Hefty

  HEFTY

  Jessa Kane

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Epilogue

  1

  Jill

  I’m standing outside the school and everyone is crowded around talking about homecoming. Actually, it’s the only thing anyone talks about anymore.

  In just over a week, we will embark on the biggest night of our lives.

  So far.

  Hair will be styled. Push-up bras will be worn. Pictures will be taken.

  Couples who can’t make it to prom are planning to go all the way.

  I haven’t been asked to the big dance yet.

  Okay, technically, I have been avoiding anyone who might ask me, because there is only one person I want to go with. There is only one boy I’ve dreamed of picking me up in his truck, corsage in hand, ever since I was a little girl.

  Zach O’Meara.

  I almost melt down onto the steps of Juniper High School’s main building, wanting to sink into his name like a hot bubble bath. If I was home right now, I would probably be doodling his name in my notebook margins or staring at the eleven billion pictures we’ve taken together over the years.

  See, Zach is my best friend, Harper’s, twin brother.

  But it’s not one of those big, groundbreaking secrets that could ruin my friendship with Harper if she finds out I’ve been pining for her twin brother since we were children. No, my best friend is well aware that I would sacrifice a limb for one of Zach’s smiles. However, besides my mother, Harper is the only one in the world who knows about my mega crush—and she has been sworn to secrecy.

  “You’re being obvious,” Harper mutters in my ear now, briefly breaking from the group discussion about who the quarterback is going to ask to homecoming. “I mean, you could at least pretend you’re interested in the conversation.”

  “I am interested,” I insist, proving it by nodding at my closest classmate. “Everyone wants to know who Miguel is going to ask. But it’s also the same thing we’ve been discussing for a month.”

  “Yeah, well. He hasn’t asked anyone yet. People are getting antsy.” Harper gives me a pointed look. “Have you been avoiding him?”

  I wince. “Maybe a little.”

  And by little, I mean I’ve been sneaking through campus in a hoodie and sunglasses and refusing to text Miguel back. Not to mention avoiding my locker like the plague.

  “Jesus, Jill, you could do worse than the hottest guy in school.” She sighs. “You can’t keep waiting around for my brother to ask you.”

  I’m still stuck on her claim that Miguel is the hottest guy in school. Yes, he’s attractive. Being the star quarterback doesn’t hurt. Every senior in our grade has some kind of fixation on him, whether it’s a crush or hero envy. But he’s not my type. Not at all.

  Zach is my type.

  Although, there is no one like him. So maybe that’s not the correct term.

  Zach O’Meara is my person. My it. My dream man.

  As if my mental swooning has drawn him forth, the man himself strides around the side of the building and everything stutters into slow motion. The conversation turns to static around me and my palms start to sweat. One might think I would be used to Zach’s effect on me by now. I’ve spent the night at his house hundreds of times. He was there when I got my first period at Harper’s thirteenth birthday party, sitting with me while I sobbed on the stairs, rubbing my back with one hand, Googling what to do with the other. He carried me off the field freshman year when I sprained my ankle cheerleading during a football game.

  He’s been my hero since I can remember.

  But he couldn’t be less interested in me romantically.

  I’m just his sister’s friend. Nothing more.

  He’s almost reached the group now and I’m trying not to stare, but failing. Miserably.

  Looks-wise, Zach is the opposite of Miguel.

  Where Miguel is all lithe muscles, trim frame and boyish good looks, Zach is a big, beautiful bear of a man. He’s not soft and cuddly, though. He plays defensive lineman on the football team and no one gets through him. Strapping doesn’t begin to describe him, either. He is muscular, thick, impenetrable. Hefty. Just brushing six foot three. He carries extra weight and the way it is distributed literally keeps me awake at night. Just daydreaming of those generous thighs and the hard mound of his stomach pinning me down.

  I’d never get away.

  I’d never want to.

  “Hey, Harps,” Zach rumbles when he reaches us, his green eyes ticking from his sister over to me. “Jilly Beans.”

  “Oh hey, Zach,” I breathe, twisting my long blonde hair around my finger.

  Oh God, stop doing that.

  He’s going to know you’re in love with him.

  “How was practice?” I blurt, lovingly tracing his blunt, grass-stained fingers with my eyes. “All set for the East Hills game tomorrow?”

  He nods once. “Yeah.”

  Did I mention Zach is a man of few words?

  It’s just another thing I love about him. He doesn’t waste his breath unless what he’s saying is truly important. Necessary. Meanwhile I’m a total rambler. That’s probably why he never hangs out for very long anymore when I come over. He’s escaping.

  “Everyone is still talking about who is going to ask who to the homecoming dance,” I say to him, despite my self-directed command not to word vomit in front of Zach. “Heavy speculation on the wrestling team going in one big bro herd. Their girlfriends are not pleased. They might even ask other guys, so extra chaperones have been hired in case homecoming turns into like, one big, jealousy-fueled wrestle match for honor? Have you…what about you? Are you going? Have you asked anyone?” I suck down oxygen at the end of all that because I have once again forgotten to breathe.

  It’s the Zach Effect.

  How come the other girls seem immune?

  Don’t they have eyes?

