenever she’s at a party or out with a boy they think she’s at my house. Sometimes it isn’t exactly a lie. Take tonight, for instance. We were planning on going to the party, but then we were coming back to my house afterward. So technically she was always planning on a sleepover at my house.

  My parents, on the other hand, are pretty lax. They let me go to parties as long as I don’t drink and drive. Really they don’t want me drinking at all, but they’re not naïve enough to think it will never happen. Both of my parents partied a lot when they were younger, so it’s like they think it’s a rite of passage or something. Plus, it helps that I have Cal looking out for me. I think that gives them some peace of mind.

  “Yeah, I guess.” Ashley sighs.

  Clearly she’s bummed, but honestly I’m glad the party got canceled. I’m tired of going to parties. There was a time when I would have given my right arm to be invited to one of the baseball team parties. But now that I’ve gone to a few, I’m kind of over it. I suppose if I liked to drink like Ashley does it would be more fun. But for me it’s a long night of hanging outside in the cold watching people act like idiots. A night in the comfort of my own home sounds so much better.

  “It’ll be fun,” I assure her. “We can watch movies and eat popcorn.”

  “Cause that’s what I need. Popcorn.” She rolls over and pinches at her taut stomach.

  “Oh, shut up. There’s not an ounce of fat on your body.”

  “Yes, there is. See.” She grips at her skin.

  “You’re crazy. But it’s fine if you don’t want popcorn. I won’t make any.” This is the reason I like hanging out with Cal and Chris. They inhale food. They never worry about gaining weight, and they never judge me for eating. “I’ll just grab us some drinks.”

  This perks her up. “Alcoholic drinks?”

  I shake my head. “My parents are cool, but they’re not that cool.” I glance outside and shiver. “I can make us hot chocolate.”

  “Yuck.” She makes a face.

  “Soda?”

  “Okay.” She nods.

  “I’ll be right back.” I slide off my bed and walk out into the hallway. My feet sink into the plush carpet as I walk. When I enter the kitchen, Cal is standing in front of the open fridge, and Christian is sitting on a barstool. I hadn’t even realized Christian was here.

  “There’s nothing to eat.” Cal slams the fridge door shut.

  “Let’s go grab some burgers then,” Christian responds.

  Cal turns around, and I walk forward. “Oh, hey, Em. Wanna come with us to grab some food?”

  “Out into the storm?” I cock an eyebrow. “I don’t think so. Besides, Ashley’s here and she’s not really eating tonight.”

  Cal chuckles.

  Christian shakes his head. “We’ll get you something.”

  I toss him a look of gratitude. “Thanks.” Screw Ashley. I can always eat.

  Christian jumps down from the barstool, and Cal scoops his keys off the counter.

  “See ya in a few,” Cal says.

  “Be careful out there,” I warn him.

  “Yes, Mom,” he jokes back.

  “Mom wouldn’t say that,” I point out.

  “True.” Cal smiles.

  “She might,” Christian interjects, “if one of her characters recently got into an accident during a storm.”

  Cal and I both laugh. Nobody else outside of this family understands my mom as well as Christian. As they head outside, I open the fridge and pull out two sodas. When I whirl around, a gasp sounds at the back of my throat.

  “Ashley! I didn’t even hear you come in here.”

  “That’s because you were preoccupied.” Leaning against the kitchen doorway, she wears a funny expression. One that makes me feel scrutinized and exposed.

  “Here.” Holding out one of the sodas, I make my way toward her.

  She takes the can in her hand and pops the top. It fizzes. With her gaze still trained on me, she takes a sip. Then she lowers the soda and cocks her head to the side. “So, are you ever gonna tell me what’s going on?”

  I almost spew soda out of my mouth. “With what?”

  “With you, silly?” She says with a smile. “C’mon, I’m your best friend. I can tell something’s up. You’ve been acting really strange lately.”

  “I have?” If that’s true, has everyone noticed it?

  She nods. “I mean, you used to like Josh so much, and lately you act like you don’t like him at all. And you’ve been acting super strange around Christian. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out something happened there.”

  Apparently not if Ashley picked up on it. I blow out a resigned breath. “Fine. I’ll tell you, but you have to swear never to tell a single soul.”

  “I swear.” She holds up her free hand, as if she’s taking a pledge.

  I bite my lip, still unsure if I can tell her.

  “Em, I’m your best friend. You can trust me.”

  She’s right. She is my best friend. So then why am I so reluctant to share this with her? Maybe because once I say the words aloud it will make it real, but I suspect it’s more than that. I don’t share secrets with Ashley. I’ve always had Cal and Christian for that. It’s weird to admit that I trust Christian more than I do Ashley, but it’s the truth. In fact, I trust Christian more than I trust almost anyone else. And right now he’s the only person who knows what happened between us. Do I want someone else to know?

  “Seriously. It must be really bad if you can’t even tell me.” Ashley frowns.

  My stomach knots. At this point what she’s thinking is probably worse. “No, it’s not that bad.”

  Giggling reaches my ears, traveling from my parents’ room. Canned television laughter follows.

