It's Just a Twin Thing Part-4

It's Just A Twin Thing
Part Four

by:
Enemyoffun


Jordan and his sister, Jess, are twins, some think identical
because they look so much alike. They used to fool a lot of
people when they were younger but the differences became
apparent as they got older or did they?

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Author's Note:Sorry for the late posting of this chapter. Today was rainy and gloomy and it was making me lazy lol. I was dragging my feet getting this chapter ready to post lol. This is another Jess chapter.

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4.

Jess

The sound of a large belch woke me up. A few seconds later it was followed by another belch. The belching kept coming over and over again. Groaning, I rolled over and slapped at the alarm clock, sending it clattering to the floor. What monster sets an alarm for Saturday morning? Sitting up, the belching still going on, I rubbed my eyes. Right, I’m the monster. I reached down and shut the infernal thing off, putting it back on the bedside table where it belonged. The clock was a gift from my parents. They wanted the sound to be something offensive so I would be repulsed and spring out of bed to shut it off. It worked for a few days before my body acclimated to it.

Now I found it almost peaceful.

Yeah, my parents totally didn’t get me.

I rubbed more sleep out of my eyes, as I stumbled through my room to the bathroom. Half in a stupor, I remembered why I set the alarm in the first place. I needed to get up and get ready for tryouts. It was eight am now, that gave me enough time to shower, eat and get out to the school before anyone else. It was also hopefully enough time to sneak into Jordan’s room, grab some of his workout clothes and get out before he noticed. Oh right, the plan. Well, it was pretty simple really. If Coach McGuire saw me as even partially boy then I might have a chance. I knew it was a long shot but I couldn’t just give up now.

It wasn’t fair.

The stupid school board and their fucking double standards.

The school made the cheap float. Coop was the one who fell on Molly too.

The school should own up and accept responsibility.

So why did we other girls have to suffer because of it?

Thinking about it wasn’t going to get anything done. We needed action, not thoughts. So I was acting. If anything my little stunt today would prove to these people the lengths we girls are willing to go to do what they want. I wanted to play soccer. If that meant humiliating myself in front of a bunch of boys to do so then so be it. I was willing to take one for womankind if it meant sticking it to the school and showing them how stupid they truly were.

But first a shower.

Things were a bit different when Tracy used to live with us. First of all this room used to belong to her. Right before she went off to college, though, Dad had the detached garage built for his car collection. Well, the ones he liked to keep close by anyway. With that garage came the apartment above it. I won’t lie, I was a little peeved when she got her own place. I mean Tracy was barely home as it is anymore. It wasn’t fair that she got her own place while I had to live under the same roof with my parents and the dweeb. What’s worse, now she was going to be home even less. Tracy met this guy---Paul---about a year ago and things were getting pretty serious. He was a pianist I guess. My parents suspected him to propose any day now.

And yet, the apartment is still hers.

How fair was that?

Ok, so I lost my train of thought?

Oh yeah, the room.

Well after Tracy moved out, I got her room. Before Jordan and I used to have our rooms downstairs. Now they’re guest rooms. When Tracy moved, I got her room and Jordan got to move into the bigger room down the hall. There were only two ensuites in the house. The one attached to this room and the one with my parents’ room. Dad wanted me to have my own room because I was a girl and I needed my privacy. To compensate he let Jordan have the bigger room with the attic access. Then he went and converted that attic space into this cool rec room for Jordan and the other dweebs. Once again I got the short end of the stick.

Thinking about it just pissed me off more.

So time to distract myself.

Walking into my little bathroom, I took care of the morning business first. Had a pee, brushed my teeth. Looking into the mirror, I saw the girl staring back at me. Ok the girl was me but I was hard pressed to see it. I’d been feeling kinda funny about it lately. Sure I saw my reflection every day in the mirror but something about it just didn’t feel right. I’d been feeling kinda off since puberty actually. It didn’t help that I had to take these stupid pills either. There was nothing more embarrassing than having to take hormones.

You see Jordan and I were very late bloomers.

Puberty is supposed to start at a certain stage in a young person’s life. For girls its earlier, for boys its mid-teens. Unfortunately for me and my brother, it never came. My father---putting on his doctor’s hat---took us to a variety of specialists to discern the problem. It turned out that both of us had very low counts. So to counteract the problem, we were given hormone treatments to help kick start things. Due to the nature of our condition, we were given a larger than normal dose of the stuff. It worked too, at least for a time.

