Adorkable(21)

Becks was actually the reason I’d gotten the sports beat in the first place. He refused to talk to anyone, wouldn’t give quotes to any of the local papers or media, until he’d talked to me first. As much as I adored him for it, I knew I wasn’t exactly qualified for the position. After four years, I still carried my soccer-slang cheat sheet tucked in the front pocket of my jeans just in case.

“Am I seriously supposed to believe this?”

I sighed. Here we go again.

“Believe it or not, it’s true,” I said, studiously watching the players sprint across the field, making a real effort not to look at her.

“So, what?” Hooker said. “You’re telling me you just woke up this morning and realized you’re into Becks, a guy you’ve been friends with since second grade? A guy who coincidentally realized he’s into you at the exact same time? A guy you and I personally saw eat a worm at Tobey Steinman’s thirteenth birthday party?”

Not one of Becks’s finer moments.

“I know it’s hard to believe, but yes.”

Catching my eyes, she narrowed her own. “Or is this recent development not so recent? Have you been holding out on me, harboring a secret crush on him all these years, afraid to speak your true feelings for fear of rejection?”

I swallowed just as the crowd groaned. The other team had scored, but we were still up by one. Looking away from Hooker, I made a big show of straightening the plaid blanket thrown across our legs. The night breeze was chill, but it did nothing to cool the blood rushing to my face.

“What’s the big deal?” I muttered. “Becks and I are going out. He’s my boyfriend now. It’s not that complicated.”

Hooker stared at me a moment then sat back and crossed her arms.

“Say it as many times as you want, Spitz. I’m not buying it.”

Stubborn, I thought, and entirely too perceptive.

From the beginning, she saw right through me and The Plan. I didn’t know how, but she knew Becks and I weren’t really together. Hooker wasn’t like everyone else, swayed by a few lousy rumors. She was too smart for that—and she knew me too well. As much as I’d tried to lie and lie well, ever since that scene in the storeroom, she’d stubbornly refused to buy into the boyfriend ruse.

“Hey, Zane.”

I sighed. Here we go again.

“Uh, that’s not my name,” said a deep, heavily accented voice.

“Great,” Hooker said and as I opened my eyes I watched her reel Not-Zane in. It always started like this. “So, what is it then?”

“Julian.”

And he’d passed test number one. Hooker hated guys named Zane, Blaine or Buddy on principle. She shot him a mega-watt smile. “Do you have a girlfriend, Julian?”

He shook his head. Test two, I thought. If he didn’t have a girl, to Hooker, that meant he was fair game.

“Excellent, I’m Lillian, and this is my friend Sally,” she said, patting the seat between us, which he fell into with a dopey grin. “Sally was just telling me how hot she thinks you are.”

“Hooker,” I hissed, but she shrugged.

“Sally’s always been into foreign men.”

Julian didn’t glance my way. “And what do you like, Lillian?”

She waved him off. “Me? Who cares what I like? As I was saying, my girl Sally, here, is fluent in a second language. I bet you speak Spanish, don’t you, Julian?”

“If you asked—” He raised her hand to his lips, placed a kiss on her knuckles. “—I would speak Spanish to you every night, mi amor.”

Hooker glanced over his shoulder wide-eyed, and I shook my head. What did she expect? It always went down this way: 1) Hooker hooks boy. 2) She tries to push boy my way. 3) Boy, already completely smitten with Hooker, doesn’t even notice I exist.

“You don’t go to Chariot, do you?” Hooker laughed, pulling her hand away.

“I graduated from Southside last year with honors.”

Hooker hummed in approval. “I prefer my men dumb. The dumber the better I always say. But Sally’s the Salutatorian of our senior class.”

“Really?” For the first time, Julian’s gaze shifted to me.

“She has a thing for smart guys.”

I shot her a scowl. The girl really was impossible.

“I have a thing for smart girls as well,” Julian said, assessing me with his deep brown eyes. Yeah, okay, so the guy was hot. His accent made him even hotter, but Hooker was the one who loved foreign men not me. “Muy caliente.”

“Okay,” I squeaked, jumping to my feet as Julian pressed his thigh to mine. Sheesh. “I’m going to talk to Becks…my boyfriend.”