The Queen B* Strikes Back (5 page)

“Hey, I’m just being honest.” He sat down in the swivel chair in front of his massive computer workstation. “But boobs aside, I don’t regret making you come to the carwash. You gave the marching band a bit of much-needed backbone.”

I noticed that he didn’t call them band geeks. Even I had been guilty of calling them that. But Brett didn’t seem to talk about them like they were beneath him. “So the water fight…?”

“Was fun,” he finished with a grin. “And I won’t have to worry so much about Sanchez picking on Jing now that he’s stood up to him.”

“And of course, I’m sure you enjoyed the way Summer flaunted her enhanced rack for everyone to see.”

“What is it between you two?”

“Why don’t you ask Brutus?” I plopped down on the bed. “So what did you want to talk about?”

“For starters, I wanted to let you know the carwash was a success, thanks in part to you. We raised a lot of money, the marching band found a leader to inspire them to stand up for themselves, and I discovered your ticklish spot.”

I didn’t have time to react. He was on me quicker than a cougar pouncing on its prey. I fell back against the mattress, his weight on top of me. The air left my lungs in a whoosh, and the soft, quick strokes of his fingers under my ribs reignited the laughter from yesterday. I tried to push him away, but he hovered over me, his knees wedged on either side of my hips, while he relentlessly tickled me. I laughed so hard, tears formed in my eyes and my lungs burned for air. But I didn’t want him to stop. I was having too much fun feeling the heat of his skin next to mine, seeing his grinning face above me, knowing that I hadn’t royally screwed things up between us like I’d feared.

Just when I thought I was on the verge of passing out, he stopped. “I like seeing you laugh, almost as much as I like that smile you’re wearing.”

I was smiling? And yet, how could I not smile when he was like this?

And then something shifted. Gone was the playful air that had filled the room moments ago. He became more serious, more intense, and I found myself helpless to resist. Or maybe I didn’t want to resist.

I ran my hands up along his tanned arms, marveling at the cords of muscle under his skin, and over his shoulders until they joined together around his neck. It was as close to an invitation to kiss me as I could come up with, but he nodded like he understood. His lips came closer and closer…

A pair of girlish shrieks halted him before we actually kissed, and he flew from the bed just before the door swung open.

“Out!” he ordered, but the twins barreled past and jumped on the bed.

I managed to sit up before one of them landed on my face.

“Whatcha doing?” Evie asked as she bounced on the mattress.

“We heard laughing,” her twin continued, not missing a beat.

The tips of Brett’s ears turned red, and he rubbed the back of his neck. “We were, um, playing.”

“We want to play, too.”

“Yeah, let’s play tickle monster,” Bitsy added.

I now understood how Brett was able to find my ticklish spot so quickly.

But before Brett could turn into the tickle monster, his mom poked her head into the room. “Girls, you know you’re not supposed to jump on the bed.”

“Sorry, Mum,” they said in unison and plopped down on the mattress, their feet dangling over the edge.

“Can you please tell them to stay out of my room?” Brett raked his fingers through his hair as through he was trying to smooth out any of the dishevelment I might’ve caused. “I need Lexi to help with some school stuff.”

All he had to do was mention academics to get his mom on his side. She stepped aside and ushered the girls out. “You heard your brother. He needs to study.”

“But can we play tickle monster when you’re done?” Bitsy asked, jutting out her bottom lip in the same well-practiced pout my own younger sister used. “Please?”

It was clear that they had him wrapped around their little fingers because as he prodded them out of his room, he agreed. “Yes, we can play tickle monster when I’m done.”

They squealed and trampled down the stairs with the grace and decorum of a herd of stampeding cattle.

His mom flicked her gaze at me before turning back to her son. “Don’t forget your assignments.”

She didn’t close the door all the way when she left.

I stood and moved closer to Brett. “Why do I get the feeling your mom doesn’t trust me?” I murmured.

“Maybe she’s worried we’ll become fuck buddies.”

The term was a running joke between us, and I smacked him with his pillow.

He held up his hands and retreated to his desk chair. “But seriously, I did need your help with something.”

“I’m not doing your homework, Football Boy, so don’t even think about asking. It was bad enough I had to share Junior with you.”

“This has nothing to do with school, and even then, I wouldn’t dream of asking you to do my homework. You’d be the type to purposely do it wrong so I’d get an F.”

“Glad to know we’re on the same wavelength,” I replied with a smirk.

“Here’s where I need help.” He spun around to his computer screens and pulled up the Common Application website. A few clicks later, he was at the blog post listing this year’s essay prompts. He turned around and jerked his thumb at the screen behind him.

“Your college admission essay?”

He nodded. “Help me, Obi-Wan Kenobi. You’re my only hope.”

Normally, I would’ve grinned at the
Star Wars
reference coming from the lips of an uber-jock/closet geek, but too many warning bells went off. I crossed my arms and adopted my unyielding Queen B* posture. “I’m not writing your essay for you.”

“Did I ask you to?”

“Well, what do you want from me?”

“I need someone to help critique my essay.” He rubbed his hands on his shirt and fidgeted in his chair. “I kind of bombed the writing portion of the SATs, so I’m retaking it in a few weeks, but since I knew you aced it—”

“How do you know what I got on the SATs?”

He gave me a sheepish grin and slid his eyes toward the computer.

I should’ve known he’d been prying into my records when he’d hacked into the school system the other night.

He cleared his throat. “Um, anyway, since I know you’re awesome at these college essay things, I was wondering if you’d be willing to tutor me after class and teach me how to write a good essay so I can keep my college options as open as possible.”

