The warning bell rings, startling me. Oh hell. What am I doing thinking about his arms? “We better run.”
Happily, it’s in the opposite direction from Garrett Reeves.
Chapter Five
I pull into the parking lot of the Page & Prose Bookstore, heading for my usual shady spot in the far corner. I shut off the truck, waiting for it to cough twice and then settle into silence. Mom and I share the truck, which is a pain, but we’re close enough to school for me to walk and that leaves Mom the truck during the day. I take it for my bookstore shifts. It works for now, but we’ve got a savings account started for a second car. It’s going to be our first major purchase when the business expands.
A key part of our plan is an updated website. I knock my forehead on the wheel in frustration. I finally dug into it during Independent Study, and it’s worse than I imagined. The original site was designed by Mom’s friend who built it on her own platform nearly a decade ago. It can’t be updated. I’m going to have to start over.
Shoot me now.
As soon as I step out of the truck, I hear someone call, “Walters!”
Startled, I turn. Garrett is walking across the parking lot swinging a key chain around his fingers.
Shoot me five minutes ago.
I blink in case my eyes are playing a mean trick on me. But no. Tall, messy blond hair, muscles everywhere. Confident swagger that eats up the distance between us until he’s suddenly close. Too close. “What are you doing here?”
“I followed you,” he says. “You were supposed to find me at the flagpole.”
“You were supposed to wait there for me. For a long time.”
He smiles, but this one is slow and hitches up on one side. “I like your mouth, Walters.”
Flirt. He’s so obvious, trying to lure me in with his charm. And oh he’s good, the way his eyes lower to my mouth. Even I can’t help but feel a little zing down south.
It isn’t fair. I may hate athletes on principle, but I’m not blind. My eyes still work and, unfortunately, they send signals down to my other working parts. And Garrett Reeves looks as good as he thinks he does. The hair. The blue eyes and straight brows. The perfect white teeth and the tiny dent he’s chewed in his bottom lip. I’m genetically wired to respond. Or maybe it’s an evolution thing. Or, hell. Mai would know, but it’s some kind of thing. I don’t like it, and I’m not going to be swayed by it.
“What does it take to insult you?” I ask.
“Keep trying. I’ll let you know when you do.” He flips the key chain again. “We’ve got a game on Friday. I want you to do color. I already cleared it with Coach Richards.”
Shaking my head at the arrogance of that, I start toward the bookstore. “And I already told you no.”
He falls in beside me. “You don’t have all the facts.”
I reach the green awning, and it’s immediately cooler in the shade. I pass carts of used books and stop by the front door. “How do you know my last name?”
“I asked around.”
“Well, you wasted your time. I’m not going to change my mind. I hate baseball. Now would you go away, please? I work here.”
He shuffles closer, one hand planted low on his hip. “You can’t hate baseball. You know the game too well.”
“Just because I know it doesn’t mean I love it.”
That seems to shock him, and for a second he stares at me with a slack jaw. “Then why were you at the game?”
“For a friend.”
When I try and reach for the door handle, he shifts in front of me and grabs it first. He studies me intently, and I feel the pull of his restless energy. “But once you were there, in the booth—you were into it. I could tell.”
“I was doing the job.”
“And you did. You knocked it out of the ballpark.” There’s honest appreciation in his eyes. “Walters. Please. You’ve got a real talent for this.”
I’m shaking my head before he can even finish his plea. “I can’t. Even if I wanted to, which I don’t, I haven’t got the time. I’ve got school, a business I help run, a website to develop, not to mention a job that I’m going to be late for.” I pointedly gesture to the door handle he’s still holding. “Find someone else.”
“I would if I could. In a heartbeat,” he says as if it’s that obvious. “I hardly know you and already I can tell you’re a pain in the ass. But in three weeks, I’ve been through three color-commentators. None of them impressed me the way you did. I’ve listened to professionals who weren’t as talented.” He ruffles the top of his hair where it’s longer and falls in messy layers. “You’re good, Walters. And with a partner like me, you could be great. A thousand dollars great.”
I cross my arms over my chest. “You’re going to pay me to do color for a high school baseball team that might not even make the playoffs?”
“We are making the playoffs. We’re winning State.”
“We?” I ask. “Does that mean you’re playing this season?”
“I wish.” He glances at his arm as if it still pains him, muscles flexing so I catch the sheen of his long, thin scar. “It’s not me who’s paying you. It’s the Walter Cronkite School of Journalism.”
“At Arizona State?”