I started to notice something wrong about eight months ago.

Most of the girls my age had figures. Me, I was pretty boyish looking still. My boobs were barely there and my hips, well let’s just say that I had no shape and leave it at that. That wasn’t all either. I was starting to grow hair in places that girls shouldn’t have hair and it was thicker too. My voice sounded different too. I was hungry a lot as well. I’ve always had a bit of an appetite of course. But being an athlete I’ve been able to burn it off pretty quickly with vigorous exercise. Lately, though, I’ve been eating like a horse. I was really irritable for no reason too. I know people thought I was a bitch and I didn’t really care about that. What I did care about was constantly feeling like I wanted to put my hand through a wall.

Take yesterday for instance.

That girl---Torrie---what she said shouldn’t have set me off like it did. I was really pissed off, though. I could have taken her head off. Then for Mom to make the same comment, I was furious. After storming up to my room, I calmed down and realized I was being stupid. Torrie and Mom were right too. I really did need to moisturize more. I needed to do more than that actually. My skin felt rough and oily and the zits, don’t even get me started. No amount of over the counter products seemed to help either. It was like I was at war with my body and my body was winning.

“Not today,” I said to my reflection.

I grabbed my pill bottle, shook a couple of the little greenish bastards into my hand and popped them quickly. I swallowed them without water. I grinned at my reflection then grabbed my other pills.

I decided to fight things my own way.

I found this site online that sold breast enhancement pills. I know what you’re thinking and you’re probably right but I have to try. I was getting sick and tired of wearing inserts and pushup bras. I started taking these supplements about four months ago and I was starting to see some results. I’m not sure who these MerTech people were but they sure sold good shit. Maybe in a couple more months, I could ditch the bras and booblets.

After taking my second set of pills, I gave the mirror the finger, stripped down and got into the shower.

@@@@@@@@@

“Mom, have you seen my practice clothes?”

Mom was sitting at the kitchen table in her dressing gown, a cup of coffee in her hand. Mom was the only one who got up this early on Saturday. I ignored the look of surprise on her face. I matched it with a hand on my hip and as stern a look as I could muster.

“Sweetie, what are you doing up this early?”

I made up a quick lie.

“Well just because there’s no soccer anymore doesn’t mean I’m not going to try. Tiff and I are going to the school to take advantage of Saturday Exercise”

It was something the school implemented a few years back. Every Saturday now, they opened up the school’s weight room and the gym for anyone who wanted to use it. Of course, they had to get permission beforehand and there had to be a teacher available. It was still a pretty cool thing. It was also a great cover. I didn’t exactly want to tell Mom the real reason I wanted my clothes. She’d never understand. My parents loved that I was so into sports, especially Dad. Dad also made it clear though that I wasn’t to go too overboard with it. He was afraid I might get too engrossed, put my entire life into it then be in the same situation he got himself into.

Thankfully he recovered from it but he didn’t want it to happen to me.

I knew what both of them would say about me wanting to play on the boys’ team.

I was being too obsessive.

The look Mom was giving me said it all, though.

“I’m sorry sweetie,” she said, setting down her mug. “They’re in the wash. I thought you were done with them for the week”

Damn her.

Ok, so it wasn’t her fault but still it was horrible timing.

“Just great. What am I supposed to do now!”

See what I mean. That came totally out of nowhere and I can’t stop it.

Mom gave me the “I don’t approve of your tone” look.

“Sorry Mom,” I said and meant it.

She nodded. Then smiled. “Why not just borrow your brother’s set, heaven knows he’s not going to care”

Dad had bought Jordan a set of workout clothes a while ago. Ok so they were just the usual t-shirt and running shorts but he got them from the sports store. Dad’s hope was that Jordan might take an interest in it. It was one of the Dad’s many attempts to try to connect with the dweeb. I told him it was a waste of time but that’s Dad for you. I don’t think he liked the idea that he and his son just weren’t on the same wavelength.

‘Thanks, Mom” I said cheerily then ran back up the stairs.

I tried his bedroom door first but it was locked. That was odd. Jordan never locked his door. Cursing, I went with plan B. Ok so the ensuite bathroom was all mine. Jordan wasn’t allowed to step foot in it, dad’s orders. The thing about it though was that it was actually a full bathroom, with two doors. One door led into my room and the other into his. So the bathroom actually connected our two rooms. Thankfully for me, he never even bothered with it. In fact, he used to have a bookshelf in front of it until Dad made him move it for fire reasons. Just in case of an emergency and all that crap.

