Pride (17 page)

“Kane will be there,” Harper wheedled. “He’s on the team now.”

Kane Geary, running up and down the court in those tight gym shorts …

“I don’t care,” Miranda lied. “Besides, what happened to your whole ‘forget about Kane’ mantra?”

The computer
dinged
.

You have new mail.

It was him.

“I know what I said, Rand, but you never know, and—”

“I know you’re desperate, Harper, but this is just pathetic,” Miranda told her, distractedly scanning the email. ReadltAndWeep was online—and wanted her IM name so they could chat. The e-mail had been sent only a few minutes earlier—would he still be there? Could she risk a live chat? Could she risk missing it? “Look, I’ve got to go, I have stuff to do.”

“What stuff? It’s winter break! Come on, for me?”

“Bye, Harper. Have fun at the game!”

“But—”

Miranda hung up on her. It was rude, she knew—but she also knew Harper, and this was the only way to get her to shut up. Besides, she was in a hurry.

Spitfire:
Hey, U still there?

ReadItAndWeep:
Thought you’d never ask. How goes it?

Spitfire:
You live here—how do you think?

ReadItAndWeep:
B-O-R-I-N-G

Spitfire:
Bingo.

But she was lying—she was far from bored. “Talking” to ReadItAndWeep was, in fact, the highlight of her day. His e-mails had been so witty and articulate—and as they frantically typed back and forth to each other, she was pleased to discover that his real-time persona was even better.

ReadltAndWeep:
NEVER seen
Annie Hall?
Unbelievable!

Spitfire:
YOU’ve never seen
Bring It On
.

ReadltAndWeep:
Not the same thing.

Spitfire:
Right—your movie sucks. Mine = a modern classic.

ReadItAndWeep:
You dare to insult the master? Blasphemy! You ready to dodge the lightning bolts?

Miranda laughed out loud. She felt like she could “talk” to him for hours—even if he did worship at the altar of Woody Allen.

Spitfire:
I think I’ll risk it.

ReadItAndWeep:
A risk-taker. I’m impressed. You up for another one?

Spitfire:
???

ReadItAndWeep:
I think we should meet. Face-to-face. What do you think?

ReadItAndWeep:
Spitfire?

ReadltAndWeep:
Hello?

ReadltAndWeep:
Anyone out there?

Miranda stared at the keyboard, frozen with fear. She couldn’t bring herself to answer.

But she couldn’t bring herself to log off.

Kaia winced at the booming, off-key “music” emerging from the marching band, which had just wound its way around the court and was now dispersing its members through the bleachers. The better to deafen the audience, apparently.

It was her first public school sporting event—and it was just as loud, tedious, and tacky as it always looked in the movies. Cheerleaders stumbling all over themselves, crazed fans with their faces painted in the school colors—rust and mud—and down on the court, a bunch of beautiful boys running aimlessly up and down the hardwood floor, getting all hot and bothered about a stupid ball going through a stupid hoop. Pretty to watch—but such a waste of all that sweaty exertion.

So what was she doing there?

It had seemed unlikely enough for Harper to invite her along—even Harper seemed surprised when Kaia actually agreed to go.

But Harper had said those magic words: “Everyone will be there.” And, when pushed to clarify, had explained that “everyone” included all the Haven High students—all and all the teachers. Which meant everyone’s favorite British bachelor would be in attendance—thus so would Kaia.

Unfortunately, they were ten minutes into the game, Powell was nowhere in sight, and Kaia could already tell this night was going to drag on forever. To her credit, Harper seemed none too riveted to her boyfriend’s pyrotechnic display of athletic prowess. She could barely keep her eyes on the court.

Then both girls yawned at the same instant and, catching sight of each other, burst into grateful laughter. Boredom loves company.

“Want to take a little break?” Harper suggested. “I could really use a cigarette.”

At this point, Kaia could really use a lobotomy. But a cigarette would do.

“I’m already out the door,” she said, climbing down off her bleacher seat and leading the way through the crowd. Harper had been right: It seemed everyone in town was there. And there, in the front row, looking bored out of his mind, was Powell. Briefly, she considered crossing the room and spicing things up for him—certainly an embarrassing scene in front of this crowd would go a small way toward paying him back for Skiette. But it would also spell the end of them—and Kaia wasn’t ready to say good-bye just yet. Even from a distance, he stood out, a splash of wild color against the dullness of the crowd, sex appeal radiating off him in visible waves. Harper caught her staring and sighed appreciatively.

“I know exactly what you’re thinking,” she said.

If only she did. Snagging a guy as fine as Powell should at the very least have secured Kaia some bragging rights.

“Let’s go,” Kaia urged her, forcing her gaze away from Powell’s sculpted face and broad chest. She’d deal with him later.

They ducked out a side door and found a dark, empty spot against the side of the gym, lounging in the shadows between two flickering streetlamps.

“Your boyfriend won’t miss you in there?” Kaia asked, lighting up and offering Harper a cigarette.

“God, no. This game’s been all he could talk about for days. I’m the last thing on his mind.”

“You don’t look too happy about it,” Kaia observed. “That newlywed glow wearing off so soon?”

“Adam and I are
fine
. Perfect, in fact.”

