“I assume you said no.”
I feel her body tense. “Obviously.”
The more I get to know her, the more apparent it is that she’s desperate to separate herself from her father. To stand on her own merit.
She relaxes a moment later. “Sorry. That sounded harsh. It’s just…” Her sigh warms my chest. “That nepotism comment you made a while ago is constantly in the back of my mind now. It eats at me.”
A pang of guilt tugs at me. “I’m sorry. I should never have said that.”
“It’s always been a fear of mine. I think you just made me face it. And I hate facing it.”
“Yeah, I hear you. Facing things sucks.”
She lifts her head to grin at me. But the humor doesn’t last. She settles back, her soft hair brushing my chin.
“I also hate that I’m in this position in the first place. I hate wondering whether Brad Fairlee is purposely denying me the opportunity. People keep telling me what a good coach he is. Impartial. I want to believe he gave me that criticism because he genuinely wants me to improve my game and not because he’s trying to keep me off the team.”
My forehead creases. “Why would he do that?”
“I have history with his daughter. We were best friends growing up.”
When Gigi’s fingers stiffen, I slowly loosen each one, pressing her palm flat my chest.
“Did you get in a fight or something?” I ask.
“You could say that. She got involved with my brother senior year, even after I warned her that Wyatt was never going to commit. He didn’t want a girlfriend. Still doesn’t, three years later. But Emma did that delusional girl thing where they pretend they’re okay with no strings. Or maybe it’s not delusional—maybe they actually convince themselves of it, but then they have sex a couple times and start planning the wedding. Either way, Wyatt bailed the second she tried to wrangle a commitment out of him, and she went scorched earth on his ass. Spreading rumors about him at school. Telling people how awful he was.”
Sorrow and contempt mingle in her voice. “Emma and I were inseparable since the second grade, and she took a match to our friendship and lit it on fire. Spread rumors about me too. Posted really embarrassing stuff online, things I’d told her in confidence, screenshots of old chats where I admitted my boyfriend Adam wasn’t that great in bed.”
“Damn,” I marvel. Women have truly mastered the art of social media warfare.
“So then Adam broke up with me. And started dating Emma, of course. Our mutual friends all pulled away from her because they’d seen her nasty side. She started commenting on other people’s posts with snarky comments about me and Wyatt and everyone who bailed on her. Or posting her own passive-aggressive bullshit.” Her voice becomes harder now. Angry. “Honestly, all that shit was minor. Juvenile. I don’t care that she tried to make me choose between her and Wyatt. Or that she slandered me afterward. Stole my boyfriend. It’s that she had the audacity to try to hurt my mom.”
“How’d she do that?” I roll onto my side so I can see her face. Her gray eyes are on fire.
“It was a couple months after graduation. My mom was out of town recording an album with some artist, I can’t remember who. And Wyatt had just taken off on a road trip with friends. So Dad and I were fending for ourselves that summer.”
I’m not sure where this is going, but it doesn’t sound good.
“Emma called me under the guise she wanted to patch up our friendship. And because of our history, I agreed to hear her out. But I was running a kid’s hockey camp that week and wasn’t done till later in the day. I guess I mentioned on the phone that it was only Dad and me at the house, although I don’t remember how it came up. I told her to come by later if she still wanted to talk.” Gigi laughs in amazement. “Instead, this girl shows up at my house when I’m at camp and sneaks in using the spare key. Then she gets naked, drapes herself on my parents’ bed, and tries to seduce my dad when he walks in.”
“Are you serious?”
“Yup.” Gigi sounds livid. “For a while afterward, we were all afraid she would throw out crazy accusations, make a false claim that he tried to do something to her. She seemed unstable enough to do that. But I think even Emma’s not foolish enough to spread that level of hate. All her lies and rumors were always just shy of actually destroying anyone’s life. Mostly petty gossip.”
Gigi sits up, still naked. My eyes flit to her bare breasts, and although my dick twitches slightly, the mood is too somber for anything more than a twitch right now.
“Can I tell you a secret?” she says, biting her lip.
“Sure?”
“I loathe her.”
I snort. “I mean, I don’t blame you.”
“I’ve never said that out loud.”
“Really? You couldn’t say you hate her even after she exposed all your secrets on the internet? Feels like major betrayal in girl world.”
“It is. But I still always tried to take the high road. Find some compassion. Her mother abandoned her when she was twelve. Her father spoiled her to make up for that.” Gigi sighs. “My parents raised me to try to see the best in people. I always try not to drag them.”
“She dragged you. You’re allowed to be pissed.”
“That’s what my friends say. It drives them nuts that I don’t want to sit around and trash Emma. It’s not that I forgive her or feel any goodwill toward her—I trash her plenty in my head. But I never say it out loud. I feel like I’m not…allowed to be hateful.”
I’m curious to understand that. “Because it’s bad for your own well-being?” I ask. “Or because of some toxic positivity bullshit that says you must be nice to everyone, even those who don’t deserve it?”
She shifts uneasily. “I’ve never really thought about why. I guess it feels like I’m not allowed to.”
“Why not?”
“Because I have all these opportunities in my life. I’m not some victim. I’ve had it so good up until now. It feels selfish to bitch about my problems.”
“It’s not selfish, it’s natural. I’m allowed to get pissed when people piss me off, no matter how many or how few problems I have in my life. That chick Carma? She switched off my alarm the night she stayed over and made me late for practice. Dead to me now.”
Gigi grins at me. “That’s harsh.”
“You don’t owe people your forgiveness.”
“You forgive for yourself, not for them.” She sounds distraught now. “That’s why it upsets me. What does it say about me that I’m perfectly okay holding on to the hatred?”
“If it’s not harming you, who cares?”
“I want to be a good person.”
“Who says you’re not?”
She lies down beside me again, growing quiet. Once again, her fingers drag over my abs. With each absentminded downstroke, her elbow nudges my penis. It rests heavy on my leg, only semihard, but the more contact is made, the less semi it gets.
Gigi eventually notices.
“Who would’ve thought,” she marvels in amusement. “Deep conversations get your dick hard.”