Adorkable Page 6

  “Spitz is an ice princess,” Chaz continued, speaking to the two guys at his locker. They were a little ways down the hall, backs to us, but their voices traveled.

  “I don’t know,” Rick Smythe, goalie for CHS, spoke up. “They’ve been friends a long time.”

  “Yeah, friends with benefits,” J.B. Biggs laughed. “There’s got to be something in it for him.”

  “We went out last night,” Chaz said. “Lamest date I ever had. She wouldn’t even let me get to second base. Way I figure it, Spitz is a prude.”

  I blushed furiously as we walked up behind them. I couldn’t believe Becks had heard that.

  “Either that or she’s not into guys.”

  “Maybe she just wasn’t into you,” Becks said.

  “Who the hell—” Chaz’s big mouth snapped shut as he came face to face with Becks’s glare.

  “You are such a sleazebag,” I spat.

  “What was that you said about my girlfriend?”

  The way Becks so casually called me his girlfriend distracted me.

  “Apologize,” Becks said.

  “What?” Chaz tried playing dumb. “Becks, you heard wrong, man. What I meant was—”

  “Apologize,” Becks repeated, stepping closer, “or I knock your teeth down your throat. Your choice.”

  “Sorry, Spitz,” he said, still looking at Becks.

  “Sally,” Becks said lowly.

  “Sally,” Chaz squeaked. “Sorry, Sally. God, I’m sorry.”

  “Better.” Becks nodded. I started when one of his hands gripped mine. “Sal’s my girlfriend. You mess with her; you mess with me. Got that, Neely?”

  There it was. That word again. As Chaz scurried away and the warning bell sounded, the hall cleared pretty fast. Everything that’d just happened hit me full force.

  “How do you do that?” I asked after putting some space between us. It was impossible to think with him so close.

  “Do what?”

  “That.” Gesturing to his face, I laughed uneasily. “All that stuff about me being your girl, laying it on a little thick there, don’t you think?”

  “Sal,” he said, “you are my girl.”

  I waited for him to explain, but he didn’t. Instead he reached out to grab my hand again, and (of course) I jumped about a foot.

  “So, what’s up with the jumpy thing?”

  “What jumpy thing?” He cocked a brow, and I flushed. “I don’t know. Just not used to you touching me out of the blue, I guess.”

  “We’ll have to work on that.”

  “How?” I asked miserably. If I was this awkward when Becks held my hand, what chance did we have at making people think we were dating?

  “I’ll have to think on it.” When I lifted my head, Becks’s eyes were lit up. “There are so many possibilities.”

  I didn’t know what he meant, wasn’t sure I wanted to. His face was full of mischief, and, for some reason, his earlier comment replayed in my head: I’m a guy. I love women. Ugh.

  #

  Football was a religion down South, but in Chariot, North Carolina, soccer reigned supreme. Forget helmets and all that padding; our boys played sans cups, preferring the less restrictive, less protective jockstrap. Greater risk of injury, but they were unwilling to sacrifice range of motion. I’d always thought that a tad shortsighted, but when I’d asked Becks about it, he’d said, “Long as you know what you’re doing, there’s no need.” When I’d given him a skeptical look, he’d tacked on, in his infinite wisdom, “Cups are for pansies,” and that put an end to it.

  Cups or not, Chariot High was known for its soccer. We’d taken the state title home the last two years running. College scouts attended nearly every game; the cheerleaders cheered; parents, teachers, students, everyone showed up to watch the Trojans decimate their opponents.

  But they were really there to see Becks.

  Only one Trojan consistently made headlines. Only one held the school’s official records for most goals in a season, most minutes played, most penalty kicks taken and scored. And only one had already been offered scholarships to the top ten collegiate soccer programs in the nation.

  Everyone called Becks “The Second Coming,” obviously a reference to his British predecessor, David Beckham, one of the greatest names in soccer history. But Becks never bought into the hype. He knew he was brilliant on the field, was confident enough not to compare himself to anyone else, and outspoken enough to tell others not to—but they continued to do it anyway.

