The Queen B* Strikes Back Page 8

  “Admit it, Lexi, you like me.”

  “The fact that you still have your testicles intact should be evidence of that.”

  “Then why are you resisting?”

  “Because…” My witty, aloof comeback died the second he stroked his knuckles along my cheek. The touch was so soft, so reverent, that it completely cut through my defenses and left me exposed. I could lie and try to come up with an excuse that fit my Queen B* persona, but he’d see it for what it was. I was better off being honest and hoping it wouldn’t come back to bite me in the behind later on. “I’m scared.”

  “Of what?”

  “Of you getting hurt.”

  He opened his mouth to protest, but I pushed him away and continued before he had a chance to speak.

  “Brett, I know first hand what your so-called friends are capable of doing, and I don’t want you learning the hard lesson I learned years ago. So please, stop trying to turn this into something more. We’re already risking too much as it is by just being friends.”

  I left out the part where I was terrified he’d hurt me in the process. I needed to keep him at arm’s length if I wanted to have any hope of maintaining the safety of my heart. If I dared to admit that I kinda sorta liked him, I’d open the door to all kinds of grief.

  “What do I need to do to prove that you’re worrying over nothing?”

  “You saw what happened at the carwash.”

  “Yes, but I’ve also seen how different you are when no one’s watching. How you’re willing to take a few risks and let your walls down long enough for me to glimpse the real you. And if others could only see that—”

  “Not going to happen, Brett. Experience is as cruel a teacher as me.”

  “Then maybe it’s time you experience something else.”

  My breath caught as his lips touched mine.

  However, I didn’t come anywhere near oxygen deprivation, as our kiss was interrupted by the ringing of Brett’s phone.

  He pulled away with a whispered curse and answered. “What?”

  I sank into the nearest chair and replayed the last few minutes. No matter how hard I tried to push him away, he kept trying to break down my walls. Worse, he said he’d seen the real me. Did that mean he knew what kind of power he had over me? Could I trust him? Or would he eventually use my weakness against me?

  “I told you everything sounded fine,” Brett said into the phone. “Maybe you need to find a mechanic to look at it.”

  My focus sharpened as I eavesdropped. There could only be one person on the other line. Summer.

  That manipulative, self-absorbed, cold-hearted—

  “I’m kind of busy at the moment,” Brett replied.

  My anger waned. He wasn’t falling for her act.

  But she wasn’t giving up, based on the frustrated expression on his face as he listened. He shifted his weight onto his heels and ran his fingers through his hair. “Fine, I’ll check it out after practice.”

  I waited until he hung up before I spoke. “She’s making it up, you know.”

  “Maybe.”

  “There’s no ‘maybe’ about it. I know what Summer’s capable of doing. I just thought you’d be smart enough not to fall for it.”

  Anger flashed in his eyes, and his expression hardened. “Listen, I don’t know what your grudge is against Summer, but I know her pretty well.”

  He was coming to her defense? A wave of heat rose into my cheeks and flowed out in a string of angry words. “Of course you do. You’re close friends, after all.”

  His lips pressed into a thin line, and he straightened to his full height with his shoulders squared. “I’m going to be late for practice.”

  “Whatever.” As he gathered his things and left, I crossed my arms and turned away, so disgusted that I couldn’t even look at him. Just when I thought I could trust him, he revealed where his loyalties lay.

  And they were with my enemy.

  Point made.

  Chapter Nine

  I was still so pissed off at Brett, I didn’t even acknowledge him standing by my locker when I got to school the next morning.

  “Alexis, I—”

  I cut him off by slamming my locker closed. “I’m going to be late for class.”

  I stormed off and let my anger simmer all morning. By the time he sat next to me in fourth period, I was in full-blown Queen B* mode. I needed to prove to him that I was invincible, that he couldn’t hurt me.

  Even though deep inside, he already had.

