COACH KNOX MADE US hit the locker rooms
early and I rushed to get dressed. Beth will be one of the first girls out since she was the first in. Me and her—we have unfinished business.
She left my team in a bind plus she ruined my plan to ask her out.
At the top of the wooden bleachers, she sits by herself with her back against the cinder-block wall and her legs stretched out. Her black hair rests behind her shoulders and she types into a cell phone with her thumbs. A small smile curves her lips. There’s a look about Beth, one I haven’t seen before…something almost peaceful.
Scaling the bleachers, I take the rows two at a time. The hollow thumping of my steps echoes in the empty gym. Beth snaps the phone shut and shoves it in her back pocket. The HC TITLE-AUTHOR
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small smile and peacefulness fade as she
officially extracts the claws. “Aren’t you popular people supposed to be gracing the masses with your presence in the locker room, leaving us losers to hide in peace?”
“We need to talk.”
“Well, I want to be alone.”
Noted, but her being alone won’t help me
win the dare. “This is going to be a long year if you keep pushing everyone away. I can help you fit in, you know.”
In a slow, sexy motion, Beth slides her silky hair behind her ear. “I see. You’re into charity work. Admirable, but I think I’ll pass.”
How she does it, I don’t know, but she has this hypnotizing sway and seductive voice that can make me forget for a few seconds why I don’t like her. Then my brain replays her snide comments. Ignoring my admiration of her body and that I love the sound of her voice, I sit on the row below her.
Beth flutters her fingers in the air. “Go on,”
she says as if she was talking to a dog. “Shoo.”
Play it cool. I’ve done it plenty of times. Pull out the charm. Overlook the fact she dismissed me when I asked her to hang with me during HC TITLE-AUTHOR
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gym. Pretend I didn’t have to resort to using Lacy in order to accomplish my goal. Repeat over and over again that I don’t care that she left a team depending on her. “You look nice.”
She glances at her outfit: black pants—
stylish, form-fitting—and another white
button-down shirt, except this one has puffed sleeves. Definitely not the style she wore when I first met her. On Gwen, those clothes would look like they came out of a fashion show. On Beth…it makes me miss the jeans with holes.
“Nice for a clown in a traveling circus. What angle are you playing?”
For her to give me a damn break. “Go out
with me.”
“Are you trying to snag the niece to impress Scott or a fuck to impress your friends?”
A muscle in my jaw jumps and her all—
seeing eyes catch it. I’ve come to detest that wicked grin. Be nice. Even if she isn’t. Getting mad won’t help me win her over. Plus, she’s not far off the mark. “There’s a field party Friday night. It would be a good chance to meet people instead of blowing them off.”
She leans in and I inhale the distinct scent of roses. “I’ll let you in on a secret. I kind of HC TITLE-AUTHOR
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enjoy blowing people off. It goes well with my attitude of this-school-can-eat-shit-and-die.”
What the hell is wrong with this girl?
Beth relaxes back onto the bleacher. “I’ll ask again, what’s the game, Jock Boy?”
“No game,” I say too quickly and try to slow it down. The door to the locker rooms opens and I hear laughter as people enter the gym. I have seconds to impress her before the bleachers fill. “You’re pretty, Beth.” Suddenly it’s hard to look at her. She is pretty. More than pretty. I stare at my shoes. Get a grip, Ryan.
She’s a dare.
“I’m pretty?” Beth raises her voice and I glimpse the other students climbing the bleachers and taking their seats. Their chatter stops and they watch the two of us. This is not how this moment is supposed to go.
“I’m pretty,” she repeats loud enough for the entire gym to hear. The evil sparkle in her eye informs me that she’s enjoying the social lynching. “Is that the best line you can come up with? Let’s fast-forward this entire conversation so you can stop wasting my
time.” She holds up the palm of her hand and HC TITLE-AUTHOR
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even though the word is gone, I still see my defeat: can’t.
Tim Richardson imitates the whistle of a
bomb dropping from the sky and uses his
hands to create the explosion. “Crash and burn, Ry. Good to hear that the new girl has some standards. When you’re done playing with the ballplayer, Beth, you can come play with me.”
“Back off, Tim,” I say in a low, clear
warning. If Tim wants to cut me down—fine, but he leaves Beth out of it. Girls will be treated with respect.
“Don’t pretend you’re trying to defend me.”
Beth’s eyes narrow. “You’re pissed off that I’m not falling at your feet in worship like the rest of this pathetic school.”