  Becks was actually the reason I’d gotten the sports beat in the first place. He refused to talk to anyone, wouldn’t give quotes to any of the local papers or media, until he’d talked to me first. As much as I adored him for it, I knew I wasn’t exactly qualified for the position. After four years, I still carried my soccer-slang cheat sheet tucked in the front pocket of my jeans just in case.

  “Am I seriously supposed to believe this?”

  I sighed. Here we go again.

  “Believe it or not, it’s true,” I said, studiously watching the players sprint across the field, making a real effort not to look at her.

  “So, what?” Hooker said. “You’re telling me you just woke up this morning and realized you’re into Becks, a guy you’ve been friends with since second grade? A guy who coincidentally realized he’s into you at the exact same time? A guy you and I personally saw eat a worm at Tobey Steinman’s thirteenth birthday party?”

  Not one of Becks’s finer moments.

  “I know it’s hard to believe, but yes.”

  Catching my eyes, she narrowed her own. “Or is this recent development not so recent? Have you been holding out on me, harboring a secret crush on him all these years, afraid to speak your true feelings for fear of rejection?”

  I swallowed just as the crowd groaned. The other team had scored, but we were still up by one. Looking away from Hooker, I made a big show of straightening the plaid blanket thrown across our legs. The night breeze was chill, but it did nothing to cool the blood rushing to my face.

  “What’s the big deal?” I muttered. “Becks and I are going out. He’s my boyfriend now. It’s not that complicated.”

  Hooker stared at me a moment then sat back and crossed her arms.

  “Say it as many times as you want, Spitz. I’m not buying it.”

  Stubborn, I thought, and entirely too perceptive.

  From the beginning, she saw right through me and The Plan. I didn’t know how, but she knew Becks and I weren’t really together. Hooker wasn’t like everyone else, swayed by a few lousy rumors. She was too smart for that—and she knew me too well. As much as I’d tried to lie and lie well, ever since that scene in the storeroom, she’d stubbornly refused to buy into the boyfriend ruse.

  “Hey, Zane.”

  I sighed. Here we go again.

  “Uh, that’s not my name,” said a deep, heavily accented voice.

  “Great,” Hooker said and as I opened my eyes I watched her reel Not-Zane in. It always started like this. “So, what is it then?”

  “Julian.”

  And he’d passed test number one. Hooker hated guys named Zane, Blaine or Buddy on principle. She shot him a mega-watt smile. “Do you have a girlfriend, Julian?”

  He shook his head. Test two, I thought. If he didn’t have a girl, to Hooker, that meant he was fair game.

  “Excellent, I’m Lillian, and this is my friend Sally,” she said, patting the seat between us, which he fell into with a dopey grin. “Sally was just telling me how hot she thinks you are.”

  “Hooker,” I hissed, but she shrugged.

  “Sally’s always been into foreign men.”

  Julian didn’t glance my way. “And what do you like, Lillian?”

  She waved him off. “Me? Who cares what I like? As I was saying, my girl Sally, here, is fluent in a second language. I bet you speak Spanish, don’t you, Julian?”

  “If you asked—” He raised her hand to his lips, placed a kiss on her knuckles. “—I would speak
Spanish to you every night, mi amor.”

  Hooker glanced over his shoulder wide-eyed, and I shook my head. What did she expect? It always went down this way: 1) Hooker hooks boy. 2) She tries to push boy my way. 3) Boy, already completely smitten with Hooker, doesn’t even notice I exist.

  “You don’t go to Chariot, do you?” Hooker laughed, pulling her hand away.

  “I graduated from Southside last year with honors.”

  Hooker hummed in approval. “I prefer my men dumb. The dumber the better I always say. But Sally’s the Salutatorian of our senior class.”

  “Really?” For the first time, Julian’s gaze shifted to me.

  “She has a thing for smart guys.”

  I shot her a scowl. The girl really was impossible.

  “I have a thing for smart girls as well,” Julian said, assessing me with his deep brown eyes. Yeah, okay, so the guy was hot. His accent made him even hotter, but Hooker was the one who loved foreign men not me. “Muy caliente.”

  “Okay,” I squeaked, jumping to my feet as Julian pressed his thigh to mine. Sheesh. “I’m going to talk to Becks…my boyfriend.”

