Shot Through the Heart (12 page)

I squinch my nose. “Come again? ‘Cause that doesn’t sound good.”

“It is.” Connor shifts to create space between us. We’re still close, with one of his arms serving as my pillow while the other is loose around my side, but we can see each other’s faces better at this distance. “What I mean is that Josh is the kind of guy who’s willing to pass the ball when it’s time to score. Not because he can’t make a shot himself, but because he either sees that another person has a better shot or he thinks, ‘Hey, Connor is open, he hasn’t gotten a basket in awhile, I’m passing to him because the two points will mean more to him than they will to me.’ Not every player does that. In fact, very few players do it. They’re all after whatever they can get for themselves.”

“That isn’t how you two play in the driveway.” But now that I think about it, having watched dozens of Josh and Connor’s games for Eastwood, Josh does have a ton of assists.

Connor laughs. “Nah, when it’s the two of us, all bets are off. He’ll elbow me, I’ll elbow him, it’s all good. We know where we stand with each other. But when it matters, Josh is the most giving person I’ve ever met.”

He’s quiet for a moment, then says, “It’s more than that, though. Remember those teenagers who lived down the street from you when we were little kids? The red-haired brothers in the yellow house?”

I knew exactly who he meant. “The skateboarders. The sound of their screechy wheels on the asphalt scared Buster to death when he was a puppy, so he’d start barking whenever they got close. Once they figured out how much Buster hated the sound, they’d ride back and forth in front of the house on purpose to get him going, and then they’d bark back at him like it was the biggest joke in the world.”

“It was cruel is what it was. They used to laugh at my haircut, too.”

“That awful bowl cut!” I reach up to ruffle the front of his hair. “I forgot all about that! I didn’t know they teased you over it.”

“Well, that haircut would’ve deserved some teasing if I’d been older. But those kids were in high school and Josh and I were what, in third or fourth grade?”

“If that. Too young to choose your own haircut, at least.”

“Yeah, that was a Mrs. Strabinowski special.” He grimaces. “Anyway, despite the age difference, Josh stood up for me. He told them they were being—I remember his exact words—scuzzy suck-sucking snakes who had to pick on a younger kid to get a thrill in life and that if they were half as cool as they thought they were, they’d go find a more challenging target than his best friend.”

“He didn’t!” Josh and Connor were both pipsqueaks back then, small in comparison to most of the kids in their grade, let alone in comparison to high schoolers. While I could imagine a pint-sized Josh calling someone a scuzzy suck-sucking snake, I couldn’t imagine him saying it to the skateboarders. I avoided them at all costs when I was little; they terrified me with their long hair, dark T-shirts, and surly attitudes.

“He did. Stood there on the sidewalk glaring at them with his fists held up like a boxer on fight night. I knew that day that he’d be my friend for life.”

I can’t help but tease Connor a little. “Well, at this point he knows all your dirty little secrets, so you couldn’t get rid of him if you wanted to.”

His bicep twitches where my head rests against his arm. “Not all my secrets.”

No, I guess not.

I should be straightforward and ask what he’s thinking, despite knowing most guys consider it a kiss of death question. But there’ll be a lot less angst in the long run if I know where Connor’s head is now.

But I can’t open my mouth. I’m too chicken.

I’m chicken of having a relationship with Connor if it means conflict with my brother.

I’m doubly chicken of hearing that this is it, we’re done now, and then having Connor see the heartache I know I won’t be able to hide when he tries to let me down easy.

I bite back a sigh. Maybe it’d be for the best. I need to make school and the upcoming SATs my focus, not Connor Strabinowski.

I reach down and pick a tiny piece of bark off his shirt. “Speaking of Josh, he’ll be done with Dr. Krantz soon, so we should probably go. My guess is that you’ll want to shower this stuff off soon, anyway.”

My guess is also that Connor doesn’t want Josh to catch us.

I start to stand up, but Connor traps me against him, drawing my gaze to his. “Peyton? For the record, I wasn’t expecting any of this between us. It’s kinda hit me out of the blue. But I don’t regret it. I hope you don’t, either.”

