The Queen B* Strikes Back (16 page)

“Um, yeah.” He locked the car and set the alarm. “I mean, we have access to one of the suites upstairs, but the coaches really wanted me to be on the field for part of the game.”

That’s when I realized how big a deal Brett was in the college football world. “So that meeting with the coaches this morning?”

“Was with both teams.” He hung the lanyard around my neck. “And just so we’re clear, I haven’t made any commitment to any school. I’m considering my options. And don’t let anyone convince you to try to influence my decision.”

“As if they could.” I laughed. “Besides, it’s not like I have that much sway over you.”

He flattened his mouth into a thin line and said nothing.

Which, of course, made me want to get to the bottom of his silence. I waited until we were in the stadium before asking, “Is there a reason why you brought me instead of your dad?”

“Tons of reasons.” He stopped and nodded to the concessions stand. “Want a soda before we hit the field?”

“Sure, but I’m also willing to listen if you need to get some stuff off your chest.”

“I’ll talk about my dad if you’ll talk about your mom.”

“That bad, huh?”

“You have no idea.”

Once we grabbed our sodas and flashed our magic badges, security waved us onto the thin strip of grass between the seats and the benches. I didn’t know much about football, but I knew most fans would kill to get this close to the action. We had crossed onto hallowed ground, and as long as we didn’t cross the dotted white lines surrounding the actual player benches, we could roam wherever we wanted along the sidelines.

And yet, as much as Brett loved football, he didn’t have the same enthusiasm I’d witnessed the night before during the Eastline game. He seemed quiet, reserved, as though he were walking on eggshells and waiting for a land mine to go off at any second. When I compared him to the rest of the sideline guests, I noticed even more. He wasn’t wearing any team logos or colors. He didn’t cheer when the home team came out of the locker room. He didn’t show much emotion, one way or the other.

He was neutral, which told me volumes, especially when I realized Washington was playing Cal that day.

Academically, I knew both UW and Berkeley were great schools. They’d both been on my radar. But what did Brett think about them?

We wandered up and down the sidelines, pausing to watch each play before moving on. I used the opportunity to have Brett explain the game to me and learned far more than the basics Richard had taught me. Brett saw football as a game of chess. It was more than just grabbing yards to him. It was about gauging matchups between the offense and the defense. It was about seeing holes and making the most of them. It was about fake plays and tricking your opponent. In short, it was more strategy than physical prowess.

And by the end of the first quarter, I was in sheer awe of him.

When did the dumb jock become a genius mastermind? And why had I never noticed it before?

Every once in a while, someone would stop us to talk to Brett. I was invisible as far as they were concerned, but it gave an opportunity to see how Brett handled his fame. As much as the person wanted to elicit some sort of favoritism, Brett answered their questions like a politician on a controversial issue, giving the same noncommittal answers he’d given me in the parking lot.

“I haven’t made any commitment to any school. I’m considering my options.”

I heard him repeat those lines over and over, each response adding to the tense lines of his face, until finally, he took my hand and pulled me away from the field. “I think I’ve seen enough for today. Want to head up to the suite?”

“Sounds great to me.” Maybe there he could escape the pressure that was building around him.

I had to jog to keep up with his brisk pace, but once we started climbing up to the suites, he slowed down. “Sorry, but I just needed to…”

“Enjoy the game?” I supplied, not wishing to touch on what appeared to be a sensitive subject.

He gave me a grateful smile. “Yeah, enjoy the game.”

The “suite” was actually a part of an open outdoor section with little dividers around a bistro table and two chairs. Once we sat down, a server came to take our orders for snacks and brought them out a few minutes later.

Before he dug into his hamburger, Brett winked at me. “Just to be clear, even though we’re sharing a meal at a once in a lifetime experience, this isn’t a date.”

I laughed and flung one of my French fries at him.

After our meal, he wrapped his arm around my shoulders and pulled me close to him. I should’ve played the “just friends” card, but it felt so comfortable, I was willing to let it slide this time. Besides, he was only doing it to keep me warm from the chilly air, right?

“So how do you really feel about your mom seeing someone?” he asked midway through the third quarter.

“How
should
I feel? I mean, she and my dad have been divorced since I was five. My dad has a new girlfriend every semester. And you seemed to think my mom was a MILF.”

“I never said she was a MILF.”

“But you spent plenty of time staring at her trophy case.” My mom was a former beauty queen, and thanks to the advances in modern medicine, she still looked more like my big sister than my mom. “She’s attractive, intelligent, driven. Why shouldn’t she have a boyfriend?”

“But?” he asked as though he knew I was holding back my true feelings.

Which I was.

“But she seems really serious about this guy, and this is my senior year, and I’m already juggling enough without having this guy over all the time or even moving in with us.”

There. Once I’d gotten it all out of my system, I saw the problem for what it really was. For years, it had just been the three of us—Mom, me, and Taylor. We weren’t the family of the year by any means, but we were getting along just fine. Now, my mom wanted to introduce this new person into our world, and I knew nothing about him. How serious were things between him and Mom? Did he have kids? Would he want us to suddenly become one big happy family? Or worse, would Mom want to pretend we were one so we wouldn’t scare him off?

Brett didn’t say anything first. He traced a series of spiraling circles along my upper arm with the hand he’d wrapped around me, each movement soothing my raw nerves. Just when I wondered if he’d even heard me, he said, “If anyone can handle it, it’s you. But if you need someone to talk to, I’m here.”

He gave me what I needed—a shot of confidence and an offer for support. How could I not return the favor? “So what happened with your dad today?”

