“Honest,” I correct her. “I was honest. And sometimes we don’t want to hear the truth.” I can so relate to this statement. The truth can hurt. “Once you bailed, I figured you were ignoring me.”
“I—wasn’t. I was spending time with Ryan, which you have to admit, you pushed me to do.” She studies me, nibbling on her lower lip. “Want to come with me and watch them practice?”
Yes. The word hovers on the tip of my tongue, but I swallow it down. Going to see Tuttle for the pure joy of watching him play football is not allowed anymore.
“I can’t,” I tell her, looking away, hating that I have to deny myself this tiny pleasure. What would it matter if he saw me watching him? It’s no big deal, right? I’m being ridiculous. If I want to watch our football team practice, I should be able to. He’s not the only boy on the team.
But he’s the only boy I’m interested in on the team. I can’t deny it, even though I’m trying my hardest.
“Oh, do you have to go to work?” Livvy offers up a weak smile. “I’m so happy for you, that you got the job, but I hate how it’s going to tie up your schedule.”
“I don’t work today,” I start, and Livvy squeals, launching into this weird little dance before she loops her arm through mine.
“Well then, let’s go watch them practice together! It’ll be fun. Like old times.”
Old times? That was only a few weeks ago. Back when I went to watch them practice almost every day after school, claiming I missed being with the band, which was a half-truth.
More like I wanted to watch Tuttle without judgment. He’s such a great player and his body is…a work of masculine art.
God. I sound so cheesy in my head.
It wasn’t just watching him play, though. It was being a part of his life. Seeing him, remembering all the moments we shared, reliving them. He’d become such a huge part of my life in a short amount of time, and I didn’t know what to do about it. He’s overwhelming in both the best and most awful ways imaginable.
I try to cut him off, push him out of my life, yet he figures out how to worm his way back in every single time. It’s so annoying. And exhilarating. I want him close. I want him gone. I want to touch him. I want to shove him away.
Clearly I’m confused.
“I shouldn’t,” I protest, but Livvy drags me forward, surprisingly strong. I didn’t know she had it in her.
“Come on. Please?” She bats her eyelashes at me, and I laugh.
And I also give in. Because I’m weak and I want to see if Tuttle will wear that cropped jersey the boys like to put on when they practice on a warm day, his perfect, flat belly on display. Sometimes, at the end of practice, when it’s so hot and he’s worked so hard, there’s a light sheen of sweat on his skin that—oh my God—makes me want to rub myself all over his damp, warm body.
Yes, clearly I’ve turned into a cat in heat.
I try my best to push all thoughts of a sweaty Tuttle out of my head and focus on the other reason I’m hanging out with Livvy and watching the team practice. I can use this time to talk to Livvy about Em. Those girls have too much history between them for their friendship to fall apart so easily—and over a boy.
“What do you think of the homecoming nominations?” Livvy asks as we walk toward the football field.
“Not surprising.” The announcement had come the period after English, and I was glad I wasn’t with Tuttle, having to hear them say his name over the speaker. I bet he smirked and acted like it was no big deal while the rest of the class erupted in cheers. That’s how it always is with Tuttle.
“My win prediction is Tuttle and Lauren Mancini. Or—” Livvy’s nose wrinkles. “Or maybe even Brianne Brown. Ew.”
“Dustin’s date?” Oh, I’m mean, but I had to say it. She needs to remember Dustin’s already moved on and she supposedly has too.
“They’ve been hanging out together a lot this week. I see them everywhere,” Livvy says almost bitterly.
“At least he’s leaving you alone, right?” It’s so much easier to focus on her issues with Dustin rather than think about Tuttle being homecoming king and Lauren Mancini possibly as his queen. Ugh. They’re my prediction to win too, though I have to admit it. Those two are a perfect match.
Me and Tuttle? We are most definitely not.
Once we’re settled on the bleachers, the mid-afternoon sun shining down upon us and warming my skin since I finally took the hoodie off, I turn to Livvy and spill about my interactions with Emily.
“Wait a minute. You apologized to her?” Livvy shakes her head. “Why?”
“Because what I said to her was wrong. It bothered me all night. I had to tell her I was sorry.”
“You’re too nice.” She’s still shaking her head.
And maybe you’re not nice enough, I almost tell her, but I don’t. That’s opening up a whole new bag of trouble. “Don’t you miss your best friend? She misses you. She wanted me to tell you hi. From her.”