Found by You Page 2

  The short dude pointed at me. “We’ll let it go this time, Griffin, but I suggest you and your team start playing the way you should.”

  This guy really had no intimidation points left, and I think he knew it because he ran off with his ‘partner’ before I could respond.

  Turning, I had to give this girl Roxie a light round of applause. Five foot nothing and she managed to chase away two grown men. Well, at least one and a half grown men.

  “That was awesome,” I told her.

  Grinning her full lips, she shrugged. “No big. People sometimes forget that all anonymity goes out the window when you leave your profile icon on.”

  I crossed my arms. “Still. It was brilliant.”

  Biting her lip, she dipped her head. This girl was a shy one, though by what she just did she could have fooled me.

  I held out my hand for her to shake. “I’m Griffin. Griffin Chandler.”

  Pushing her laundry bag up on her shoulder, she took my hand. She was very smooth. Her skin that is. “Roxie Peterson.”

  I nodded. Taking back my hand, I pushed them both into my pockets. “So you work at the Heath Center’s chat line?”

  She shook her head, her long hair flowing. “Not really. I participate in an intermural on Thursday nights. Our group volunteered to do the help line. A onetime thing.”

  She played sports? I wondered which one and why I hadn’t seen her before. My team practiced nearly every night in the largest of the four gyms. I should have passed her at least once. I wanted to inquire about what she played, but she was already moving away from me.

  I caught up to her in only two strides to the maybe six she took. She was struggling with the not one, but two bags on her shoulder. One looked to be a laptop bag, the other a laundry bag. I thought to help her.

  “Hey, let me get that for you,” I said, reaching for the computer bag first. “What building are you headed to? I can walk you.”

  She raised her hands. “No. It’s fine—”

  “Don’t be silly. You shouldn’t be walking around this late by yourself. You saw those guys.” I managed to get the computer bag off her shoulder, but when I grabbed for the laundry she backed away.

  “Really, Griffin. You don’t have to. You’ve got your own laundry,” she said, motioning to my abandoned white hamper I tossed before the fight.

  I’d nearly forgotten about that, but I wanted to help her. My stuff could wait. “It’s no big deal.”

  I got her other bag, and I had to pause, not because it was heavy, but because of the wave of scent that hit the chilled night air when I did. The smell I recognized instantly, and my awareness drifted off at the pull of it. That smell was the reason I was rushing back down to the laundry room so quickly, trying to get there before I ran out of time.

  I must have been in daze because suddenly the bag was off my shoulder and back on Roxie’s arm. She took her computer bag then stepped back away from me.

  “Goodnight, Griffin,” she said simply before turning around.

  I went to move after her, but I had a strong feeling my efforts would only end in defeat. At five foot nothing, Roxie Peterson had some fight. That was one thing I knew for sure.

  I cupped my mouth with my hand. “I’ll figure out a way to return the favor for tonight. Don’t think this is over.”

  Her head moved only slightly to look over her shoulder, but she didn’t stop. Nor did she turn around. Facing forward, she turned the corner and that was the last I saw of Super Girl Roxie Peterson.

  Smiling to myself, I picked up my basket and ran inside. I went to the dryer I always went to dry my things in. At first I only used that dryer because someone always left time on it, but that changed when I opened it.

  I did just that, opening it like I had weeks prior, and that familiar smell of warm brown sugar and softener sheets hit my nose like it did the first time. I finally knew the owner of that smell as I filled the dryer with my wet clothes.

  Roxie.

  Chapter Three

  Roxie

  “So Griffin Chandler offered to help you take your laundry back to your apartment,” Clare said, lacing up her skates, “and you basically swatted him away and left him standing there?” Lowering her skates from the locker room bench, she eyed me.

  Since her description was basically spot on, I could do nothing but gnaw my lip. “I didn’t handle that very well, did I?”