I narrowed my eyes. Something wasn’t adding up, but I couldn’t quite say what. “Isn’t there a special set of classes for jocks at most big football schools?”

“Maybe, but I don’t want to be in them. You’ve heard my mom. It’s important I get into a good school and get a good education. I got an eight hundred in math on the SATs, so I’m not an idiot. And I did well on the reading comprehension part, too. But this whole writing thing has me stumped. It’s easier for me to write code for a website than write an organized essay.”

The Golden Boy had a chink in his armor. Who would’ve thought it?

And now I knew his weakness. The fact he trusted me with this information made me pause long enough to mull over the implications.

“What’s in it for me?” I asked.

“Besides the joy of my company?”

I arched a brow. Was he kidding me?

“How about a friend helping out another friend?” He rose from his chair and approached me with slow steps until his hands cupped my elbows. “Come on, Lexi, you’d do it for Morgan or Richard. Besides, you still owe me from last week.”

Ugh, he had a point. If he hadn’t helped me track down the kid posting those videos, my sister’s bra-stuffing secrets would still be out there on the web for everyone to see.

“Fine, I’ll help you with your essay, but on one condition.”

His grin widened as though he was expecting me to ask for a daily makeout session as payment. “What?”

I jabbed my finger into his nose. “Don’t you ever call me ‘Lexi’ again.”

His bottom lip jutted out in an almost-perfect imitation of his sisters’ pouts. “But what if I like calling you that?”

“Then you can find yourself another tutor.” I turned to leave, but he caught my wrist and whirled me into him.

We were pressed together, chest to chest, his arm along the base of my spine holding me to him. Our breaths synchronized at the same rapid pace, and from what I could tell, his heart was hammering away as quickly as mine.

He brushed aside one of the flyaway curls that always frame my face. “As you wish,
Alexis
.”

I don’t know if it was
The Princess Bride
quote or the sexy timbre of his voice as he said my name that had my knees ready to buckle, but I was thankful he hadn’t loosened his hold on me. My attention fell to his lips. I wanted to feel them, taste them, lose my head like I’d managed to do when he kissed me before. His kisses were the one reckless indulgence I’d ever allowed myself in high school, but I shouldn’t be looking forward to the next encounter, not if I wanted to keep the in-crowd in check.

“Hey, Brett,” his dad called from below, and he released me.

I crumpled onto the edge of the bed, my pulse still erratic from the almost kiss. Those damn hormones were getting the better of me again.

“I need your help in the garage,” his dad continued.

Brett opened the door and stepped out into the hallway. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

It was just the reprieve I needed. If I spent any longer in his room, I might do something I’d regret. I stood, tested my wobbly knees, and made it to the doorway before I collided with Brett. “I should go.”

“Are you sure? I mean, we can get started right away—”

“No, really, I should go.” I tucked my hair behind my ears and focused on the route to the staircase. “Email me a sample of what you have already, and I’ll get back to you with a critique.”

I was almost to the front door before he caught up with me. “Alexis, please, wait.”

I stopped and looked at everything but his face. The floor. The walls. The stupid preppy logo on his T-shirt. “What?”

He drew in a deep breath like he was about to make some long-winded speech, but instead, blew it out as a sigh. “Never mind. I’ll see you tomorrow at school.”

Not likely. He ran around with the popular kids, and I was the one person at Eastline who neither bowed nor cowered before them. “Yeah, whatever.”

I checked the street to make sure no one would see me leaving his house and ran home more confused than ever. Just when I thought I could safely put Brett Pederson in the “just friends” category, I discovered how much of a hold he really had on me.

Chapter Four

“Hey, Alexis, can you meet me at the fro-yo place on Eighth?” Morgan asked as soon as I answered her call.

It was less than an hour after I’d returned home from Brett’s, and I was just beginning to feel normal again. “When?”

“How about fifteen minutes from now?”

I checked my phone’s clock. It was eleven thirty, and Morgan was calling me before noon. Something was up. And being a good friend, I couldn’t say no. “See you in few.”

I arrived at the same time Richard did, and my senses went on high alert. She’d called in both of us. My unease doubled when we walked in to find Morgan sitting at a table, playing with an uneaten cup of chocolate-fudge frozen yogurt. Normally, she gobbled that flavor up like it was about to be permanently discontinued.

Richard marched straight to the wall of machines and began filling his bowl with a variety of different flavors. For a skinny guy, he could eat more than Morgan and me combined.

I was a devotee of one particular flavor. So, naturally, when I couldn’t find a machine with it, I almost blew a gasket. “What happened to the mocha?” I asked, forcing myself to remain calm and civil when inside I was throwing the equivalent of the temper tantrum of a two-year-old.

“We stopped carrying it,” the bored-looking guy at the register said.

No, no, no, no!
It was all I could do not to stomp my foot in frustration. “Any idea when it will be coming back?”

“Nope.”

Idiot!

I searched the wall for something new to try, but none of the other flavors appealed to me. I finally settled for a tiny bit of banana sprinkled with walnuts and prayed it would satisfy my taste buds. It would never be mocha, but it reminded me of the breakfast I’d just shared with Brett.

I sat down at the table and poked at my frozen yogurt with my spoon. “So, what’s up?”

Morgan answered with a dramatic sigh.

“Uh-oh, sounds like frat-boy issues.” Richard shoveled another bite of his hodgepodge creation into his mouth. “Let me guess—he has a tiny little penis?”

“No, it was average size,” she replied.

Richard and I exchange grimaces. If she’d seen his penis, chances were she’d slept with him, too. Ew!

I forced the bile back down. “Then why aren’t you gushing about him like you have been for the last two weeks?”