Yeah, right. But no way was Kaia letting Harper walk off to pout, leaving her alone without a companion—or a car. What would she do then? Watch the game?

“Whatever,” she said agreeably, backing off. “Glad I could help you get what you wanted.” It couldn’t hurt to remind Harper just whose idea the whole thing had been—without Kaia, Harper and Kane would still be standing with their noses pressed up against the window, watching Adam and Beth’s nauseating displays of affection. “And, you know, that it all worked out. Happily ever after and all that. Personally, I’d be a little bored.”

“Well, maybe that’s because you—” Harper began hotly, then, looking thoughtful, stopped and leaned back against the wall. “Maybe it’s this town,” she admitted, taking a long drag from the cigarette. “It’s enough to drain the life out of anything.”

She could say it was the town, but Kaia suspected that the real problem lay a little closer to home, even if Harper didn’t realize it. Adam, after all,
was
the town—Grace’s good ol’ boy one of those guys whose life would peak in high school. He’d spend the rest of his life reminiscing about the good old days, not noticing that his beer belly was growing at exactly the same rate that his hair was falling out. Harper didn’t look the type to be satisfied with being the good little wifey to a has-been local hero, serving chips ‘n’ dip to his poker buddies. Why else was she out in the parking lot smoking when she should have been inside, cheering on her man?

But now wasn’t the time to bring all that up. Harper wanted to blame her existential angst on the town, and Kaia was only too happy to play along.

“Tell me about it,” she complained. “You would think having time off from school would be a good thing, but it just makes it all the more obvious that there’s
nothing
to do. I thought I’d be getting out of here for New Year’s, but no such luck. Looks like I’ll be ringing in the New Year with some hillbillies and flat beer.”

Harper laughed. “I’m officially offended by that—but God, what I wouldn’t give for a real New Year’s, for once. The best we usually get is some illegal firecrackers down at the town dump.”

“Pathetic,” they said together, rolling their eyes in unison.

“You know what?” Harper asked, spinning to face Kaia, her eyes wide with excitement. “You have a fabulous house. You should have a party.”

“Me? I don’t know anyone around here.”

“But I know everyone—I could help.”

“You don’t even like me,” Kaia pointed out. “And the feeling is mutual.”

“True. But you have to admit,” Harper said, giving Kaia a sly grin, “we’ve made a damn good team.”

“I’ll think about it.” The idea of a horde of drunken high schoolers invading Daddy dearest’s pristine mansion did have a certain appeal.
Architectural Digest
would likely be somewhat less interested in a feature profile once Kaia had turned the Sellers house into Animal House.

“I’m starving,” Harper complained suddenly, breaking into Kaia’s reverie of filial delinquency. “How much longer do you think this is going to take?”

“You’re the one dating the quarterback.”

“Center. I think.”

“Whatever—go in there and get him to speed it up a little.”

“I don’t think that’s how it works … but I wonder if anyone would notice if we left for a while and found something to eat….”

“Hold that thought,” Kaia said, getting the glimmerings of a brilliant idea. “I think I can do you one better.”

She whipped out her cell and, taking a few steps away, dialed the number she already knew by heart. “Hello, Guido’s? I need to place an order for delivery.”

Done. In twenty minutes, their steaming hot pizza would arrive—along with one steaming hot delivery boy.

Now for step two. She dialed again.

“What?” That British accent was so sexy, even when he was sounding annoyed. Especially then.

“I’m outside the gym,” Kaia said tersely, knowing he’d be fuming. And knowing he wouldn’t hang up. “We need to talk.”

Adam cursed under his breath as the ball failed to so much as graze the basket. Airball. He was playing like shit tonight. And he knew exactly why.

“Yo, Kane, good one!” the power forward yelled as Kane stole the ball and landed an easy layup. Another one. There was only one star on the court tonight—and Adam wanted more than anything to bash his cocky, preening face in. It was, to say the least, hurting his concentration.

“Morgan, take a break for a while!” the new coach shouted, sending Lubowski, a lumbering second stringer out in his place. Adam slouched down on the bench with a sigh. If even
Lubowski
was playing better than him, things were worse than he’d thought.

“Dude, looks like you’ve got some competition this year,” the guy next to him on the bench observed. He gestured to the cheerleaders, who were obviously slobbering all over Kane’s every move. “Usually they’re all about you, man.”

“Thanks for the heads up,” Adam snapped.

“Hey, take it easy,” the guy—Bill, or maybe Will—said cheerfully. “It’s not so bad on the bench. I should know, I’ve been here for years.”

So Kane was out there winning the game and Adam was stuck on the bench with some guy who’d never actually touched the ball. He knew it shouldn’t matter—he’d always claimed that it didn’t matter, the trophies, the news clippings, the girls—but who was he kidding?

He ignored Bill/Will and turned around to scan the crowd, searching for Harper, hoping that the sight of her would remind him of something real, something important, remind him that the game was just that, and nothing more.

But Harper was lost in the crowd somewhere, and the only familiar face he saw was Beth’s. He watched her until her wandering eyes met his, then quickly looked away. Back to the court. Back to Kane, who was passing by the bench in a slow jog up the court.

“Nice try tonight,” he called in a low voice. “Maybe this weekend I can give you some pointers.”