True to my thinking, the door was unlocked.

I slipped silently into the dweeb’s room.

Jordan had a Dweeb’s room too.

Ok so that was harsh but it was hard not to see it. The walls were decorated with movie and game posters, there was a bookshelf crammed with all his dweeb books. His desk was littered with comic books and gamer magazines. He had shelves on the wall cluttered with action figures and crap like that. He had normal stuff too---bed, dresser, large flatscreen with game system. The odd things were the guitars. I could see at least two of them out. I know most of them he kept in the basement but he liked to come up here a lot and jam too.

The dweeb himself was on the bed, fast asleep.

I tiptoed inside, going to his dresser.

I had a pretty good idea where he kept the clothes. When my brother didn’t like something, he usually shoved it in his bottom drawer. There were years of bad Christmas sweaters, sports jersey’s, odd colored socks and other ugly clothes in there already. I found the workout clothes shoved way in the back, still in the plastic bag and with tags on them no less. I shook my head, wondering why Dad even bothered. We both knew how much athletic prowess Jordan had. Which was zero by the way.

What a dork!

I took the bag with me as I crept my way back to the bathroom. I stopped to take a look at him before leaving. My brother ceased to amaze me these days. Looking at him there---sound asleep on his stomach---you could see where people mistook him for a girl. His hair alone was enough to give people pause. Guys weren’t supposed to have silky smooth locks like that. His soft buttery skin, high cheek bones, and girly lashes didn’t help either. Don’t even get me started on those lips. What guy has lips like that? His body didn’t help things either. He was really slim and slender, with small hands and feet. He was half covered by his blanket but I knew what was underneath. There was very little muscle on that girlish frame of his and the way he moved. It was no wonder those guys beat the hell out of him after that chorus concert.

Ok, so I was really pissed about that, to be honest.

A bunch of fucking douche bags if you ask me.

I will say that I was a little surprised by his reaction to it all, though. I never actually expected him to quit singing. My brother and I might not have seen eye to eye on many things but his singing was something he was good at. I don’t care how much he was being harassed, he should have never given it up. That was the biggest difference between him and I. If there was something I loved, I would never let anyone tell me I couldn’t do it. No matter how much I was given shit for it. It was my thing and mine alone. Jordan didn’t have the backbone to stick up for himself and now he was miserable for it.

He was an idiot.

Thinking a little less about my brother, I slipped back into the bathroom and into my room shortly thereafter. I made sure the door on his side was securely shut. In fact, I made sure I’d never been there. I hoped I was stealthy enough in that regard. If there were any problems, I’m sure Mom would have my back. I mean they were clothes he wasn’t going to wear anyways.

Putting on his never worn clothes scared me a bit.

A girl was not supposed to fit into her brother’s clothes so well.

Standing there, looking in my floor length mirror, I couldn’t help but grimace.

Staring back at me was not Jessica.

It was J.D.

Ok, so a bit of confession time. When I was younger, I used to like to pretend to be a boy. I’m not really sure where it came from, to be honest. Before we got to kindergarten, Jordan was the only real playmate I had. He was a boy and we liked to do boy things together. Back then, he didn’t mind to throw the ball with Dad or rough house in the mud. It didn’t help that we both had short boy haircuts back then either. That’s actually where the nicknames J.D. and J.C. came from. Jordan’s middle name was Christopher. Mine was Diane. I’m not sure who first coined the names “J.D.’ and “J.C.” but for years that’s all we were.

Many people thought we were twin brothers.

No one actually corrected them either.

Mom and Dad always thought it was funny.

It helped that no one could really tell us apart back then either. We used to have a hell of a good time screwing with our family. We especially loved messing with our cousins, Cherry and Courtney. We would keep the charade going for hours with neither one of them knowing which one of us was which. Like they often say, though, all good things must come to an end.

In first grade, I met Tiffany. She was by far the girliest girl I’d ever met. For a long time, she thought I was a boy too. We actually shared our first kiss together. We could look back at it now and laugh but I remember her parents being pretty pissed at it when they caught us. My parents were called and all the parents had a long talk. My parents decided that they let the fun go on a little too long so things changed. Mom started buying me girlier clothes and she talked me into letting my hair grow longer. Tiff helped a lot too.

Things were good.