  Summer had him wrapped around her little finger, and as long as she had that hold on him, I couldn’t trust him.

  I refused to pull out my laptop because I knew the second I did, he’d try to message me. I kept my gaze locked on Mr. DePaul at the front of the room, even though I didn’t hear a word of the lecture. I could feel Brett’s eyes on me throughout the class and lost count of each sideways glance he gave me to see if I was paying attention to him. Eventually, he gave up and started typing on his laptop.

  My phone buzzed and shattered my composure. I jumped to silence it, but not before I had everyone in the room looking at me.

  “Miss Wyndham, you know the school’s rule about cell phones in class,” Mr. DePaul said with a hint of annoyance.

  “I’ll turn it off now.”

  I could’ve sworn I’d turned it to the do not disturb setting, but the second everyone turned back around, I peeked at my screen.

  It was still on that setting, but somehow, Brett had managed to send me a text message.

  What did I do to set you off yesterday?

  I checked to see if anyone was looking before typing back, Are you done with your essay? If not, then stop wasting my time.

  A frustrated sigh told me he’d gotten my message loud and clear.

  He must’ve been watching the clock because the second the bell rang, he grabbed my hand under the table.

  I couldn’t move, much less run away like my brain was screaming at me to do. Instead, I sat there, paralyzed by his touch.

  “It’s not what you think it is,” he said soft enough for only me to hear.

  I wasn’t sure if he was referring to Summer or his essay, but I kept my voice flat. “What am I to think, then?”

  “Give me a chance to explain.”

  Part of me wanted to believe him, but I couldn’t quiet that little nagging voice inside my head. I yanked my hand free and shoved my laptop in my bag. “Sorry, but actions speak louder than words.”

  Sanchez sauntered over to our table and thumped Brett’s chest with his fist. “Bro, you have more balls than brains, you know that? After all, no one in their right mind would want to sit next to her.”

  I’d heard similar insults so many times, I’d almost grown immune to them. Besides, it just proved my point that his friends thought he was crazy to be seen in my company.

  I fixed my icy glare on Sanchez, the glare that had been known to make men’s testicles retract. Much to my delight, he paled and shifted away from me. It made my threat so much more effective. “How inflated are your grades, Sanchez? I’d be willing to wager that certain teachers here are padding your test scores by ten percent so you can stay on the team, and I know just how to prove it.”

  It was an idle threat—I had no evidence—but I must have touched on something, because he lunged at me.

  Brett wedged himself between us and held his friend back. “Save it for the game tonight.”

  Sanchez’s nostrils flared like an enraged bull’s, and the muscles of his neck seemed stretched to the breaking point. He made another effort to swing at me, but Brett managed to intercept it.

  “Acting this way will get you on her blog faster,” he murmured.

  It had the desired effect. Had I been any other kid, Sanchez would’ve continued his attempts to physically threaten me. But The Eastline Spy was my equalizer. No one wanted to be the subject of my next post. Over the years, I’d called out several jocks and gotten them suspended from the team, and if there was e
ven a hint of truth to my allegations, the same could happen to the school’s star wide receiver.

  Sanchez uncurled his fists and relaxed. “One of these days,” he warned.

  “The same,” I replied with a healthy dose of Eat shit and die. I made a mental note to do some digging into his grades. In order to stir up that type of reaction in him, I must have hit on a nerve, and I needed to know why.

  Brett guided his friend toward the door, but paused and looked back at me. “Try to be nice.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you’re not making things easy.”

  “For you?” I slung my pack over my shoulder and added, “If you want easy, you always have Summer. She’s the queen of easy.”

  “Lexi.” The one-word plea carried a note of caution.

  “Don’t call me that.” I rushed past him and didn’t stop until I’d reached the parking lot.

  “Alexis,” a guy shouted behind me, “wait up.”

  I turned, half-hoping it was Brett chasing after me, and quickly hid my disappointment when I saw Richard instead.

