"I found a couple more!" Faith called. "Will you come see if they'll work?"
He forced himself to loosen up and let the swagger creep back in. "On my way."
"That's a lot of plants," Faith said, staring at the pots and buckets littering the backyard.
"It's less than you think." Kyle dragged the six azaleas over to the shady part of the yard. He'd see to it these lived, if nothing else did. There wasn't much he could do to impress Faith, but if this did, he'd work for it.
"Oh, I'm sure. You made a pretty big pile of ripped out bushes earlier." She twirled a strand of hair around her finger.
What would her hair feel like against his fingers? He knew her hair smelled like citrus, but he wouldn't mind running his fingers through it to see if it was as silky as it looked. And she was warm, too. When he stood behind her at the store, he could feel her body heat. And those legs …
Oh, shit.
No, no, no-this could not happen. She was a pretty girl, that's all. Faith had too many good things ahead of her without him in the picture. And wasn't that getting ahead of himself? She'd never want someone like him. She deserved better than a liar who was too scared to admit what scared him.
"You in there?" she asked, startling him. He had the feeling she'd kept talking, and he hadn't heard a word.
"Um, yeah. Sorry, I was planning out where to put everything."
She raised an eyebrow. "Yeah-and that's what I was asking. You okay?"
"Fine." The word came out a lot rougher than he intended, and Faith stepped back like he'd taken a swing at her.
"Okay," she said slowly. "Guess I'll leave you to it."
She turned and went inside, casting a quizzical look over her shoulder. Kyle leaned against the big tree and banged the back of his head against the bark He was messing this up, and it wasn't even a real thing. Why did she wind him up so much? He'd been paid to do a job, not get involved with the girl who lived here.
Cursing under his breath, he starting laying out the rest of the garden.
Chapter Sixteen
Faith
Of all the infuriating … Faith climbed upstairs to her room, hardly noticing how she got there. What was going on with her and Kyle? Every so often, she thought he might actually be warming up to her, then he closed down. She'd thought he'd be the exact opposite-trying to charm his way into her tights with everything he had-but he kept going cold on her. Was she really that boring, not worth his time? God, how could she live knowing she wasn't good enough for Kyle Sawyer? Everyone was supposedly good enough for him.
Sure he was cute, but was it worth being toyed with? Or constantly wondering what would make him close off?
Not even. Maybe she should call off the whole plan.
But that moment at the nursery … when he'd stood right behind her. She'd made a joke about it, thinking then he was just playing her. After she had time to think about it, and how quiet he'd been on the way home, she had to wonder. The plan aside, what did she really know about Kyle? Were his shifting moods about something else?
She paced around the room, staying away from the window so she wouldn't be tempted to check on him, thinking about all the things that didn't add up. First, there was the way he treated his pickup. That truck was close to a calamity, but he coaxed it into running like a patient dad with a temperamental toddler. Granted, he needed it for work, but he didn't have the reputation of being gentle with vehicles. The word at school was he tortured his Charger, drag racing down Mill Road on the weekends.
Was that even true?
And what about the rumor he had a pack-a-day habit? She'd seen zero evidence of cigarettes anywhere, not even a whiff on his clothes. He played baseball, and was supposedly really good. Why would an athlete risk his body like that? Oh, sure, she knew tons of dancers who smoked, but that was because they were starving themselves for a part. She didn't know any athletes who did-and she knew most of the football and track teams, thanks to Cameron.
There were also rumors about shoplifting, graffiti, and general hooliganism, but where was the evidence?
Who was Kyle Sawyer?
She tapped a finger against her lips. Violet worked in the school office during third period. Could she look up his record, see if he'd ever been suspended? Because he disappeared once or twice a year, and everyone suspected he was doing in-school suspension. What if it that wasn't true? What if he'd been sick or gone on a vacation? None of this was making sense.
Flopping down on her bed, she fished her phone from her pocket to text Vi and ask, then sat up again fast. Sweet Mother of Unicorns, there were eighteen-eighteen-texts on her phone.