  Chuckling, Clare stood. Her derby girl name, Miss B. Haven, shone on her back as she wheeled her way on eight wheels to her locker ahead. “He was just trying to be nice, Rox. You know, since you did something nice for him? It’s called a favor.”

  Groaning, I finished tying my own skates, bowing the neon straps. “I know, but the whole situation was already so weird and awkward. Frankly, I just wanted it to be over.”

  He was Griffin Chandler. Griffin freakin’ Chandler. The man was a legend at Ridgemore-U. I wasn’t even into basketball, and I knew he was one of the top picks to go professional after he graduated. He was one of those untouchable people, the ones you always heard about but never had direct contact with. His existence, who he was and all he was about, had always been imagined by me. The vision of which I had created through the glass wall that separated us during those casual nights in the laundry room. But when I saw those guys challenging him, I couldn’t help shattering the wall. It may have been impulsive, stupid even, but it didn’t feel right to sit back and do nothing.

  I’d probably spend the whole rest of my senior year trying to block out what happened. How inappropriate it was for me to step in and how dumb I most likely looked doing it, even if the situation had worked out.

  I rubbed my temples to relieve my internal frustrations. “God, I probably looked like an idiot. I completely shot off at the mouth.”

  “I highly doubt that considering what you told me you did,” Clare said, shoving her high top sneakers into her locker. “I still can’t believe what you said. Simply beautiful, my friend. Couldn’t have handled that better myself.”

  My lips threatened to smile. I shrugged, moving my feet out of the walkway of the other derby girls around us. Our university only let us use the smallest of the school’s four gyms for practices and bouts, like tonight’s match. Because of that, we had to share with our competitors. Our little locker room was packed tonight.

  “It just didn’t feel right not doing anything,” I said once the girls cleared the walkway. “I guess I got lucky that I had some dirt on those guys. They were huge, at least one of them was anyway, and Griffin was actually going to tussle with him.”

  I was blown away seeing him there, standing up to two brothers like that. That would have intimidated any guy, but not Griffin. It kind of made me see him differently. It added a touch of swagger on top of the mental image I had created of him, and that was definitely not a bad thing.

  “I suppose it helps that he’s huge himself. Still, one against two, the guy’s definitely got some cojones. We could use some of that for the bout. You think he’d want to join the Venomous Vixens?” she asked, strutting our team colors of black and pink while placing her hands on her trim hips.

  I laughed, packing my own shoes into my locker. The black boots were thick, but I always managed. “The shorts may be a bit short for him.”

  Those things always rode up. If a girl had cellulite, the world would know. That fact made me almost grateful that no one at the school cared enough about roller derby to show up for our bouts. The environment was lax, and we all felt comfortable in our skin to play the best game we could. Still, it would be nice to get a nod from the community and show people that we existed. I guess that was what one called a catch twenty-two.

  “Right. And could you imagine him in fishnets?” she asked, flashing her thigh as an example. Suddenly, she stopped and lifted her hands. “Never mind. You probably could with the way you’re strung up on him.”

  I nudged her. “Funny, Clare. Real funny.”

  Grinning, she fluffed up the short
black strands of her pixie cut. She had the tips highlighted in pink tonight for the bout with matching pink glitter on her eyelashes. I followed her to the locker room doors with the rest of our team and some of our competitors, the Cutthroat Pinups.

  “You coming tonight to get cheese sticks with the girls after our win?” Clare asked.

  The comment got her an eye roll from one of the Pinups, and I had to laugh. Clare liked to be optimistic despite the fact we’d only had a handful of wins under our belt.

  I was sliding on my elbow pads when I answered her. “Can’t. I’m busy. Sorry.”

  “Busy, busy, busy,” she said when we got to our team’s side of the gym. “Another chat?”

