“Yeah.” My voice is small and I hate it. “I bet it will.”
“Was that a joke?”
“Not on purpose.”
“I’m not trying to tell you what to do or anything, but maybe you should stay out of the weight room for a while, just until you figure out what you’re going to do, until the whispers die down.”
“Maybe, but I still have to exercise. If I see either of those guys, it’ll make me want to…”
“Cry?” he supplies when I don’t finish my sentence.
“No, punch them in their faces.”
He draws back with another laugh, his whole face changing.
Jesus, that dent in his chin—so freaking ugh!
“I doubt anyone would blame you if you planted them a facer, and Donnelly wouldn’t either.”
I sigh into my hands. “Yeah, my dad’s been known to support a good, swift kick to the groin.”
“That would level them to the ground, for sure.”
“That doesn’t solve my problem though—I have class with one of these guys.”
“Right.” His voice is smooth and steady like a rich whiskey. “What are you going to do?”
“Besides avoid him like the plague? I don’t know, I’ll have to think about it, maybe Google voodoo magic and revenge spells.”
“Well, I’m here all the time if you want to run any ideas past me.” He chuckles low and deep.
And that’s my cue to leave.
“I should get going.” I rise, collecting my things. “See you around maybe?” I glance at him over my shoulder, silky hair swaying.
He lifts his hand in a wave. Smiles. “Take care. I’ll see you around.”
“Thanks for, you know, listening.”
“No problem. Good luck.”
I saunter away slowly, checking my phone, shooting him another glance over my shoulder. He’s watching me, that handsome smile plastered on his classically handsome face.
What a nice freaking guy, unlike those assholes on the wrestling team.
I feel so much better after getting everything off my chest, but my mind still reels, not quite ready to let Eric Johnson or Rex Gunderson off the hook.
Those douchebags need to learn a lesson.
And I’m just the girl to teach them.
Anabelle
“We have to stop meeting like this.”
Without even looking, I know it’s Eric Johnson—that fucker—standing next to the treadmill, lurking.
It takes every ounce of self-control I have not to turn on him. Scream. Knee him in the nuts. “Meeting like what?”
“At our special spot.”
My legs continue moving to the rhythm of the music beating through my headphones, the thumping bass a lively melody I was enjoying until a moment ago, praying I wouldn’t run into him.
Seems God wasn’t taking requests this morning.
“This is not our special spot, but nice try. This is you interrupting while I’m trying to get my workout in.”
“It could be our special spot if you let it.”
I remove my earbuds, an exasperated sigh building in my throat. I force it back down. “You’re pushy, aren’t you?”
“Is that a bad thing?”
“I’m just trying to figure out if it’s a jock thing or an asshole thing.”
He clutches his chest in mock pain. “Ouch! So angry today.”
I laugh because I can’t help myself; the look on his face is priceless. So dramatic. “Well? Which is it, jock or asshole?”
“Honestly? A bit of both.”
I hit the speed button on the machine, dropping it from a light jog to a walk, slowing so I can get a better look at this guy, the one who made a disgusting bet with Rex Gunderson, who has the gall to think I’d be interested in sleeping with him.
“Can I be honest with you? You drive me nuts.”
“Nuts in a good way or a bad way, because I photocopied mine once.”
“You photocopied your nuts? Why?” I hold my hand out to stop him because I don’t actually want him to answer. “Never mind, I don’t want to know. I meant it in a bad way.”
I grab the towel hanging off the treadmill, tossing it around my neck, intent on heading to the locker room, hoping he won’t trail behind me.
He does, because he’s dense, quickening his pace to keep in step. “What’s your name?”
I halt.
“I’ve told you before, Eric Johnson.” I throw out his name to rub in the fact that he forgot mine so quickly. “We’ve already exchanged names.”
“Sorry. I meet a lot of people.” He doesn’t look the least bit apologetic.
“I just bumped into you a few days ago.”
“Can we start over?”
