“You ready for Missouri?” she asks.
I avert my face to hide a grin of triumph. Not only is her butt still planted on the railing, but she’s asking questions like she can’t quit me. I like how the universe lines up perfectly sometimes.
“You bet, but they’re a decent opponent.”
She snorts. “You don’t have to pretend for me. They’re terrible and you should win by at least three scores.”
Our first game is in less than ten days and we should win it. In fact, our first tough match up doesn’t come until week five but you can’t enter a game thinking it’s won before you even step foot on the field.
“The team you overlook is the team that beats you.”
She shakes her Coke can and we both hear how empty it is, but I’m not ready to go inside and get her a new drink. Out here in the dark corner I’ve staked out, it’s almost as if we’re alone. I can work with this.
“How fresh is that Ducks loss?” she asks.
“Like yesterday. That loss won’t go away until we win the national championship.” We laid a turd in that game against the Ducks last year, but this year when we play them, it’ll be a different story. “It won’t happen this year. I spent the summer watching tape of the spread offense and conditioning like a motherfucker. No one is outrunning me on the field this year. If anyone is gasping for breath during the fourth quarter, it won’t be me.
Ellie tilts her head and her hair falls like a curtain, a privacy shield. I wonder what she’d do if I dug my hand into that hair to hold her steady while I plundered those plump lips with my mouth. Given that one kiss would not be enough, I probably should wonder if she likes public displays of fucking, because once I had my tongue in her mouth, it wouldn’t take long before I’d want to have my dick inside her pussy. Said dick now makes my cargo shorts a size too tight.
“How come you and your brother don’t play for the same team?” she asks. Her light colored tank top catches the lights, making her look a little fairy like. A sexy fairy. She’s wearing a jean skirt, and the tank top is decorated with fish scales—sequins I think. She glitters when she turns. It doesn’t show a lot of skin but the hints are there. Like Telly noted, she has a nice ass, but she also has a sizable rack. Her tits might even spill out of my giant hands. I curl my hands into fists to keep from testing that.
“We play the same position and didn’t want to compete against each other for playing time like we did in high school.”
“That was some SI spread.” She smiles, remembering something she liked—hopefully me. “Your brother looks a little weak, though. You tease him about that?”
I start breathing lightly because here it is—where the rubber meets the road. Not many people can tell us apart and she’s suggesting that she can. “He doesn’t get up early enough to lift; doesn’t get the reps in,” I joke. That’s a partial lie. Ty does get up later, but he’s a beast. We had competitions all summer, and probably would have ended up tearing something in our efforts to outdo each other if our dad hadn’t monitored our progress.
“I’m that way too. I like to get up early, but Jack’s a night person. He’d rather practice in the afternoon, stay up, watch film, and then sleep until noon. I like getting everything out of the way so I can spend the evening having fun.”
“And what constitutes fun for Ellie Campbell?”
“Ellie?” she says with a raised eyebrow.
“Ellie,” I reply firmly. Eliot is a weird ass girl’s name, although I keep that sentiment to myself. “You look like an Ellie, not an Eliot.”
“What does an Eliot look like?”
“Five ten, wears skinny jeans. Maybe has a goatee.”
“That’s pretty specific.”
“You avoiding the question?” It’s no casual question. Ellie will be part of my life for a long time. I need to know what she enjoys doing.
She shrugs and flips her hair back, allowing light to come into our small circle. Little spots of golden color hit her forehead and the top of her nose. “I like…football. Watching it, of course. I like orderly things. Opening a new pack of perfectly sharpened pencils. Starting a new notebook. Writing the first goal down in my day planner.”
Ellie slaps herself on the forehead. “God, could I have sounded geekier? Let me try again. I like pounding beers every night and smoking a joint before bed.”
“I like Geeky Ellie,” I tell her and rub the spot on the top of her head that she slapped. The touch surprises her. She stills.
“What are you doing?” she whispers. The words come out almost inaudible, but I’d know what she said if she stood across the room.
“Feeling you.” I can’t help myself from dropping my hand to her cheek. It feels as soft as it looks. I wonder how soft other parts of her feel.
“I don’t think you should do that,” she protests, but doesn’t move.
“Why?”
Her eyes are like chocolate. I want to eat her up.
“Because it gives a girl ideas.” She dips her head and her lips nearly brush the palm of my hand.
Reluctantly, I withdraw. I get the sense I need to slow down for her—that at this point she won’t recognize my actions as sincere or genuine. I drop my hand to the rough wood of the porch railing and immediately miss the feel of her skin.
Beside me she makes a small sigh. I choose to interpret it as disappointment.
After a few moments, she breaks the silence and asks, “Why’d you wear your brother’s uniform for the magazine shoot? Didn’t any of them catch on?”
My heart stops. Literally. It halts for a full second before it hitches back up again. I exhale heavily and put an inch of space between us. She’s too potent and I’m feeling weak.
“None of them.”
“Really?” The space between her eyes crinkles. I leap down from the railing and back away. But there’s not enough space I can put between the two of us. I’m about five seconds from throwing her on the ground.
“Really,” I insist. “I wore his MU jersey the entire time and he wore mine. How could you tell?”
“You guys are similar, but it’s pretty easy.” Her tone is dismissive, as if anyone could tell us apart.
“We’re identical.”
“If you say so.” It’s evident she doesn’t see it that way.
“I don’t say it. That’s what reality is.” I pull out my phone and flick to the family album. “Here, you see.” I show her a picture from this past summer. We’re at the lake and we have our arms across each other’s shoulders. My brother is wearing the blue trunks and I have the red trunks. We’re both wearing matching aviators our mom bought for our birthday. “Look, no one else can tell us apart. Even my dad has issues. Only my mom is able to do so consistently.”
“It’s not my fault everyone around you has really shitty eyesight.” She points to my image. “You’re wearing the red shorts.”
Holeee Fuck.
“Exactly how can you tell us apart? Seriously now. No jokes. No games. Swear it on a stack of holy bibles.”
“I’m an atheist.”
“Fine. On a stack of Darwin treatises.” I roll my eyes.
“Your jaw is more square and defined.” She pinches the photo, zooms, and traces her finger across my jaw. I feel the touch as if her finger actually touched my chin. It sends a shudder down my spine. “And his eyes are weirdly close set. Like horror-show weird. Nothing against your brother. And you’re taller and more muscular.”
She thinks I’m more muscular. I can’t wait to tell Ty these details. Right before we both left for school, in between summer training camp and the start of fall ball, we weighed and measured each other. The diameter of our biceps measured the same. I swipe to another photo. This time we’re both wearing suits for my cousin’s wedding. Even for my mom had a hard time telling us apart that day. “How about this one?”