  “Boyfriend?” Julian repeated, but by that point I was already half-way down the bleachers. I had to give it to her. Hooker was talented. I hadn’t said a word, and yet she’d convinced Julian he was interested. My bestie was a little scary at times.

  What was the use, I wondered now, in having an F.B.F. if Hooker didn’t believe me? I looked back over my shoulder. Her mulish expression, the determined look in her eyes was unmistakable. Julian was still there, trying to chat her up, but she wasn’t paying attention. I could almost see her flipping through a catalogue of her rejects in her mind, comparing my likes and dislikes with theirs, almost like some jacked-up version of eHarmony. It was unacceptable. I’d have to find some way to convince her, but so far things weren’t looking good.

  At half-time, I made my way to the sidelines, hoping Becks would have some ideas.

  He was busy talking with Rick Smythe and Coach Crenshaw by the time I got there, so I stood off to the side to wait.

  “Sally Spitz is that you? Damn, girl, you’ve grown up. I’m telling you if I was a few years younger...”

  “You’d what?” I said, turning to find Clayton Kent, assistant soccer coach and Becks’s older brother, eyes twinkling.

  “I’d tell you how torn up I was to hear my brother got to you first.” He feigned hurt, but the twinkle remained. “How could you, Sally? In a couple years when I’m an old man of twenty-eight, you’d still be a pretty young thing, and we’d be perfect for each other. I was counting on you to keep me spry.”

  I tried not to smile but failed. “You look plenty spry to me, old-timer.”

  “Why thank you, Miss Spitz.” Walking toward me, Clayton had all the self-assurance of his younger brother plus a healthy dose of Southern charm that hadn’t deserted him, even after he’d come back with a Sport Management degree from U Mass. He was my favorite of Becks’s siblings, mainly because when I was a kid he always used to buy me scratch-offs and let me drive his jeep around the cul-de-sac when no one was looking. “So, what’s the story?”

  I looked up as he stopped at my side. “What do you mean?”

  “You and Becks,” he laughed, meeting my eyes. “After all this time, you two just up and got it together? You didn’t actually think I’d believe that.”

  “Why not?” I said defensively. That was one too many non-believers for me to stomach. “Why is that so hard to believe? Am I not good enough or something?”

  “Now hang on there a minute,” he said, pulling me into a one-armed hug. “That’s not it, and you know it. If anyone’s too good, it’s you, Sally. Becks and you, you and Becks? It’s just a little sudden that’s all.”

  Jeez, now he sounded just like Hooker.

  Becks sauntered over and propped his hands on his hips.

  With a nod to the arm across my shoulders, he said, “Putting the moves on my girlfriend already? Moving a little fast there aren’t you brother?”

  I wanted to laugh but caught myself. “Jealous” Becks was immensely entertaining.

  Clayton stepped back, hands held high like he’d committed a crime. “Sorry, Becks, didn’t think you’d mind.”

  “Well, I do.” Becks smiled, sidling up next to me. “Sal wouldn’t go for you anyway.”

  “Why not?” Clayton said dryly. “I’m older, wiser.”

  “Yeah, this close to geriatric.”

  “Plus, I’m like ten times hotter than you, Baldwin Eugene.”

  I could’ve argued that, but it was way more fun listening to them banter.

  “Clayton,” Becks sighed. “If I thought you were serious, we might have a problem. I’d have to go all Hulk on your ass, and then what? I’d be green, left in nothing but a pair of shredded soccer shorts, and Sal would freak.”

  Clayton faked a yawn.

  “And anyway,” Becks pointed out, “you treat her like a kid sister.”

  “Yeah, but that was before she got to looking so fine.”

  I laughed as Clayton waggled his eyebrows at me, but Becks frowned.

  “Say that again, and I’ll kick your ass.”

  “Alright, alright, I get it. See you two love birds later.” Chuckling, he threw a few parting words over his shoulder. “And if Mom had seen that look you just gave me, she’d skin your hide, Becks. Possessive people never prosper. Don’t let him boss you around, Sally.”

  Becks waited until Clayton was out of earshot and then turned to me.

  “How was that?” he asked, his face full of mischief.

  Honestly, besides being momentarily speechless, I was amazed. He’d really sounded jealous, especially near the end there.