  One thing I do know is that I can’t risk my parents hearing this. “Let’s go into my room, and then I’ll tell you.”

  Ashley nods, her eyes lighting up. It makes me feel a little sick. Gossip is something Ashley loves. I can’t believe I’m going to spill this information to her. As I follow her back to my room, I silently pray that I’m not making a huge mistake.

  Holding our sodas, we plop down on my bed.

  “You promise you won’t tell a single soul?”

  Ashley lets out an exasperated groan. “I already promised. Don’t you trust me?”

  I don’t dare answer that.

  Hurt flashes in her eyes. “I tell you everything, don’t I?”

  “Yeah?” It ends up sounding like a question because I’m not sure. She does tell me a lot, but I have no idea if it’s everything.

  “Yes, because that’s what best friends do.” She flips a strand of hair over her shoulder. “I mean, if you can’t trust your best friend, who can you trust?”

  She does have a point. “Okay, I’ll tell you.” I take another gulp of my soda as if that will give me a boost of bravery. Once I swallow it, I glance up at Ashley.
“Remember the night of the bonfire party?”

  “When you and Josh broke up?”

  “Yeah,” I say. “Well, Christian gave us a ride home, remember?”

  Ashley giggles. “I don’t remember much of that night, but yeah, kind of.”

  “Yeah, no kidding.” I smile. “Anyway, when we got back to my house we talked for a little while. He was sort of comforting me, trying to make me feel better about my fight with Josh. And then he…” I pause, taking a deep breath.

  “He what?” Ashley leans forward.

  “He sort of kissed me.”

  “What?” She jerks her arm and a little soda spills out on my bedspread.

  I throw her a stern look.

  “Sorry.” She sets her soda down on my nightstand, grabs a kleenex and cleans up her spill. When she peers up at me, her eyes are wide. “Does Cal know?”

  “No.” I’m surprised that he’s the first person she asked about. “And he’s never going to find out.”

  “Good plan, because he’d totally freak out.”

  “I know,” I say. “That’s why I haven’t said anything.”

  Ashley purses her lips. “So it was just a one-time thing, then?”

  I hesitate, and she catches it.

  “You want it to happen again, don’t you?”

  “It doesn’t matter. It’s not going to.”

  “Why not? If you like him, you have to go for it, Emmy. To hell with your brother.”

  “He’s not the only factor here,” I point out.

  Ashley’s eyebrows knit together. “Oh, yeah. You mean Josh.”

  I actually hadn’t thought of Josh at all, but I nod anyway.

  She waves away my words. “Oh, come on. It’s not like you’re married. You’re only sixteen. Now’s the time to have fun.”

  “It’s not that simple, Ash.” I pick at my comforter with my fingernails. “Christian’s like family. It was a mistake. It happened, but now it’s over.”

  My head snaps up at the sound of the front door opening and closing. Christian and Cal’s loud chattering reaches my ears. I stiffen as footsteps head down the hallway. There’s knocking on my bedroom door, and I hurry to answer it. Christian stands in my doorway, his hair damp, his face red from the cold.

  “Here you are.” He holds up a white paper bag. I inhale the scent of grease and hamburgers. “No onion or mayo. Just the way you like it.” A smile spreads across his face.

  I take the bag in between my fingers. It crinkles upon contact.

  “We got a hamburger for Miss Anorexic over there too.” Christian looks past my shoulder.

  Ashley curls her nose in disgust. “No, thank you.”

  Christian shrugs. “More for us then.”

  “Thanks.” I grin, my stomach growling. After shutting my bedroom door, I turn around.

  Trust me, it’s not over,” Ashley says, a knowing smile on her face.

  “What?”

  “There is some major tension between the two of you.”

  I shush her. “Keep your voice down, Ash.”

  “Fine, but I’m telling you that boy still wants you.”

  I mull over her words, wondering if she’s right. The scary part is that I desperately want it to be true.

  CHRISTIAN

  The rain hasn’t let up all weekend. By Sunday afternoon, I’m sick of it. On the news they keep saying how great it is since we need the rain. And it’s true that we’ve been in a drought. Logically, I know I should be happy. Only I can’t be happy because I can’t do the one thing that makes me happy – play ball. I’ve been stuck inside for days, and I’m going stir crazy.

  Lying on my couch, television blaring in the background, I text Cal to see if he wants to go see a movie or something. But he texts back to say that he’s working on a paper for English. All of my homework is finished. Man, how lame is it that I want to do homework?

  However, I’d do almost anything to get my mind off of Emmy. The more I stay inside, the more she consumes my thoughts. Especially after spending the night at Cal’s on Friday night. It was torture to sleep on the couch knowing that Emmy was merely down the hallway. All I had to do was walk a few feet and I could be next to her. It took all the self-control I possess not to test it; not to try to touch her or kiss her again. It drove me mad.

  Today I’ve been trying to watch movies to get my mind off of her, but that hasn’t worked at all. I’m pretty sure baseball is the only thing that could preoccupy me, but the rain has taken that option away. Therefore, I need to come up with a new plan. Sitting around thinking about her isn’t helping me at all.

  I can’t have her.