Then Jordan seemed to feel left out. It wasn’t before long that he started to grow his hair long too. By the time we were in second grade, his hair was just as long as mine. The confusion started all over again. We played the same games for a bit but it got old fast. Eventually, they stopped. Then Jordan started his singing lessons, met that hillbilly Tara and we drifted further apart. I can remember the exact moment of it too. We were standing for the bus, about to start fifth grade, when Jordan called me “J.D.” I remember it so vividly because he cried at my response:

“My name is Jess, not J.D. Get it through your thick skull, dummy”

Jordan actually ran home crying. Mom took him to school. I got a stern talking to afterward. I had to apologize for being a jerk even though I didn’t really understand what the problem was. Jordan got a talking to as well because he apologized too and never called me J.D. again.

It was the moment we stopped being friends.

“Hello again,” I said to my reflection, frowning a bit as I did so.

I stared at myself for a bit longer before heading out of the room and down the stairs.

“I’m taking the car,” I said as I grabbed the keys and went out the door.

I texted Tiff on the way out.

It was time for our A Game.

@@@@@@@@@

“Where are you?”

I was pulling into the school parking lot now. During the week when school was in session, you needed an authorized school permit to park here. I didn’t have one because Dad didn’t want us driving the car to school. On the weekends, though, no permit was required. The school’s facilities---weight room, pool, and gymnasium---were open to the public on the weekends. There were about ten cars in the lot when I got there. The only one I recognized was the one Coach McGuire drove. It was hard not to recognize the giant gas guzzling beast of a pickup he drove. Its most notable feature was the gun rack. When not teaching Gym class or coaching various boys’ sports teams, the coach was an avid deer hunting. Well, at least when it was in season.

Among the cars though was one I didn’t recognize.

Tiff’s.

When I pulled in and didn’t see, I figured she was right behind me.

“Mom caught me going out the door,” she said with a sigh.

‘You caved” I said with a heavy sigh.

Tiff’s lack of response said it all.

Last night we came up with a plan. The same one. We were both to tell our parents we were coming here for the weight room. Tiff it seemed cracked under pressure. It was nothing new for her. She was horrible at keeping secrets and even worse at lying.

“You didn’t tell her I was involved did you?”

“No, but you know Mom, she kinda figured it was your idea”

Shit.

It was only a matter of time before she called my mother.

I liked Tiff’s parents, they were awesome people. They were, however, some of the strictest parents I knew. They were also very conservative. I mean what parents freak out because their seven-year-old daughter kisses another girl? I mean we were seven, we didn’t know what we were doing. Of course at the time they thought their daughter was kissing a boy. They didn’t really freak until it was revealed I was a girl. They almost shipped poor Tiff off to a Catholic school the next town over. Thankfully my Dad was able to smooth things over with them. He also agreed that it would never happen again. It never did because well we were young and like I said purely innocent.

Her parents never really trusted me after that, though.

They didn’t even want to think it was their daughter’s idea. I was the tomboy who was trying to lead their baby astray. I still wasn’t allowed in Tiff’s room without the door being open. They did mellow some after my mother forced me to dress more like a girl, though. Mrs. Reynolds even complimented me on the change, especially when my hair started to get longer. Though to them, I was still the bad influence who was leading their daughter to Hell. Tiff joining the soccer team was my idea. Tiff wanting to get her ears pierced was apparently my idea too. Don’t even get me started about her dating. Last year, Ned Rogers asked Tiff to the Freshman dance. Being the good daughter she asked her parents for permission and not only did they flip out---she was too young---they actually blamed me.

I can only imagine Mrs. Reynolds reaction to her daughter sneaking off to join the boys’ soccer team.

Poor Tiff.

“So are you grounded?”

“Only for the weekend,” she said with a sigh. “Also, you’re grounded from the house for a month”

Nothing new there. After the Ned Incident, it was two months.

I loved Tiff to death but her parents were wackadoos.

“I’m sorry Jess”

“It’s ok,” I said and meant it too.

Hey, I’m not a bitch all the time. I knew she didn’t deliberately set out to get caught. It’s not my fault that Tiff had a weak constitution. Truthfully this was to my advantage. No offense to Tiff but she stuck out like a sore thumb. Unlike me, Mother Nature had been very kind to her. She was almost a C cup now and she had the curves to match. Her God fearing parents hated it of course but what could she do. Tiff inherited her mother’s figure and Mrs. Reynolds though a nut job was quite the looker. Before meeting her husband and finding God, Tiff’s Mom had been a bit of a wild child apparently. I know this because she and my mother used to go stomping about town together.

