Saving Throw

Nail Polish

I sat on top of Drew’s sheets, sculpting the tip of my pink thumbnail with a file. The polish was beginning to chip around the cuticle. I grimaced. I wouldn’t have time to completely repaint it when I got home before the lacrosse game, so I was going to have to settle for a rushed touch-up job. Luckily it was cloudy out, so no one would notice if the shine turned out uneven.

Drew was still half under the covers, watching me. I hadn’t bothered to put my top back on. I assumed he was enjoying the view, although I really couldn’t care less. I was tired of pink. It was stupid how often I painted them that hue, or, more accurately, it was stupid how many bottles of pink polish I owned and felt obligated to wear because of it. There was always that lilac color Stephanie had gotten me for Secret Santa. It was some no-name brand, but Christmas had happened long enough ago that no one would remember, and I could probably spice it up with the jewelry top coat I got from Sephora.

“Did you like it?”

“Hmm?” I looked down at him. He still hadn’t caught his breath, and his hair was a blond mess of gel and sweat sticking out in all directions. He wasn’t ogling me. His stare, given the rest of him, was unsettlingly thoughtful. I looked away.

“We just fucked and you’re looking at your nails,” he said.

“We fuck all the time.” Now that I thought about it, I did have a blouse the same color as that polish. Would pairing those be tacky? I’d have to try it.

“I just wanna know if you’re into it.”

“I’m not gonna act like my mind is blown every time you do me,” I said.

“But you like it.”

“Course.”

I did like it. Drew happened to have one of the hottest bodies I’ve ever had the pleasure of riding. Football does that. That was exactly why I wasn’t looking at him. It was almost four o’clock, I had places to be. If he was in my field of vision too long, I would get all distracted, and then we’d have another go at it and I would never make it to the game.

“My dad’ll be home soon,” Drew said.

I pulled a hairbrush out of my purse, and started pulling apart the knots he made in my hair as he put his boxers back on. I turned to look at him too early, catching a peek of his lower torso before he covered it completely. Dammit. I fought down the urges— I didn’t want to mess up my hair again— but I had to at least humor the urge.

“Same time tomorrow?” Initiating something in the future was better than nothing at all.

“You got a game?” he asked.

“Shouldn’t.”

“You want to come over for dinner tomorrow then?” There was something about his voice, the way he enunciated his words, which suggested that he’d had the question on his mind for a while. This was a test, and I couldn’t immediately tell what the correct answer was.

“With your parents?”

“Yeah.”

I had been worried something like this would happen. For someone with such a male body, Drew was feminine on the inside. He never said what he meant. It was like dating a mine field.

“Well?”

“You sure you want to show me off to them?” I asked, putting my clothes back on.

“My dad’s been asking,” he admitted. “He wants to get to know you, like your plans for college and stuff.”

College. I should have known. Drew knew perfectly well that I had zero plans. It was clear now— he wanted to see if I would follow him to whichever college his immanent football scholarship took him. It all came down to commitment, as usual.

I mulled over the options, and was about to say yes, just to play it safe, when he pulled his shirt down over his chest. The space that his bare torso had taken up in my brain was suddenly replaced with all the various reasons why dinner with Drew Callahan’s family would suck. His dad looked like a cow with a brain tumor. His mother thought a gallon of cheap perfume could cover the fact that she smokes a pack a day. His little sister had walked in on me and Drew at least three times at that point—I was convinced that she was making an effort—and bribing her with chocolate bars probably wouldn’t work for much longer.

“I’ll think about it,” I finally said.

He didn’t respond.

Once we were presentable, Drew walked me out to the my car, a violet convertible I had gotten new for my 16th birthday a little less than a year ago. I gave him a quick kiss, as not to leave him completely cold.

“Call me when you decide?” he whispered as I pulled away.

“Alright.”

I hesitated for a moment, to see if he would open the door for me like he usually did. He didn’t. I opened it myself and drove off.

Things were getting out of hand, I realized. I had been in enough relationships to know when one was falling apart, and this was anything but optimal. Although I would have been more than happy to be rid of Drew the person a while ago, I wasn’t ready to give up the sex quite yet. Just a few more times would do. Besides, junior prom was four days away, and Lydia Dodson would never be caught dead at a school function without a man on her arm. Well, it was getting harder and harder for me to think of Drew as a man, but a pussy in jock’s clothing would do. No one would know the difference.

It was decided. I would keep him for another week, and then dump him on the last day of school. That way I could have the rest of my fun and clear up my vacation for someone new. My parents were forcing me to stay at my aunt’s place out west the whole summer, and I wanted to make the most of it.

I didn’t call Drew that night, or any time the next day. I didn’t even show up at the arranged time. Instead, I spent the day with Bobbi and Samantha and Kayla and a few other girls at the mall. The day after that I told Drew that it was an emergency, that Kayla had been dumped over Facebook and needed some quality girl time with her besties to calm down. Conveniently enough, that was true. Sort of. Kayla didn’t trust me and would never confide in me about a broken heart, but the world thought we were best friends, so that’s all Drew needed to know. He bought it.