The Bad Boy Bargain(15)

"Did he now?" Faith could hear the smile in Mom's tone. "Well, he seems like a good kid. If I can trust him with my backyard, I suppose I can trust him to take my daughter out." She paused. "Or did you say no?"

If Mom only knew what they said about him at school, she wouldn't be so okay with it. But Faith decided she was. "I said yes. We'll go out tomorrow after he's done for the day."

"Good."

She hoped. Maybe she'd get more out of this bargain with Kyle than she'd imagined.



The next morning, Faith went to the studio to practice for the big dance scenes in the musical. Full cast rehearsal started next week, and she wanted to be the most prepared member there. For all her confidence once she had an audience, it was hard to be "on" during rehearsals. She second-guessed every step, every note. The dream sequence would be the most difficult piece. She hoped Josh, the guy playing Jud, was practicing, too. He had to lift her three times, and they hadn't danced together yet.

And it was a good excuse to avoid Kyle. For some reason, now that they were going on a date, being home while he was there made her feel self-conscious. Stupid-it was her house, after all-but the thought of watching him work sent a wave of nerves down her spine to prickle against the back of her knees. She worried about being attracted to him, not wanting to date another guy who saw her as disposable. Somehow, though, she was having a hard time believing that. Not with the way he looked at her. Either he was better at seducing girls than she thought, or she was special.

Wouldn't that be something … wonderful?

"I'm going out for lunch, dear," Madame called from the doorway to the small studio. Even at forty, she was still elegant and lean in the leotard she'd covered with a long flowing skirt and open button-down shirt. "You interested in picking up a preschool ballet lesson at two?"         

     



 

"Sure." Faith whirled around, trying to ignore the ache in her toes from standing en pointe.

"Any word from NYU?"

She paused in her routine and shook her head. Her pulse tripped in her veins. "They said they'd send out final responses sometime next week. I'm a little scared."

Madame walked into the room and took her hands. "I watched you record that audition video. You're good enough, honey. And if they pass, their loss … but I doubt they'll pass."

Anxiety flared in Faith's stomach. She'd worked so hard for this chance. It was her dream, her future, on the line. "I hope not."

Madame released her hands. "Don't worry. Good things are coming for you. I have a feeling."

She left the studio, but Faith stood frozen for a minute. Good things. Last weekend had been horrible, but maybe the rest of the week would fix all that, and in the end, she'd have her acceptance letter, too. Squaring her shoulders, Faith went to the stereo and put on the track for the hoedown scene.





Chapter Nineteen


Kyle

The Toyota rattled its way home. Kyle's hands ached from hoeing and tearing at the grass in the Gladwells' yard, and he feared the dirt crusted under his nails was a permanent addition. Not exactly the impression he wanted to make with Faith tonight, especially since she hadn't been home to see what he was working on. She might assume he was lazy.

Or a slob.

The familiar tug of nerves tried to claw its way up his throat. Damn it, not this time. This time he'd have a date with a nice, pretty girl, and he wouldn't fuck it up. He wouldn't.

Feeling defiant, he turned into the driveway and parked in the standalone garage next to Grandpa's Benz. Dad's car was gone, but it was only five thirty, and it was tax season.

He unloaded the truck and carried everything to the workshop at the back of the garage Dad had set up for him as a reward for starting his business. They didn't need room for six cars, and Kyle enjoyed the quiet the workshop gave him.

Kyle took his time cleaning his tools, bending at the waist every so often to stretch the kinks from his back. Where had Faith been all day? Her car was there when he started work, but gone when he went to lunch, and still gone when he stopped for the day. Had she decided to back out of their date and hidden instead?

His stomach clenched again. Good-bye, defiance-now he was nervous.

He wiped his damp hands on his filthy jeans and loaded his tools back into the Toyota. The truck was sloppy with mud and dead plant matter. No way he could show up for a date in it, even if he wanted to, just to stop being a jackass poseur for a minute. However, on the other side of the garage, the Charger gleamed in the fluorescent light. A smile spread across his face. He didn't remember it being so clean this morning when he left for work. Kyle might be a poseur, but his grandpa knew what impressed the ladies.