  Clare was the only one I confided in about my chats. Ironically enough that was how we met. She was looking for someone to talk to on campus, and I was doing my own thing. She told me about roller derby, and eventually convinced me to join up. Sometimes life was funny. One could meet the people they trusted the most in the weirdest places. When it came to the people who disappointed you the most, they could be right there, the ones closest to you. In your face. Tucked into your back pocket. I supposed that’s how things online for me started. My issues with trust. I thought about that as the bout started and pondered the day I might loosen my grip of the online clutch I had since freshman year. Perhaps, maybe one day, I would.

  Griffin

  The scrimmage was bullshit tonight, and my team was playing like they had a set of lead feet with a stick permanently lodged up their asses. Thank God Coach couldn’t see this crap. He and two of our assistant coaches were away for an overnight conference, so I took over the practice with our remaining assistant coach. Practice tonight was optional due to the conference, but I stepped up and did what I had to do. I figured that was my job as captain, but I was regretting the decision as I watched my teammates’ lack of hustle.

  I pushed the sweat I gathered from my frustrations up into my hair. Blowing my whistle, I called this shit a night. With the “thank the fucking God’s” spewing from the lips of my teammates, I knew I wasn’t the only one ready to go. Word was going around of a party tonight, and I knew where most of them would be heading by tonight’s end.

  My place. They were always at my place thanks to my roommates and fellow players. I did not feel up for that, but I usually didn’t get a choice in the matter. Calling it an early night tonight would allow the guys extra time to get their booze and girls, so I got a lot of gleeful grins and pats on the back as we all headed to the showers. D, my co-captain and one of my roommates, confirmed the location of the party as I was pushing soap through my hair. He was one of those bright-eyed kids, a grinning fool. He told me once that he came from the South Side of Chicago. With myself being from some pretty rough neighborhoods in the South, I felt we had a connection there. Brothers from another mother.

  “Yeah, I’ll be there,” I told him. I always was—unfortunately. People expected it, so what was I gonna do but go.

  “Cool, cool,” he said, rinsing the soap off his bald fade haircut. “Ursula and Tanya will be there, too. They’re bringing some of their crew.”

  I rolled my eyes at the mention of my former fuck buddy, Ursula, and my on again, off again ex-girlfriend, Tanya. Only in America would two girls that fucked me go to the same party—as friends—and mingle with the guy they fucked. Only in America.

  “And, uh, Candie,” D continued, flashing white teeth that were brought out even more by his dark skin.

  That was when I gave him my full attention. “I told you I’m not accepting any more of those, man. I’m done with that shit and don’t want to associate with it.”

  One thing I learned about college basketball: when powerful people wanted you to win, they did whatever they could. That included gifts. Lots and lots of gifts. Being naïve and young and poor, I accepted a few over my four years. Tickets to games, Spring Break trips… prostitutes. It wasn’t something I was proud of, and it was all a bunch of mess that could really fuck up our futures in the long run. D knew that, which was why I thought he stopped as well.

  He turned off his faucet and grabbed a towel, covering himself. “I know, Griff. She ain’t workin’. Just coming for a good time. If that leads to something, then well…”

  He wagged his eyebrows, and I shook my head, giving a short laugh. “Good,” I said to him. “I’ll see you there.”

  He made to move away, but I thought about something, turning off my faucet. “Hey, you haven’t heard anything about anyone else accepting gifts, have you?”

  Now that I was running this team, I made sure my men knew the consequences of accepting such gifts. Them getting into trouble wouldn’t affect just them; the whole team’s name could be dragged through the mud if painted with a scandal.

  D leaned on the divider of our showers. “Not that I know of. Why do you ask?”

  Visions went back to that night I was confronted by those guys outside the laundry mat, but the whole idea of members of our team potentially up to something shady during our games seemed too ludicrous to even entertain. Those dudes were just a bunch of angry thugs who were pissed about losing a bet. If they were students, they shouldn’t even have been gambling in the first place as betting could get them kicked out of school. Thoughts of that confrontation suddenly had me smiling at the outcome.

  Roxie.

  D noticed. He tipped his chin, grinning to himself. “Why you smiling, dude?”

