Page 47 of Tainted Love

Anyway, I’m actually proud of Sascha. Her revenge was measured and on par with the intensity of my prank. I didn’t see it coming until I pulled my stick out of my locker today. But I can’t get into that with Coach.

“And what are you hoping to accomplish here, son?” he asks.

“Psychological warfare, Coach,” I manage to say with a straight face. The laughs are now erupting from several guys behind me.

“Psychological warfare,” he repeats. “Do you think the Blazers will be intimidated by a kitten with a little red bow?”

“I’m not sure, Coach,” I respond with a smirk. “I find it a little scary.”

“Tazman, I have half a mind to drug test you. Are you on dope, son?”

This time I laugh because hearing my coach say “dope” is hilarious.

“No, sir,” I say between chuckles.

“Mmhm,” he mumbles skeptically. “Well, it’s against league rules. White tape only for games, so remove that shit by Wednesday.”

“Yes, Coach.”

“Get out of my face now,” he says dismissively.

I’ve been considering saying something to Sascha all week about it, but she’s been avoiding me more than usual. I have a theory: She can’t handle facing the intensity of her attraction to me. I’m simply biding my time while she comes to terms with it.

It didn’t help that I snuck into her room again last night. We only touched feet again, but that big-toe electricity was evident. As usual, we both chose to ignore it today. We drove to school separately, acting like nothing had changed between us. But there are moments like this afternoon when it’s clear that our relationship is evolving.

Sascha’s parents are gone for the afternoon, so I decided to do what any red-blooded American male my age would do with a bright, sunny day and time on his hands. I set up a lounge chair, put on my cheets, threw some Sun In in my hair, and lay in the sun.

“What in the name of all that is holy is happening right now?”

I had dozed off on my stomach, my lucky undies bunched between my cheeks to tan my ass. The sun had been warm and comforting against my back, lulling me into a peaceful slumber. But now, the sudden intrusion of Sascha’s voice jolts me awake.

I peel my sweaty face off my forearm and look up at her, squinting against the brightness of the midday sun. She appears almost ethereal, like some kind of dark angel, with her frame partially blocking its harsh rays.

As I wipe the drool from my chin, I can see the incredulous look on her face. She seems confused by what she sees, but I fail to understand why.

I flip over onto my back and address her with a lazy smile. “Sun’s out, bun’s out. Put on a suit, grab the baby oil, and join me.”

She narrows her eyes at me like I’m insane, as if I suggested she join Ivy’s cult or something equally ridiculous.

I raise an eyebrow in confusion. “What?” I ask, eager for her response.

“You’re such an idiot,” she retorts, a smirk playing on her lips. “Your hair is turning orange.”

I shrug, “Yeah, it’s about time for another round of bleaching.”

“What’s the purpose of constantly bleaching your hair?” she questions curiously.

“Why not?” I counter with a chuckle.

Her laughter resounds. “You always have such well-thought-out explanations.”

“About as much thought as you put into your insults,” I retort sarcastically, a smile playing on my own lips.

She pops a hip and removes her sunglasses, showing me the playfulness behind her green eyes. “Get dressed,” she says.

“Why?”

“Just put your ass away and get dressed,” she instructs.