I keep walking, waving him off. “Nah, we’re good.”
“Lilah, wait up.”
I roll my eyes. Stop in my tracks. Spin on my heel to glare at him. “It’s Anabelle—Lilah isn’t even close.”
Eric Johnson grins. “I knew you’d tell me your name.”
“Oh my God, you’re—you’re such a…” Douchebag.
His stupidity has rendered me speechless, and I wonder what my dad would say about all this, what he’d say if he knew Eric was making bets and stalking me around the gym.
“I seem to have that effect on all the ladies.”
“You’re not having an effect on me.”
“I’m not?”
When I laugh, it’s a little too loud, turning a few heads in our direction. Oops. “No, you’re not.”
“What’s it going to take to get a girl like you to go out with a guy like me?”
A girl like me? That’s weird, I thought he said I wasn’t hot, which in guy speak essentially means unfuckable. Curious, I face him, giving him the smallest fraction of my time. “What do you mean, a girl like me?”
“You’re obviously out of my league, but I want to take you out anyway.”
“I can’t believe you’re basing this all on my looks—I haven’t exactly been pleasant.”
“That’s because you’re gorgeous. I don’t expect you to be nice—hot chicks usually aren’t.”
Oh boy. Now he’s laying it on a little thick. I’m not completely unfortunate, but I’m also not winning any beauty pageants either.
“Just let me take you out once. If you can’t stand me, I promise you can tell me to fuck off.”
I gape at him incredulously. What would have made him think I’d want to go out with him?
He tries again. “What if I meet you somewhere—you don’t even have to tell me where you live.”
An idea takes root, burrowing deep in my imagination, picturing Eric Johnson arriving at my father’s house to pick me up for a date.
My dad would kill him.
And Eric Johnson would be in for one hell of a surprise.
A rather unpleasant one.
The look on the kid’s face alone might be worth whatever drama it would cause, just to see his reaction when my dad yanks open the door of the house.
The thought has me positively giddy.
“Tell you what, Eric, I’ll give you one…let’s not call it a date. Let’s call it hanging out. I’ll hang out with you once. If you drive me nuts, I’m calling time-out and you’re taking me home. Do we have a deal?”
He nods enthusiastically. “Deal.”
“I’m not going to text you my address—I don’t need you knowing my phone number—but I will write it down for you.”
“I’m picking you up?”
“Sure, why not.” I write down my address, giving him an evil grin beneath my lashes. “See you at seven. If you can get past my doorman, you have yourself a buddy for the night.”
“What, do you have a guard dog or something?”
Another grin. “Something like that.”
“Dad, can you get the door?”
It’s Friday night on one of the only weekends Dad’s been home at a reasonable hour, and I watch from the top of the stairs as he hauls himself up out of his old recliner, hobbling with a slight limp, knees crooked, toward the foyer.
He’s still in his typical uniform, the one he wears to wrestling practice every day: black Adidas track pants, black Iowa wrestling T-shirt, and track jacket to match, zipped to the neck.
Baseball cap.
Cantankerous set of his mouth.
Along with my dad hobbling to the door, the normal sounds of the house can be heard. Linda puttering in the kitchen cleaning up their dinner, the television set to ESPN, the worst watchdog in the world snoring at the foot of my dad’s chair.
Anxious, I flip my long hair, laser-focused on the front door from my perch on the landing of the stairs, hidden from view. A devious smile spreads my lips when Dad finally grips the door handle, turning, pulling it slowly open.
He peers through the screen.
“Johnson.” I hear the censure in his voice and grin wider. “What the hell are you doing here?”
Silence.
“Well?” Dad demands impatiently. “Did something happen?”
“I…” Another long stretch of silence before Eric finds his voice. “I didn’t know you lived here.”
Yikes.
That sure as hell wasn’t the right answer.
“Who did you think lived here, Johnson? Huh? You lost?”
“I don’t know, sir.” He sounds panicked, ill-prepared for a battle of wits with Harry Donnelly.