Fifteen of them were from girls at school, all along the lines of, "You'll never guess what I heard!" and "Is it true? Seriously?"
There were two messages from Violet: Girl! It's out-I don't know how he did it, but I'm hearing from everyone.
V: You're officially Kyle's new girl-of-the-week! It's all over the senior class.
The last text was from Cameron: You hold me off for months, now you're hooking up with that asshole? I was only with Holly because you hurt me. You don't have to throw it in my face like this.
A grim smile spread across her face. Maybe being toyed with was worth it after all.
Chapter Seventeen
Kyle
Kyle went after the flower bed like he had a personal vendetta against it. The Texas clay was hard after being half frozen all winter, and it really didn't want to break up. Good thing, because he needed an outlet, and this saved his knuckles from punching the wall. Coach would have a fit if he broke his fingers two weeks before their next game.
Idiot. Dumbass. Coward. Those three words pounded his brain in a relentless circle. Idiot. Dumbass. Coward. He never should've agreed to this plan with Faith. He had too much to lose. And now? Now he was in danger of letting her in. He couldn't do that.
He wanted to.
Idiot.
God, how he wanted to.
Dumbass.
But he was too scared.
Coward.
Kyle slammed his spade into the flower bed and rubbed a grubby hand over his face. What was he going to do? His lies were piled so high, they were going to topple over any minute, and he wasn't sure he could stop them. After carefully creating his persona, he was in danger of destroying it. Worse, this plan called for something he wasn't. Faith wanted a guy with experience.
What if she found out he had exactly zero?
"Kyle!" The screen door banged open and Faith flew down the steps. She skidded to a halt five feet away and started laughing. "Um, if I weren't such a nice person, I'd snap a picture of you right now."
"Why?" he asked, tired. Even if his lies made his bones ache, her smile sparked all kinds of impossible dreams. Maybe …
"Because your face is covered in dirt. It's … " She reached out a hand like she was going to wipe it away, then drew it back, blushing. "It's adorable, actually."
A grin slowly tugged its way across his face, despite his best efforts to stop it. "I must look like a mess."
"Yes, but according to the eighteen texts I just read, you're my mess," she said triumphantly. "How did you do it? How did you make them believe we're … uh … we're … "
Her face turned bright pink, and his confidence returned. "Having crazy sex?"
"Yeah, that." She stared at the azaleas planted in a neat line near the fence. "Those are beautiful."
"They'll look better once they root. So you're okay? Now that it's out?"
"I am. Cameron is pissed." They shared matching, hard smiles. "Thank you."
"Don't mention it." Say something, moron! Ask her out. Don't let this go to waste.
Weird how his thoughts were rooting him on in Grandpa's voice. But he was right-for once he needed to get over his fear of letting someone in and make a move.
He swallowed against the tide of nerves boiling in his stomach. "I think that calls for a celebration, though, don't you?"
She cocked her head, and he couldn't keep from staring at her long, smooth neck. "What do you have in mind?"
This was it. Don't screw this up. "It's a surprise. Tomorrow night? Eight o'clock? I promise you'll be back by ten, in case you have a curfew."
"My curfew's midnight." She was blushing again. "So if we decide to stay out later, that won't be a problem."
"Yeah, but your parents are my clients, so I don't want to piss them off before the job's done."
She laughed. "Good plan. My dad was an Olympic archer way back in the day. Probably best not to piss him off … like, ever."
"Good to know." He picked up his spade. "Tomorrow then."
"Tomorrow."
Once she skipped back into the house-really skipped-he leaned against the spade's handle. Could this be it? Could she be the one?
He hoped so.
That night, after a shower and a lot of Neosporin for the cuts on his hands-azaleas bite, apparently-he went down for dinner. Grandpa was already at the table, dressed in a bright orange golf shirt and matching pants.
"Ouch, are you trying to blind me?" Kyle asked, taking his seat. "What's with the neon?"
"I like to be visible on the golf course, in case some idiot forgets it's not hunting season." Grandpa pushed a paper bag his way. "Burgers from McCallen's. Rosanna has bingo tonight, and your dad's working late."