"I'm home!" he hollered from the mudroom after kicking his mud-caked boots off by the door.

"In here!" Grandpa's voice came from the kitchen.

Kyle went to the fridge. Grandpa was sitting at the table, reading glasses perched at the end of his nose. He was reading one of those men's magazines-the article read "Get Shredded in Thirty Days."

Kyle swallowed a laugh. "Thinking about working out?"

Grandpa snorted. "I don't understand a word of this. In my day, you ran two miles, did forty sit-ups, forty push-ups, twenty pull-ups, and called it good. This here says I'm supposed to have a chest day, a leg day, an arm and shoulders day. Who has the time?"

"Uh, you? You are retired, you know."

"Poppycock. You take a look at the Charger?"

He smiled. "Yeah. Thanks for having her washed."

"Hey, can't take a lady for a ride around town in a dirty car, son. This tells her she's special." The corner of Grandpa's mouth twitched. "And I'm assuming that's true since you sat through the whole musical last night."

"And I've had that Kansas City song stuck in my head since." He took a swig from his water bottle. "Drove me nuts."

"Those men could dance back then." Grandpa's tone was approving. "Hmm, wonder if your date is a girl who just cain't say no?"

Kyle's ears flamed up. "Jesus, Grandpa. I'm not dating Ado Annie."

"Well, I can hope, right?" His grin softened. "You're a good kid. You got more of me than your Daddy in you, so naturally I believe that. Don't let yourself get in the way tonight, and this Faith girl will see it, too."         

     



 

"I know." He toyed with his bottle cap. "It's just been a while since I tried this hard."

"And you've been lonely." Grandpa's sigh was heavy. "I know I'm partly at fault for that, but maybe it's time to let your guard down a little."

Kyle's palms grew slick with sweat. "Maybe."

"It'll be fine. Hear me? You're okay, kid. You are. That incident before ninth grade with what's her name from camp? That's history."

"You call it an incident, I call it a crash and burn." Kyle could still remember Cara's face when he took her for a moonlit stroll down to the canoe dock and made his move so badly she wouldn't speak to him again. "The last time I tried to kiss a girl, she fell into a lake."

"So? That girl moved on. You need a fresh start." Grandpa squeezed his shoulder. "All right, heart-to-heart over. Go hit the shower. You have a girl to woo."

The memory of Cara coming up from the water, spluttering curses, was too much to take, so he joked it away. "Woo? Who even says that anymore?"

Grandpa glared at him. "You can impress her. Take it a step at a time."

He rolled his eyes. "We'll see."



The Charger's engine always growled before he cut the ignition, and a curtain cracked open at the front of Faith's house. No turning back now-they knew he was here. Kyle pulled his cell phone from his pocket. One text: All set. South door open. Casey knows you're coming.

Good. His surprise was still in the works. Rolling his shoulders to relieve a little of the tension keeping them bunched around his ears, he climbed out of the car and headed to the front porch. Proof that someone had been watching, Mr. Gladwell opened the door two seconds after Kyle's knock.

He stood there staring Kyle down for a second. Behind him, on the dining room table, was the most beautiful bow Kyle had ever seen. Blood red fiberglass, obviously expensive, and in perfect fighting shape. A fletching kit for making arrows was laid out next to it. That couldn't be a coincidence.

Olympic archer. Right. "Hello, sir. Could I … um, is Faith here?"

Mr. Gladwell's eyebrow inched up, and he crossed his arms. "Yes, but only if you answer two questions."

Oh, shit. He was nervous enough, for God's sake. "Okay."

"One, you'll have my daughter home by curfew, correct?"

"Yes, sir."

"Two, you won't take her anywhere dangerous, correct?"

"Correct. It's just dinner, sir."

The man's face relaxed into a smile. "I have to do that with every kid my girls date. If they give me attitude, I know they're no good."

"So, uh, I passed?"

"Kyle, you called me ‘sir.' You definitely passed. Come on in."

His heart thundered in his chest like he'd run for third on a long drive to the corner of right field, praying he wouldn't get thrown out. Faith's dad was acting completely normal now, like nothing had happened. This man had one sick sense of humor.