  “I’m skipping it,” Zach says, still watching me closely. Probably because I’m pale from lack of oxygen. “Have you been asked yet?”

  I laugh and playfully bat his perfect, perfect arm. “Your question implies that I will definitely be asked.”

  “Yeah, I know. You will.”

  “Will I?”

  His dark brows draw together slightly. And Zach is so stoic, that shift of his features is the equivalent of him looking at me like I’m insane.

  “I mean…” I adjust my backpack and he automatically takes it from me, throwing it over his giant shoulder. “Thank you. Um. There might be a-a few people who could potentially ask, but I don’t know. Maybe I’ll skip it, too.”

  Those brows draw a fraction of a centimeter closer together. “You’re the head cheerleader. Of course you’re going to the homecoming dance.”

  Ask me. Ask me, please.

  I’ll never wish for anything ever again.

  I shrug, casually. As if my whole world isn’t hanging in the balance. “It’s not like the squad is performing at the dance. It’s not mandatory.”

  “You know what I mean. You’re…”

  Silly.

  Frivolous.

  Girly.

  The kind of chick who has been planning her ensemble since middle school.

  Ugh. I totally am all of those things, aren’t I?

  Zach would probably rather gnaw his legs off than have to listen to me all night. He’s not just the best defensive lineman in the county, he’s also super smart. Studious. I’m a B student with good hair who luckily happens to have a flawless toe touch. Zach has never had a girlfriend, but if he did, I bet they would go to an art exhibit on the ni
ght of homecoming and never give all the pomp and circumstance a second thought. Zach is meant for amazing things. Things way beyond high school glory.

  Maybe he recognizes that I’m not?

  I have to work really hard for those Bs. Especially in math.

  I’m only the head cheerleader for one more year…and then what?

  Whatever Zach was going to say is interrupted when Harper slides her arm through mine. “Ready to go, Z-man?”

  He stares at me for another couple seconds, then grunts.

  Turns and stalks toward the parking lot.

  Harper snickers at her brother’s back and hauls me along, though my legs feel like they’re stuck in mud. If Zach was ever going to ask me, I just gave him a huge opening and he didn’t walk through it. Time to face facts. I’m not going to homecoming with Zach O’Meara. And that means…I’m not going to homecoming at all. Maybe it’s dramatic, but I don’t want to sacrifice my dream or substitute it in my head for something else. I’m sure I’ll find somewhere to wear my strapless emerald green gown. Like a ball. Or a costume party.

  Harper hips bumps me. “Chin up, Harding.”

  “It’s up,” I say, forcing a smile.

  We pile into the front cab of Zach’s truck, Harper in the middle, me crammed up against the passenger door. On the ride home, I pretend to stare out the window at the farmland spread out for miles, but I’m busy inhaling his scent of oatmeal soap and fresh grass.

  As has been our routine since Zach got his driver’s license and used five years of paper route money to buy this truck, I’m dropped off outside of my house first.

  “See you tomorrow, Harps,” I say, as cheerfully as possible, though for some reason Zach is frowning at me from the driver’s seat. “Night, Zach.”

  He makes a sound in his throat.

  “I’ll text you,” Harper sings, scrolling through her phone.

  I wait for Zach to give me his speech. The same one he gives me every time he drops me off. The one that makes me feel safe and cared for, even if he’s just being polite.

  “Lock the door,” he says. “Stay inside until your parents get home.”

  My heart lifts. “’kay.”

  I close the passenger door and jog up the driveway, kneeling down on the porch to take the key from my backpack, before letting myself in. When I have a foot over the threshold, the truck still doesn’t pull away. He always waits until I’m inside with the door closed.

  Just being polite.

  2

  Zach

  I could pick her voice out of a million others.

  It’s with me now on the field as she cheers from the sideline.

  It’s with me in my sleep.

  Jill Harding.

  The girl who has always owned my heart.

  I struggle not to glance over at her now, to make sure she’s all right. I have a hard time concentrating at away games because I don’t like Jill being in unfamiliar—and often hostile—territory. And I can’t be in two places at once. If I had my pick, I would walk off the field right now and find a discreet but nearby place to stand and look out for her. But I don’t have a choice. Not really. Because what would that look like? The ugly, hulking linebacker stalking the sweet, gorgeous little cheer captain. I’d embarrass her. Hell, I’d embarrass myself.

  It doesn’t help my mood that my teammates were talking about her in the locker room. Wondering out loud why the prettiest girl in school doesn’t have a homecoming date yet. They reached the conclusion I reached weeks ago—Jill is waiting for Miguel to ask her. And that makes sense, doesn’t it? The head cheerleader going to the dance with the quarterback.

  The offensive lineman directly across from me blanches, the color leeching from his face and I realize I must look deranged, biting down on my mouthpiece hard enough to cut through the rubber, my fingers digging into the sod.

  My coach and teammates think I’m ruthless by nature. I’m not.

  I’m only on this team so I can keep an eye on Jill without being obvious.

  But then I have these moments, these bursts of frustration and they translate into me making the all-county team three years running. It might be kind of funny if it wasn’t so tragic. The lineman mooning over the girl who is light years out of his fucking league, spending hours practicing and attending games, just so nobody tries to mess with her on the bus rides.