  It’s as simple as that.

  Now if only I could get that through my thick skull and quit hoping for something more.

  Standing, I decide to head down to the shop and check on Mom. She didn’t have any shipments this weekend, so there probably won’t be anything for me to do. But being there sure beats sitting around here feeling sorry for myself. After putting on my shoes and jacket, I grab my car keys and head out the front door. Bitter cold stings my face as wind whips rain into my eyes. I pull my hood over my head, cinch it tight and run to my car. By the time I reach it, I’m soaked. My clothes cling to my body, and I shiver. Once inside, rain pelts the roof of my car. It’s louder than the engine. I turn the wipers on full blast so I can see. Still, liquid splatters the windshield as I pull away from the curb.

  I drive slowly into Old Towne, and park directly in front of the shop. It’s not a good sign that parking is available. My gaze sweeps the street when I step out of the car. It’s pretty empty. Then again, it’s not exactly shopping weather. Most people are probably holed up in their homes or sitting in the movie theatre. Any activity that keeps them dry. It’s not like you could even call this a real storm, but it’s about as bad as gets around here. We don’t get extreme weather. The only storms I’ve ever seen are in the movies. Rain and wind are about the worst we experience.

  Slamming my car door closed I make a run for it, shielding my face with my arm. The bell on the door dings when I step inside the shop. I yank off my hood and shake my head. Water drops from my body onto the musty carpet. I wipe my feet and step forward. That’s when I hear voices further back in the shop. I’m surprised. Maybe Mom does have a customer after all.

  I walk forward, curious about the person who braved the elements to go to an antique shop. My feet shuffle on the ground with every step, my elbows brushing lamp shades and furniture. Mom has so much stuff crammed in here that the aisles are pretty narrow. I imagine if a person was claustrophobic they wouldn’t be able to shop here. Often I’ve tried to push things back, to allow more room, but then we get more stuff and the aisles end up like this again. Dust tickles my nose, and I have the urge to sneeze. But then it passes.

  I round a corner and that’s when I spot him. I freeze, the hairs on the back of my neck prickling. He and my mom stop talking, both of them turning in my direction.

  “Chris, I didn’t know you were coming by,” Mom says, seemingly unfazed.

  If only I could feel the same way, but I don’t. My pulse races, my head spinning. I breathe in deeply through my nose and exhale through my mouth in an effort to calm the hell down. Mom will not be happy if I lose it. “Thought I’d come by to see if you needed any help, but clearly you don’t.” I look pointedly at Mr. Easton. Seriously, what the hell is he doing here?

  “Dan came by to pick up a gift for his mom. She’s always loved antiques,” Mom answers my silent question as if she read my mind.

  But it’s his name that sticks out to me. The way she speaks it with such ease. I wasn’t aware they spoke at all. Has she forgotten everything he’s done to her?

  “Hi, Christian.” He steps forward, offering his hand. “It’s good to see you again.”

  Narrowing my eyes, I stare down at his hand. Mom clears her throat, a demand. Obediently, I shake Mr. Easton’s hand. It’s cold and clammy to the touch. I feel disgusted.

  “En
joyed the scrimmage the other day,” he says.

  I scowl. “Wasn’t exactly my best game.” Is that what he wants from me? To grovel? To admit my shortcomings?

  “It wasn’t my son’s best game either,” he says. “But you guys will get it together by the time the season starts.”

  I’m stunned by his words. I wonder what Josh would think about his dad throwing him under the bus like that? As much as I can’t stand the kid, I feel kind of bad for him. No one wants to be criticized by their old man. Then again, I’d take criticism from mine. Hell, I’d take anything from mine.

  “I’ll go ahead and wrap this up for you.” Mom carries an antique bowl toward the register.

  Not wanting to get stuck talking to Mr. Easton any longer, I follow her. While she rings up his purchase, I stand off to the side watching. Their conversation is stilted, awkward, exactly like I’d imagine it should be. However, it’s not at all how it sounded when I first arrived, and suspicions arise.

  “See you two later,” Mr. Easton says as he makes his way to the door, bag in hand.

  “Bye, Dan,” Mom calls after him.

  I force a nod, but keep my lips tightly closed. Once he’s gone I turn a challenging gaze to Mom. “What was that all about?”

  “What?” She shrugs. “I made a sale. And just in time too. This day was turning out to be a bust. I seriously couldn’t spend one more second staring outside at the depressing rain.”

  She’s saying too much. That’s what people do when they’re nervous or lying. They keep talking. They can’t shut up.

  “I thought you hated each other,” I state.

  Sighing, she runs her fingers through her hair. Today she’s wearing it down, and it’s loose around her shoulders. Rarely does she wear it that way, but when she does I think it makes her look younger. “I’ve never hated him.”

  “But he hated you.”

  “Probably.” She nods. “And he had every right to. But that was a long time ago. I’d like to think we’ve both matured since then.”

  “So you’re friends now?” Unbelievable.

  Mom bristles. “Watch the tone, Chris.”

  “This is crazy. You’re in here chatting it up with him, and you’re telling me to watch my tone.” Anger claws at me.