He withdrew his arm and leaned forward, his elbows on his thighs, and pretended to be completely absorbed by the game for a few minutes. When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet, but hard. “It’s my decision, not his.”

I mirrored his posture. “So he’s trying to micromanage your career?”

“Something like that.” He waited for the next play to end before continuing. “I told you my dad played in the NFL, right?”

I nodded.

“When he was in high school, he didn’t get that many offers to play in college. He walked onto the team when he got there and continued to improve his game through sheer stubborn willpower. Even when he was drafted, it wasn’t until the fifth round. But he played hard, and he worked his way up from the practice squad to a starting spot on the team after a few seasons, only to suffer a career-ending knee injury his second game in.”

He drew in a deep breath and released it in a frustrated huff. “I’ve heard his story for as long as I can remember, and ever since I could hold a football, I’ve carried the weight of his expectations. He wanted me to have the chances he never had. And now that I’m getting them, I feel like he’s trying to force me to do what he would’ve done in my shoes.”

“But you’re not him.” I looped my arm through his. “You’re you.”

“You get that. My mom gets that. My dad doesn’t.” He slumped back in his chair, but held onto my hand, keeping it tucked into the crook of his elbow. “When I saw the coaches trying to cater to him this morning, I kind of snapped, especially after I heard him speaking on my behalf. I don’t want to lead anyone on. I’m not the manipulative type. I just want to see what they have to offer and how I’d fit into the team and the school, and I don’t need him limiting my options from the onset.”

“Did you tell him that?”

“In so many words.” He lowered his gaze to his lap and flicked a piece of lint off his fleece jacket. “Well, if you want to know the truth, I kind of blew up at him.”

After witnessing an exchange between them a few weeks ago over the breakfast table, I wasn’t surprised. It was a hot issue that had been simmering for quite a while and was bound to boil over eventually.

“Do you want to know the funny thing?” he asked with a bitter laugh. “You actually became my excuse for telling him to get lost.”

“Me?”

“Yeah. Just when I was about to lose it, I got your text telling me that you’d meet me at the coffee shop, and I told him I’d rather give my extra ticket to you than him.”

“So our ‘not a real date’ is really just a way to give your dad a time out?”

A smile finally appeared on his face, twitching at first before finally cracking through his frustration. “Yeah, something like that.”

“And should I be afraid to sit next to him at the table if you have me over for pancakes again?”

“You can handle him. You’re the Queen B, after all.” He gave me a teasing grin. “Besides, I think he likes you.”

“Well, just so he knows, I’m not afraid to give it to him straight.”

“I’ll warn him of that.”

I don’t know if it was due to the blast from the space heaters that had been turned on in the last ten minutes or the warmth of his hand pressed against mine or the glow of admiration in his eyes, but the late September football game turned into a cozy afternoon that was definitely date worthy.

Too bad it wasn’t a real date, right?

“Lexi, thanks for, you know, coming along today.”

“Of course.” I didn’t bother to correct him for calling me Lexi. It was futile at this point. Instead, I rested my head on his shoulder and watched the rest of the game with him, wondering when I’d begun to see Brett as more than just a hot guy who drove me crazy. Somewhere along the way, I’d grown to care for him. At first, I told myself I cared for him the same way I cared for Morgan and Richard, but now I knew better. Brett Pederson had somehow rooted himself into my heart, and that scared me more than I wanted to admit.

Because now that he was in my heart, he could easily break it.

That realization added a melancholy note to the rest of the afternoon and manifested itself in my silence on the way home after the game.

Brett, however, appeared to be in better spirits. The tension was gone from his body, and a relaxed smile played on his lips. It was as though the weight that had been on his shoulders had been lifted.

We pulled into my driveway before I realized it. Normally, I would’ve asked him to go to his place or drop me off at the corner, but the lights were out in my house, and no one appeared to be home to catch us.

He hopped out of the truck and opened the door for me before I could grab the handle. After he helped me out of the passenger seat, he pulled me close to him.

I breathed him in, still in awe of how his scent could both calm and agitate me in one whiff.

He cupped my cheek in his hand. “I had a good time today.”

“Me, too,” I admitted. After all, lying would only ruin what had been an almost perfect afternoon. I liked spending time with him. I liked that he wanted to hold me close and that he was touching my face and looking at my lips as though he wanted to kiss me again.

“Maybe we should have another one of those ‘not dates’ again soon,” he murmured.

I wound my arms around his neck. “Depends on how you end it.”

A wicked gleam appeared in his eyes just before he closed the space between our lips and accepted my challenge.

The electric kiss rivaled the one from the concert earlier this week. It was deep, passionate, and set my skin on fire. I didn’t wait for my knees to go weak before I clung to him. I wanted to touch him, to explore the hard planes of his well-muscled body while indulging in the deliciousness of his kiss while I could.

And yet, for as hot as he was, it was his restraint that turned me on even more. Evening had fallen over our little Seattle suburban town, and the thick clouds blocked out the rising moon. No one would notice us kissing in the dark shadows outside my house. But instead of taking advantage of the moment to grab my ass or my breast, he kept his hand firmly pressed against the small of my back. There was something strangely sensual about the way the pressure kept increasing as our kiss grew more and more intense. It was his way of telling me he wanted more, but respected my boundaries at the same time.

A whimper formed in my throat. I wanted more, too, and not just when it came to making out. I wanted him. I wanted the star football hero. I wanted the confident leader in the classroom. I wanted the geeky guy who secretly hacked into the school’s computer system. I wanted the big brother who doted on his little sisters and flipped pancakes high in the air for their delight. I wanted the guy who listened to me vent and told me he believed I could handle it rather than try to give me advice. I wanted the whole package because he got me.