  I shook my head, grabbing my own towel. Ironically enough, it smelled of the girl who was there in a flash to save the day, then out of my life just as quickly. “Nothing. I’ll see you tonight, okay?”

  He nodded, and then left me to myself.

  I got out of the locker room before anyone else. Usually, I wasn’t about being quick, but I wanted a nap before the evitable party. We’d all be up until at least four, possibly later, and I had a class at ten. I figured I would get some sleep the night before. However little it might be.

  I came out of the locker room, cutting through the main gym. Upon leaving it, I had to pass in front of one of our university’s smaller gyms to get to the exit to the parking lot. The shouting inside made me turn my head, and what I saw caught my interest. There were a bunch of people skating. Like vintage skating on roller skates, not inline. There were two groups of people in separate colors: pink and black skaters cruising alongside ones in green and orange. They moved in a circle, pushing and shoving each other. They had to be a bunch of girls. The shorts they wore were tiny and paired with fishnets. It was one of the hottest things I had ever seen, so I went inside, taking a seat on a bench.

  I had no idea what was going on, but I was definitely intrigued. When I saw her, I was even more so.

  Roxie.

  Sporting a sleeveless black jersey with the name Roxie Elbowa on her back, Roxie was moving with the pack in a pair of pink fishnet stockings.

  I tilted my head, moving my sight with her. This was another one of those times where I was reminded of the fact that I wasn’t blind to her presence. The shorts she wore were some of the tiniest, and quite frankly tightest, in the bunch. I observed she filled them just fine while she moved around the gym.

  She was also quick, light on her feet, and threw an intense shoulder hit to the girl next to her. She sent the girl down on her ass, hard, and my eyes widened.

  The girl really was Super Girl.

  Chapter Four

  Roxie

  By halftime, our team was up in points, and I had high hopes we’d win and add another to the list of Venomous Vixen triumphs. A good season would definitely give our university an incentive to keep our little intermural going. I wouldn’t be here next year since I was graduating, but I wanted the sport to be available to others. Being on roller derby was a very positive experience for me. Girls of all shapes and sizes could play. It helped with confidence, socialization, and was just damn fun. Going away to college and being out on your own was an awkward transition for anyone. It would be nice for others to co
ntinue to be able to utilize the program to aid in that transition, or even use it as a social outlet as I had.

  I took the bench with Clare and the other girls from my team. I was nursing my shoulder from that last hard hit with a Cutthroat Pinup when Clare suddenly stopped chugging the water bottle in her hand.

  “Is that who I think it is?” she asked, looking over her shoulder behind our bench.

  I just about asked her who when I saw him.

  Griffin Chandler sat behind our team, a single large body on the empty brown bleachers surrounding him. His basketball sweats covered the length of his frame, his long arms propped on his upraised knees as he rested his feet on the bleacher below him. He watched the halftime show of the Material Girls, the school’s rhythmic gymnastics team, swirling their batons in the center of the gym.

  I whipped around and a twinge of pain shot into my smarting shoulder. I grabbed it, bending low to talk to Clare.

  “What is he doing here?” I asked, creeping the words through my lips.

  “I have no idea.” She faced him and I did the same.

  Like he knew he was being watched, his eyes flickered my way and his focused gaze was enough to freeze me and my thoughts to a complete stop.

  His lips curled to the right, moving into a small smile. He lifted two fingers and waved them in my direction.

  Clare gripped her chair, whispering from the side of her mouth. “You think he’s here to see you?”

  “I…” I said, moving my gaze back to him. He was still smiling at me, and my heart actually jumped to a quicker beat. There was a song I heard on an old T.V. show once. Real old, like the 1950s or something. The opening jingle talked about the character being able to move the Earth with just the simple expression of their smile. It was so alluring that’s what it was powerful enough to do. Upon seeing Griffin’s, that felt like a mighty fitting comparison. Causing the Earth to rotate with his smile, able to move it on its axis.

  I turned to Clare. “Why would he? Be here to see me, that is?”