“No,” hissed Hil. “He’s not.”
I hunched my shoulders and wanted to disappear. My flushed cheeks were the only part of me that wasn’t chilly in the cool September air.
The team celebrated Ryan’s second goal without him. Because he kicked it in and continued running, straight to the bench, which he leaped onto. With one hand on the fence separating the bleachers from the field, he reached the other toward me. I took it tentatively and he pulled me to him.
And he kissed me. At first I was mortified; all I could think of was the “Ooh” of the crowd. Then all I could pay attention to were his lips on mine, parting mine, our tongues tangled and my hands woven through his damp hair. I wasn’t cold—I was much too warm. And aware of every link of the fence that kept us apart.
My lips were suddenly chilled and lonely. I opened surprised eyes to see Bill tug Ryan off the bench by his jersey. “C’mon, Romeo, we’ve got a game to win.”
As Ryan ran backward toward the kickoff, he caught my eye. “Go out with me!”
I remembered the crowd then—as they exploded with cheers and support for the handsome soccer star.
“Say yes!” Ally enthused from my left.
“That was like a movie. Things like that never happen to me,” said Lauren.
I sank onto the bench and put my head down, trying to block out the crowd’s encouragement and my own desire to agree. “Can we leave now?”
“You’re not going to stick around and answer him?” asked Ally.
“He doesn’t want to know my answer.”
“Seriously? You’re leaving? That’s crazy. Like certifiable. Look at him!” Lauren pointed to the field.
“Enough!” snapped Hil. “Do you ever think about anything but boys? If she said she doesn’t want to date him, why are you pushing it? Mia is your friend. Not Ryan, Mia. Shouldn’t what she wants matter? And why is this so important to you? When I suggested we stay single, I thought we’d all hang out more. Like, do stuff just us, not have everything revolve around what the guys want to do. Is my company that boring? Because I think you all are a hell of a lot more interesting than them.”
Ally and Lauren didn’t move except to blink rapidly, then lower their heads. I put a hand on her arm—it was a gesture that I hoped communicated both “thank you” and “calm down.”
“If you still want to leave, I’ll take you home,” offered Hil.
I stood. The motion broke through Ally’s shamed silence. “I’m sorry.”
“Yeah,” Lauren echoed. “We’re sorry. But he’s—”
Ally elbowed her and she shut up.
I muttered, “It’s okay,” and Hil shrugged.
“I’ll talk to you later,” I called, then followed her off the bleachers.
Risking one glance at the field, I saw Ryan collide with an opponent as he passed the ball. He was helping up the Hamilton player and didn’t see my exit. How would he feel when I wasn’t here when the game ended? What if he scored again? I was tempted to turn around, but what if he asked again? I didn’t need a crowd to pressure me; I wanted to say yes. I wanted his ability to erase Gyver from my thoughts. I wanted his smiles and kisses.
But I couldn’t. Not because of Hil’s pact, because of him.
Ryan wanted a girl to kiss in front of a crowd. He wanted a blonde to take to parties—wasn’t that what Gyver said? If this was his idea of “proving he was serious” then he didn’t get me at all.
I’d slunk away like a coward, yet when my phone rang later, I answered. “Hi.”
“You left,” he said.
“Sorry. I got cold.”
“You must be my good-luck charm. I didn’t score after you were gone.”
“Me? Good luck?” I choked. My fingers sought my own lucky charm and twirled the chain. I searched my room for signs to indicate what those words could mean and found nothing.
“So, did I change your mind?” The laugh he tacked on sounded nervous.
“No,” I whispered.
“No? Come on—that kiss didn’t feel like a no to me.”
I could feel the blush creeping up my neck. I was twisted into guilty knots. I needed Ryan’s kisses and confidence boosting as much as I needed Gyver’s friendship. And he was the guy Mom wanted for me, the guy my friends wanted for me, even Hil, once she got over this stupid pact. “Ryan, I like you. You know I do.”
“But?”
“But I was flattered today—and also embarrassed. I don’t want to play games. And right now I really don’t want to be the center of attention.”
“I wasn’t playing games and I didn’t mean to embarrass you, I was just showing you I mean it. I’m crazy about you—and I don’t care who knows it. How about after you cheer at tomorrow’s game, we go out, just you and me? No spectacle, I promise. Just us.”
I wanted to believe him. One date. How much damage could that really cause? If I turned him down after that, at least I could say I’d tried.
I flipped my Magic 8 Ball over: Signs point to yes.
“One date,” I agreed.