I shake my head no, my hair catching between his arm and the sofa as I do. Without being asked, he reaches down to free it. Then he kisses me again. It doesn’t feel like a kiss goodbye. It’s slow, tender, and full of promise.

So why is he worried I might regret this?

Chapter Eleven |
Connor

I
have to talk to Molly. Like, yesterday.

Literally, I
should
have talked to her yesterday, the instant she made her offer to help me eliminate Drew. I should have made it clear that I am not the answer to her romantic problems. If, after I talked to her, she still wanted to help me knock Drew out of the tourney, fine. If not, well, at least I’d have this monkey off my back.

But no, I kept my stupid mouth shut. As a result, at this very moment Molly’s laughing it up with all her friends not twenty feet away from me. I’m sure she’s telling them what went down at the funeral home because several of them have looked over at me and flashed thumbs-up signs or mouthed, “Way to go!”

Peyton’s worried about ruining my friendship with Josh, but that’s not my immediate problem. Everything I want with Peyton is on hold until I get this Molly situation rectified. If I don’t, it’s going to explode in my face.

“You’re not subtle when you stare,” Josh whispers over his cheeseburger. We’re seated at the least bird-pooped of the ancient wooden picnic tables in the cafeteria courtyard. It’s humid and overcast, so most people are eating indoors, but given the fact that Josh and I need to keep a low profile from the moment school lets out today through noon Sunday, when round one ends, we’re both craving low-stress outdoor time. Soccer practice doesn’t count. It may be outdoors, but it’s not low-stress.

When I don’t respond, Josh flicks a look toward Molly and her friends. “You know yesterday was all for show, right? She wasn’t really crying over Drew. It shouldn’t bother you.”

I grab my soda to wash down a bite of burger. “You didn’t see what I saw.” I tell him about the wrapped flowers in the front seat of Drew’s car. It completely slipped my mind after Josh set off his car alarm, but when I was trying to fall asleep last night, the image returned full force.

“Maybe they were for his mom. Yesterday could’ve been her birthday for all we know.” At my skeptical look, Josh adds, “Even if the flowers weren’t for his mother, Molly would’ve seen them. She was standing right beside his car. If she wanted Drew back, she’d have handled things another way. She could’ve signaled us at any moment to hold our fire. She didn’t. In fact, when he started yelling, she seemed pretty darned relaxed about it all.”

“In which case, I feel even worse. You know she’s telling her friends all about it?” Josh has to lean forward to hear me, I’m speaking so quietly. “I don’t want her to have done all that thinking she has a future with me. When she figures out that it’s never gonna happen—”

“That’s why you need to drop hints about Peyton. Soon.” He removes a ketchup-laden pickle from his burger and drops it into the foil wrapper, then looks past me, toward the cafeteria doors. “Hey, speak of the devil.”

I glance over my shoulder to see Peyton holding her lunch tray in both hands, using her rear end to prop open the cafeteria door so two of her friends can walk outside. She looks amazing in her faded jeans and plain white T-shirt. Her blond hair is pulled back in a ponytail, which usually isn’t my thing, but it’s carefree in a way that makes her seem like she walked right off a beach shoot for a
Sports Illustrated
swimsuit cover and was forced to put on school clothes.

The mental image of Peyton strolling by me in a swimsuit makes me glad I’m sitting at a table. I wipe my face with a napkin so no one can tell what I’m really thinking.

“Hey, Peyton,” Josh calls out. “Tina, Kendall, over here!”

They’re heading for one of the open tables, but at Josh’s wave they eyeball each other, shrug, and then turn toward us.

“What are you doing?” I hiss. “Do
not
hint that I’m seeing Peyton. Seriously. I know you think this is a brilliant plan, but—”

“We have plenty of space if you want to sit here.” Josh ignores me to smile at the girls as they approach.

“Sure,” Peyton’s friends say at the same time. The short brunette must be Tina, since I know the one with black, curly hair is Kendall. They hustle to scoot in on either side of Josh, giving him flirtatious smiles as they set down their trays, leaving Peyton no choice but to take the spot beside me.