  “Great,” I said, glancing at the bleachers. Hooker was staring down at us like a hawk, slumped back in the same spot where I’d left her. Meeting my eyes, she lifted a brow in challenge. That small movement said it all. “But I’m not sure it was enough.”

  “What?”

  “Becks, we seem to have a problem.” Seeing his confusion, I explained, “Hooker doesn’t believe you and me are actually a couple. She’s not buying it, and neither was Clayton until about five seconds ago. I’m still not sure he’s fully converted.”

  “So, what should we do?”

  “I don’t know,” I said at a loss. “It’s not like I really thought this through beforehand. The situation just sort of dropped into my lap, perfectly packaged with a little bow on top.” Becks’s lips pulled into a half-smile, and I rolled my eyes. “Oh, you know what I mean. Most everyone who heard that rumor accepted the fact that we’re together, end of story. Hannah Thackeray even said it was inevitable. But it’s the people who’ve known us forever that are questioning it, and those are exactly the ones we’ve got to win over—”

  “Sal...”

  “—It can’t be that hard. I just need to think of a way—”

  “Sal,” Becks said more forcefully, stopping me mid-rant. “Just leave it to me.”

  I frowned. “But Becks, we need to talk about—”

  “No more talk,” he said, leaning closer. “Lillian still watching?”

  With a gulp, I peered around him. “Yes.”

  “Good.”

  My heart beat triple-time as Becks leaned even closer, eyes on mine. I started slightly at the feel of his hand on my jaw, struggling for breath as it slid to my cheek, fingers finally coming to rest at the base of my neck. Ducking, he placed a lingering kiss on the spot right below my ear. The move made my hand shoot out to grip his jersey. Becks laughed silently, little puffs of air hitting my neck, as I shivered.

  I could hear the grin in his voice as he said, “You know, Sal, you can’t jump every time I touch you. What will people think?”

  It took me two tries, but I eventually managed a breathless, “S-sorry.”

  “Practice at my house tomorrow. Ten sharp,” he said as the whistle blew.

  “Practice?” I said still dazed. “What�
��”

  “Becks,” Crenshaw bellowed from the other side of the bench, “stop making eyes at your girlfriend, and get your butt back in the game.”

  “Ten,” Becks said again, running backwards. “Don’t be late.”

  I tried to snap out of it, giving my head a shake. All that did was muddle my thoughts even further. When I looked up at Hooker, she gave an exaggerated yawn, like the kiss had been nothing at all. Unimpressive, her eyes said, and when I got back to my seat, her words echoed the sentiment.

  “It’s going to take a lot more than some dry peck to convince me,” she grumbled.

  I gaped at her. Dry peck? What was she talking about? Granted, I wasn’t an expert—that kiss had been the extent of my romantic experience—but it’d turned my insides to mush. My skin still felt unnaturally hot where Becks’s mouth had been. I couldn’t forget the feel of his breath against my skin. Hooker was a lot more experienced than me, but that didn’t mean she was blind. Couldn’t she see how affected I was?

  Glancing over at me, she shrugged. “Okay, okay. It was kind of hot, but Spitz, how can it be with Becks? You guys have been friends forever. It’s almost like if me and you started going out.”

  “Hooker, no offense or anything,” I said, “but you’re not my type.”

  “None taken,” she said back. “But really, you know everything about him. He knows everything about you. There’s no mystery.”

  I flushed. “He doesn’t know everything about me.”

  “Oh yeah? Name one thing he doesn’t know about you?”

  The same thing you don’t, I thought but kept my mouth firmly shut.

  “Exactly,” she said like she’d proven her point, and we sat back to watch the second half.

  I tried to take good notes, recorded the plays as best I could, cross-referencing my list of terms, but it was useless. The butterflies in my stomach were relentless. No matter how much I tried to squash them, the darn things just wouldn’t die. Instead of watching the game, I kept replaying the kiss over and over. My hand would wander to the spot under my ear when I wasn’t looking, and I’d have to jerk it away before Hooker saw what a loser I was. The Trojans ended up winning five to two, with Becks scoring three out of the five goals and assisting Ash Stryker with the last goal, an at the buzzer header. I didn’t even need my cheat sheet for that one.