Though they were still friends, I don’t think Tiff’s mom ever really approved of my mother’s lifestyle.

I’d have to do this one without her.

“I’ll make the team for the both of us”

“Good luck”

I hung up after that, making sure to store my pink cell phone deep in my gym bag. Getting caught with a pink cell would be blood in the water to these guys. Especially to the very homophobe McGuire. To him being a girl was only a slight step up from being a “queer”. His words not mine. I had nothing wrong with it. Hell, my cousin and her girlfriend were awesome. The coach, on the other hand, was of that breed. You know that special kind of pond scum that stuck to everything and never seem to go away. How a man like him could even be in a position to teach youngsters was beyond me. Anything that was different was wrong to the Coach. He was that beer guzzling, gun waving, gay bashing asshole that everyone knew existed but pretended wasn’t really there. He gave the school championships and as long as he continued to do so, he still had a job. I was pretty certain that he somehow convinced the School Board that girls’ soccer wasn’t needed. He’d been trying to get rid of us for years because without us, his team would get the whole soccer budget.

Men like him made me sick.

I had no choice, though.

I wanted to play. I was born to play.

I made sure to walk as manly as I could toward the practice field. I wasn’t trying to fool anyone but I didn’t want to scream girl either. Tiff would have failed there too. McGuire would have taken one look at her and sent her packing. It didn’t matter how well she could play or not. Tiff could play too. All of us girls could. The coach would never see that, though. Our gender disqualified us in his eyes. A girl could be the best player in the school---able to run circles around his boys---and because she was lacking the necessary dangling bits, she was automatically a reject in his eye.

As I approached the field, I saw the guys assembling on the bleachers.

Most of the boys’ team was there. I say most because like us, they were down a few guys. After the float accident and losing two players, the coach made some cuts. He apparently took the disaster as a second attempt to purge his team of its dead weight. He dropped two more guys after that. Then he made the crazy announcement that everyone had to retryout in order to be considered for the team again. It was kind of unheard of but that’s McGuire for you.

Speaking of which, he was already in top form this morning.

Coach McGuire was a large bear of a man, over six five and build like The Rock. He struck a very imposing figure too with his bald head, barrel chest, and swagger. The coach was a former college linebacker, everyone knew that football was his real passion. After a busted knee, though, his shot at the pros went down the drain. I don’t know how he got into teaching and frankly, I didn’t care. After failing to secure the coveted football coach position, though, he settled for soccer. It was the closest thing to football he could get. He wasn’t happy about it either and he took that anger out on his players.

He was in the middle of a lecture when I dropped down next to one of the guys.

“Flynn!” he snapped, singling me out. “What the hell are you doing here?”

I gulped.

“I’m here to play soccer, sir,” I said, in the best macho sounding voice I could muster.

He eyed me like a wolf did a juicy sheep.

“We’ll see about that”

The tryouts started immediately after that.

Coach lived up to his rep as a hard ass. His first order of business was to weed out the “losers”. There were about twenty of us there to try out. Coach started us out with laps. Four times around the field. Two guys puked about halfway through. I heard him scream at them, telling them to “Get the hell off my field, you pansies!”. Another guy collapsed from exhaustion. As soon as the laps were done, it was pushups, sit-ups and jumping jacks. We lost two more. The coach didn’t get into the actual tryouts until two more guys were thrown out because they were “too soft”.

The coach didn’t let up.

He pushed us into drills as soon as the “losers” were gone.

And push us he did.

I thought Coach Ross was a slave driver with her drills but she had nothing on McGuire. He ran us through every drill imaginable and when we had enough, he made us do them all over again. Dribbling, attacking, defending, goalkeeping. You name it, we did it. He shouted at us the entire time too, calling us about every name you could think of. The guys from the team originally apparently had thick skin because the insults seemed to bounce off of them. A couple of the others, though, well let’s just say I’ve seen more teenage boys cry today than I’ve seen ever.
“Ok ladies, I’ve seen enough!’ the Coach finally announced after an hour of non-stop dribbling.

I was panting like crazy.

I wasn’t the only one either.

I looked to my left and saw Mark Riggins, bent over and panting just as badly. I knew Mark pretty well. We used to play on the middle school team together. It was a mixed team. Mark and I used to be co-captains. He was the only one I was afraid of right now. Partially because he kept staring at me throughout the whole ordeal. He knew, I could tell. He was a decent guy though so I’m hoping he was decent enough to keep his mouth shut.