  The ball gets snapped and I plow through their lineman, diving for the quarterback and wrapping an arm around his waist, dragging him down to the ground. Our cheering section is still huge at away games and they go crazy now, but all I hear is her voice.

  Go, Zach! Oh my God! That’s his third sack!

  They launch into a cheer and I chance a look over at the sidelines while we wait for the offense to finish their huddle. There she is. The girl who is a terrible singer, sleeps in a fluffy pink eye mask and dressed up as Judge Judy three Halloweens in a row. The girl who is kind to everyone, even the people who hate her on sight because they assume she’s a cliché. She’s not. She is goofy, she always supports an underdog and will pick up bugs and spiders with her bare hands. When my grandmother passed away, she came over and cooked for our family for two weeks. And she burned most of it, but I savored every bite. Damn, she’s so beautiful. My fucking heart can barely keep up with the beats required to be this close to her.

  We win the game.

  Afterward, I head for the bus, but I don’t see Jill. Not even in the group of cheerleaders. Her blonde hair tied up in its red, game night bow is nowhere to be found and I panic. Acid spears up into my chest and sounds are tinny, the ground seems to expand and contract under my feet. What if she wandered into the rival stands and they hurt her?

  I throw my helmet down on the ground. Ignoring the questioning looks from my teammates, I dig through the pocket of my sweatshirt for my phone. Not wanting to freak her out or show my hand, I rarely call her unless it’s an emergency, but she should be here. She should be here and she’s not.

  Her voice in my ear stops my pulse and restarts it. “Hey, Zach.”

  I take several centering breaths and I still sound like I’m being strangled. She sounds okay. Doesn’t sound hurt. Calm down. “Where are you?”

  “Oh, I hopped on the bus already.” My eyes tick to the row of windows. There she is, her giant bow peeking over the sill of the very last one. She pinkie waves at me. “Hi.”

  Absently, I hear Miguel asking the group of cheerleaders if they’ve seen Jill and my hand squeezes around the phone until it creaks. He’s going to ask her to homecoming. I’ve seen it coming. But the closer the day gets, the harder it gets for me not to deck the motherfucker. And the worst part is, he’s a pretty nice guy. I’d even let my sister date him. But him with Jill? Agonizing. “Why are you on the bus early? Was someone bothering you?”

  “No. No, not at all. I, um…wanted to finish up this podcast. It’s about the mating habits of the Atlantic walrus. Fascinating stuff.”

  My mouth threatens a smile.

  That’s another thing about Jill. I might have been studying her for years. I might know her better than anyone. And I still never know what is going to come out of her mouth.

  “Do you…” Her breath strokes my ear. “Do you want to be an early bird with me?”

  Do I want to cram my enormous, sweaty body into a seat with her sweet-smelling, perfectly formed one? Yes, and no. Yes, because being with her is when I’m happiest. No, because won’t I repulse her? I’m not exactly at my freshest right now. And I’m always like a mountain in comparison to her. “You don’t want to sit with your friends?”

  “You are my friend.” There’s a pause. “I-I mean…aren’t you?”

  “Of course I am,” I say gruffly.

  Maybe not such a great one, though. Since I’ve been beating off to her relentlessly since eighth grade and spend a sick amount of time wondering what it would be like to slide my tongue through the softness of her pussy. Sitting next to her will be a cross between paradise and hell, but I
can’t stand the thought of her questioning our friendship, so I stow my gear in the open luggage compartment and lumber onto the bus. My bulk hits every seat on my way to the rear of the vehicle and heat climbs my neck. But I forget everything and just try to breathe when I reach the final seat and there’s Jill, waiting for me with her sunshine smile.

  “Great game,” Jill says, smoothing her cheerleading skirt.

  I sit down beside her and try not to take up every inch of available space. “Thanks, Jilly Beans.” Our thighs press together and my dick turns rock hard, making it necessary to tug my jersey down to cover the growing bulge in my football pants. Breathe. “How was it on the sidelines?”

  “Oh, you know.” She forces a laugh. “The usual.”

  “No, I don’t know. What’s the usual?”

  She makes a wishy-washy sound and I study the play of shadow and light on her beautiful face. “Some of the students do the chants, some of them just mock us.”

  Something hardens in my throat. “This is the first I’m hearing of this.”

  “It’s not a big deal. They probably just think…I don’t know. Because we’re cheerleaders and considered popular that we’re immune to criticism. Or we need to be taken down a peg.” She shrugs a shoulder. “It doesn’t matter to me. I don’t do it for them.”

  “Who do you do it for?”

  “You.” Twin spots appear on her cheeks. “I-I mean the team.”

  Mainly the quarterback? I swallow that uncomfortable thought. “If anyone says something out of line, I want to know about it.”

  She nods. “Okay.”

  My teammates start to board the bus, followed by the laughing cheerleaders and coaches. Is it my imagination or does Jill sink down farther into the seat? Does she not want to be seen sitting next to me? “I can move,” I offer.

  “Why?” She wets her lips. “Am I talking too much?”

  “What?” I chuckle over her question. “No.”