  He pressed his hand to his chest and waited a few seconds to catch his breath. “Are you still giving me a ride to the game tonight?”

  “I thought you had your own car now.” And as irritated as I was at Brett, the last place I wanted to be was in a crowd cheering him on.

  “I do, but, um…” He squirmed. “I don’t technically have a driver’s license yet.”

  “What?” With all his talk of clubbing on Capitol Hill and getting a car, I assumed he already had one.

  “You see, there was this little issue when I took my test, and I, um, I failed.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I sort of hit a pedestrian.” He gave me an apologetic grin as though I’d been his victim.

  “Do I even want to know how that happened?” I started for my car and motioned for him to follow.

  “It’s not what you’re thinking, and don’t you dare try to use the race card. I was stuck on a hill, and someone was jaywalking between cars, and when I took my foot off the brake to go, the car rolled back and nudged him.”

  “And they failed you for that?”

  “And gave me a ticket.” He crossed his arms and added a hmph of displeasure. “I mean, it’s not my fault some idiot was jaywalking.”

  “So when can you take the test again?”

  “Next week, which brings me to my next question. Do you think you can give me a ride on Monday?”

  “Sure.” After all, I didn’t think Brett would want any more tutoring sessions with me after today.

  Richard wiped his brow in relief. “Great! In the meantime, I’ll expect you at my house by six o’clock. We have to drive all the way up to Bothell for the game, but since you’re driving me, we can take the carpool lane. See you then.”

  It wasn’t until he’d walked away that I realized I’d been suckered into going to the game.

  Was it wrong of me to hope I got to witness Summer tumbling from the top of the cheerleader pyramid?

  I tried to conjure up the same negative wishes for Brett, but I couldn’t. Even when I tried to picture him throwing a bad pass or getting pummeled by the entire opposing team, I felt more sympathy than satisfaction.

  Damn it!

  No matter how much I wanted to hate him, I couldn’t. I cared too much about him, and that was a dangerous place to be.

  My phone buzzed again, and I checked the screen.

  Another message from Brett. Are you going to wear my shirt to the game tonight?

  As far I knew, I hadn’t stained it with drool, so technically I could wear it. Why? I typed back.

  School spirit?

  I turned toward the biggest testament to school spirit, the football field some hundred yards away, and saw him standing on the edge of it, looking in my direction. He was safe within his realm, in the place where he belonged.

  But where did I fit in there?

  Please? he added before Summer and her entourage approached him and pulled him off in another direction.

  I watched them disappear with an odd sensation churning my gut. To call it jealousy would mean I wanted to be part of their clique, which I didn’t. There was only one person in the group I’d consider giving the time of day to.

  Time to get my head on straight, and there was one person I could count on for that.

  I called Morgan. “Please tell me I’m an idiot,” I said as soon as she answered.

  “Depends on what you’ve done.”

  “So, Brett asked me to help him with his college admission essays—”

  “Hold on. He asked you to help him?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you sure he wasn’t just trying to come up with an excuse to spend more time with you?”

  “I considered that at first, but when I read his essay, I knew he wasn’t lying.” I got into my car and gave her the play-by-play of yesterday and this morning. “He’s still at Summer’s beck and call.”

  “What do you expect? He’s a guy. He’s not going to turn down sex.”

  “But after Wednesday night, I thought maybe—”

  “Wednesday night?” Morgan asked, her voice rising to one note below shrieking. “What happened Wednesday night? No, wait, don’t tell me over the phone. I’m coming over to your place.”

  I heard an engine starting in the background before she hung up, and when I pulled into my driveway, she was already there waiting for me.

  At first, I did a double take when I saw her. She’d bleached out the ends of her black dyed hair and recolored them with bright red that almost looked like flames. “You changed your hair.”

  “And got a new piercing.” She touched the top of her left ear where a new stud sparkled in the sunlight. “I needed something to pick me up.”