The moment she slides her tray next to mine, I freeze. All I can think about is being alone with her the way we were yesterday afternoon.

I say hi to Tina and Kendall, then to Peyton. I sound so casual I surprise myself. Even though there’s a sparkle in Peyton’s blue eyes when she says hello back, anyone watching would think she was simply being polite.

She moves to brush something off her leg and I catch the faintest whiff of her hair. It’s the same light, coconut-y scent I smelled when we were together yesterday, the one that made me want to linger with my lips pressed to her forehead. I swallow hard, forcing myself to turn my face away so all I smell are the burgers.

Today. I will talk to Molly today.

The instant I’m away from Josh and Peyton, I’ll text her and arrange to meet up in the hallway outside the locker rooms before soccer practice so I can be done with it. I’ll explain that I feel like I took advantage of our friendship yesterday in an effort to win Senior Assassin, and that I wouldn’t want to jeopardize that after all these years, even if other teams do the same thing.

If her response is anything but strictly platonic, if she so much as bats an eyelash or touches my hand, I’ll tell her that I’m seeing someone and that I don’t want her to think I’m leading her on. I never want her to look at me the way she looked at Drew yesterday.

That should do it. Kind, yet firm. Bonus: I’ll have soccer as a ticking clock on the conversation and quick access to the locker room. Plus, that hallway’s always empty, so she’ll have privacy.

I exhale, having mentally settled on a course of action, then continue as Josh jokes around with Peyton’s friends. I take it as a positive sign that the school lunch actually tastes good today. As long as Josh keeps his fake girlfriend plan to himself for another few hours, I’ll be in the clear with Molly and can see where things go with Peyton.

When Senior Assassin’s over and it’s safe to venture out to the movies, mini golf, or candlepin bowling, who knows? Maybe we can have an old-fashioned date.

Beside me, Peyton stiffens at the same time I hear someone approach.

“How’s everyone doing here?”

I shift my gaze to the far end of the table, where Drew is standing with his lunch tray. He looks suspiciously friendly given his tirade yesterday.

“Doing fine,” Josh says.

“Sorry about yesterday,” I tell Drew. Not that I’m truly sorry, though I sound sincere enough. “If the Delanos hadn’t shown up at your house Tuesday morning, we could’ve avoided dragging you to Blanchard’s.”

“Yeah, sucks to be humiliated in front of a girl, especially one you have a history with.” He grins at the girls sitting on either side of Josh, who exchange confused looks. They have no idea what he’s talking about since Josh and I haven’t told anyone besides Peyton about the hit. We merely logged the time and location with Jayne via e-mail as required by tournament rules. No details.

Drew surprises me by turning to Peyton. “Probably makes you feel bad when one guy totally humiliates another in front of you, huh? Awkward? I guarantee you, it’s worse for the guy.”

Josh takes another bite of his burger, purposely ignoring the fact everyone at the table is suddenly ill at ease. Following his lead, Peyton says nothing.

“Whaddya think, Connor? Easy for a guy to get embarrassed in front of a girl he likes?” The outdoor space still isn’t full, but the tables are in such close proximity that any conversation is public if you don’t make an effort to keep your voice down. While Drew’s tone is affable enough, his presence has captured the attention of people sitting at nearby tables.

My guess is that whatever Drew has in mind, he’s choosing his words knowing that Molly is within earshot.

I follow Josh’s lead and take a bite of my burger, refusing to take Drew’s bait. I simply shrug, mouth full, and make a dismissive sound.

Drew sets his tray on the end of our table with a thunk. A few of his fries bounce out of their cardboard container, skittering toward Peyton. Drew scoops them up one by one and pops them in his mouth, even though Tina and Kendall grimace at the fries’ proximity to the bird poo.

As Drew licks a spot of ketchup from his top lip, Peyton scoots toward me, her shoulder grazing mine. Whether the movement was on purpose or a reflex, I don’t know, but she’s picking up the same ominous signals that I am.