“Now ladies, if I call your name, you’re on the team,” said the coach, holding his clipboard.

He’d been holding it this whole time, marking on it every so often as we went through hell.

I was in a fog while he called names. I knew I did well but it wasn’t good enough. The guys just had more endurance and power than me. As a girl, I knew it was a long shot. Hell, I actually thought McGuire was going to twig on me even before it started. I was just happy that he was too dense to see that I didn’t belong here. Well at least as far as he diluted mind went.

I was so in a fog that I didn’t hear him call my name.

“Hey that’s you,” said Mark, nudging me.

Blinking, I looked around in surprise.

Wait, did I just make the team?

The coach waved me over. I went rather reluctantly.

“You surprised the hell out of me Flynn,” he said with a laugh. “That doesn’t happen very often. I mean a weakling like you, you’ve never shown any kind of interest in sports before. In class, all you do is sit in the corner, on that damn phone of yours”

What the hell is talking about?

Wait, no…

‘You have guts, Flynn” he said, putting a hand on my shoulder. “I’m gonna put you in reserve, though. It’s still a team position but you just don’t have the power these other boys have. I want you to prove to me that you can, though. You do that, I’ll swap you out”

I nodded numbly.

I was in an even bigger fog than before. Sure I made the team but not in the way I expected. I inwardly groaned, it all made sense now. No wonder the coach didn’t toss me out the moment I showed up. He didn’t think I was Jessica Flynn, he thought I was my dorky brother. Looking down at myself, I could see why. I was after all pretty boyish looking, added to the fact that I was wearing my brother’s clothes, my hair was pulled into a low ponytail and well I was my brother’s twin.

Damn it.

“Now why don’t you go hit the showers and we’ll talk more on Monday”

I nodded again.

I walked off the field, definitely not heading toward the showers. I was lacking something very important to shower with the boys after all. Shit, this was so fucked up. The moron thought I was a boy. Was he that blind or that stupid? Not only did he think I was a boy, he thought I was my dork brother. My dork brother who just made the boys’ soccer team. This was bad, this was very bad. I was in so much trouble. As soon as Monday got around, the coach was gonna know that I wasn’t Jordan. They’d want me to undress with them in the locker room before games and shower with them afterward. Not only that but I’d have to pretend to be my brother the whole time. All of that, of course, hinged on the fact that Jordan didn’t find out in the first place.

I know he’d come clean as soon as he did.

I was so screwed.

“Jordan!” shouted a voice from behind me, followed by heavy footfall.

I turned and saw Mark running toward me. At first, I panicked because I thought the dweeb was here too. That is until I realized he was talking to me. Shit, he thought I was Jordan too. Probably the whole time.

“Hey Mark,” I said, trying to play it cool.

Thankfully Jordan didn’t have one of those deep manly voices. The fact that my brother was so much like me might play to my advantage a bit.

“You were awesome out there,” said Mark, running a hand over his sandy blonde buzz cut.

Mark had great hair.

Hell, he had great everything.

I used to have a minor crush on him back when we used to play together. Even when he was this geeky, gangly kid with all those freckles. The freckles I was happy to see were still there. The rest of him though was quite different. Still tall but less gangly. Puberty had been kind to Mark as well. He’d grown out of that awkward dork stage and into a man. His shirt was currently off and his well-toned muscles glistened with sweat. I felt a tightness in my chest and twitch below the waist. I couldn’t help but stare at him.

“You ok?” he asked, giving me a concerned look.

“Yeah, just a bit rundown,” I said, recovering quickly.

Shit, I was checking him out and nearly blew it.

“I know what you mean. Mad McGuire runs us like that all the time. I’m used to it but you held your own. I didn’t think you had it in you, to be honest. In gym you just kinda well you know. It’s pretty cool, though. I thought your sister was the soccer star, though?”

I shrugged. “I got tired of her hogging all the spotlight”

“Cool,” he said, smiling. “Well, I gotta hit the showers now. I’ll see ya Monday at school”

He turned and bolted away.

My eyes drifted to his butt as he ran off.

Shit.

Not good girl, not good at all. My whole body was still tingling. Cursing, I turned and ran to my car as fast as I could. This was bad, all of this was bad.

What the hell was I going to do now?

Author’s note: As I’m sure all of you know, comments are life blood to an author. I’m not begging or demanding, but I certainly would appreciate anything you have to say (or ask). It doesn’t have to be long and involved, just give me your reaction to the story. Thanks in advance...EOF



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