  I didn’t even need to ask if she was still moping over Gavin. I knew her too well. “You’re way too hot for that douche bag.”

  “I know,” she said with a sense of false bravado. “But I don’t want to talk about him. He’s history as far as I’m concerned. I’m more interested in hearing about you and Brett.”

  The maids were cleaning downstairs when we entered the house, so I led her up to my room and pulled out the T-shirt he’d given me. “Well, for starters, he gave me this.”

  Morgan’s eyes widened, and she hovered her hands over it as though it were some sacred relic that might smite her for defiling it. “He gave you his team shirt?”

  “It’s just an Eastline football shirt.”

  “No, it’s his personal team shirt.” She turned it around and pointed to the number on the back. “That’s his and his alone, and he gave it to you.”

  “He probably gave one to Summer, too.”

  “If he had, she’d be prancing around in it like a peacock. No, he gave this to you, and something tells me there’s more to you two than just some study dates.” She pulled up my desk chair and sat on the edge, her legs crossed and her hands resting expectantly on her lap. “And don’t you dare leave any juicy details out.”

  I remember how Richard grilled me about the kissing, and I wouldn’t expect any less from Morgan, so I swallowed my pride and confessed. “Okay, so there has been some stuff going on between us, and before you interrupt, yes, he’s a good kisser, and no, he hasn’t punched my V-card.”

  “Yet.” She gave me a wicked smile.

  “How about never? Because as soon as I start to believe he’s interested in just me, he bends over backward to do something for Summer.”

  “I know you hate her, and I know why, but come on—he’s had you over to his place twice for breakfast and he gave you his team shirt.”

  I tossed the shirt on the bed. “I still don’t get the significance of it.”

  “It’s like one step below getting his letterman jacket. He’s making a claim on you. When people see you wearing his number, they’ll know you’re his girlfriend.”

  My fingers turned cold, and the shirt took on more significanc
e than what I’d first assumed. “But I’m not his girlfriend. Although this does add a new perspective on his request for me to wear it to the game tonight.”

  “He asked you to wear it to the game?” The squeal she’d held back on the phone finally made an appearance, and my goth best friend bounced up and down like my airhead cheerleader of a sister. “Oh my God, Alexis, do you have any idea how many girls would love to be in your position?”

  “I know of one in particular.” I told her about how Summer tried to intimidate me the other day. “She said that he was lying to me.”

  “And you believed her? The skank is desperately trying to cling to him, and he’s all but begging you to announce that you two are an item.”

  “Or he could just be setting me up to publicly humiliate me like Summer did.”

  “Brett doesn’t strike me as the pawn type. Which brings me back to Wednesday night. I thought you were going to that concert.”

  “I did. And he was there.”

  Morgan bounced in her chair again. “He was? Are you sure he’s not stalking you?”

  “Doubt it. He knew all the lyrics.” And sang them very sweetly in my ear. I closed my eyes and was transported back to that happy place where I stood wrapped in his arms, gently swaying to the music.

  The sudden urge to play the banana pancakes song overcame me, but the second it came on, Morgan would cover her eyes and claim I was torturing her.

  “You have that dreamy look in your eyes,” she said.

  I shook off my daydreams and focused on the here and now. “It was nice.”

  “So you admit you have a thing for him?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Bullshit. I’ve been your best friend for four years, and I’ve never seen anything remotely like the expression on your face a moment ago. You’re falling hard.”

  “No, I’m not.” And yet, as soon as she accused me of falling for him, I crossed my arms over my stomach and doubled over. This whole liking a guy thing was doing a number on my gut. Maybe it was just a stomach flu instead. I could hope, right?

  “What’s your holdup?” she asked.

  “We could both get hurt from this.”

  “Maybe. Maybe not.” Morgan twirled her hair around her finger. “Let’s break this down. One: He gives you his team shirt and asks that you wear it in public. That’s a sure sign that he wants you to be his girlfriend.”