“It’s the first year they’re running a competition. The best high school broadcast team wins five thousand dollars for their school and a thousand each for the broadcasters.”
“You’re doing this for the money?”
“You kidding? I’m in it to win it.”
I groan. “How did I know you were going to say that?”
Garrett shifts closer. “When you sat down… No.” He stops himself. “When you pointed at Nathan and told him to get out of the chair, the little hairs on the back of my neck went wild.” He turns around and shows me a tanned neck with wispy blond hairs disappearing into the neckline of his tee. “These guys, they never lie.”
“You haven’t named them, have you? Each little hair?”
He laughs and his eyes warm. “Quick wit. Good. You’ll need that to keep up with me during the broadcasts.”
So much for pushing him away with my sarcasm.
“We can win this thing, Walters. I mean, how can we lose? I’m charming and insightful, and you understand the nuances of the game. Plus, you’re a girl.”
I blink in disbelief. “That’s what I bring to this team? I’m a girl.”
“It’s a bonus. Sets us apart. How many others will have a girl who knows her shit the way you do?” His head tilts as he studies me. “Especially one who’s so pretty.”
My jaw drops. “Am I supposed to be flattered? Because that’s incredibly sexist, not to mention patronizing and…”
“Demeaning?” he adds helpfully.
I have the urge to kick him.
He laughs. “It’s just an observation. Right now our camera is fixed on the field, but there might be opportunity for video, too. And you have nice eyes. Except when you frown and you get these weird slash marks between your eyes.” He points. “Yeah. Like those. I love the vintage tees, but your sandals are hideous. We’ll cut those out of our publicity photo.”
“Publicity photo?”
“We need to submit it with our game tape.”
It’s all I can do not to scream. “There is going to be no game tape. I’m not saying yes.”
“Because I don’t like your sandals?”
“Leave my sandals out of this!”
“That’s my point exactly.” His eyes gleam. “See, we’re already in agreement. Say yes. It’ll be fun.”
“I don’t do things because they’re fun.”
His grin hitches up on one side. “That’s your problem right there.”
I gasp. I don’t even know what to say to that. To him. He’s a force of nature, but I’m not going to give in. “Go away, Garrett.” I put my hand on the door to the bookstore. It feels like a hold on reality. Books are inside. My StoryClub kids. Brandi, my no-nonsense boss. Bryan, the new hire, with the c
ute glasses and the shy smile who made me an origami owl on Saturday. He’s the kind of guy I want to spend time with. Steady. Smart. Trustworthy. A guy who plays no games.
Not a guy who only plays games.
I pull open the door. “I’m not going to say yes.”
He holds the door open as I walk in. I can hear the smile in his voice. “That wasn’t a no,” he calls after me. “I think we’re making progress.”
Chapter Six
“Hi, Brandi.” I’m still breathing hard after jogging to the office to stuff my purse in a cubby and then searching most of the store before I find my boss. She’s at the computer station in the picture book section, looking like a teenager in a Lion King tee with jeans and Converse high tops. You’d never know she runs the entire children’s department. Well, unless you heard her pissed off. Then she’s scary.
She smiles when she sees it’s me. “Hey, Josie. You ready for Book Club?”
“Always.”
“Don’t be so sure.” She twists her long brown hair into a bun and fans her neck. “The princess book turned out to be a hit. We have ten girls today and two boys.”
“Twelve?” Usually, Wednesday’s Book Club gets about seven or eight kids. I run the gathering every week and we read a book and then the kids do a craft. But once a month, we have a special story that the kids are encouraged to read on their own, like a real book club. Usually, I have the kids act out their favorite parts, but I’m wondering if that might be a little wild with a dozen bodies in the activity room.
“They’re waiting for you,” Brandi says. “Good luck.”
I hear the buzz of noise before I even reach the room. Pausing behind one of the doors, I take a peek. Book Club is meant for kids in kindergarten through second grade, but there are a few preschoolers here, too. I smile when I see Ciera’s sparkly pink dance shoes. She can’t resist an opportunity to dress up. Talia is wearing a tiara and mimicking Ciera’s pirouettes. My shy ones—Lola and Kate—are waiting in the safe zones of their moms’ legs. Bryson is running in a circle around the room while Javier stomps his foot, trying to get them to settle down. He’s my rule follower and he sees me first, his whole body going limp with obvious relief that I’ve arrived. My heart takes over, pumping warm, gooey happiness through my veins. Even the commotion makes me smile.
I step in, calling out, “Who read the book?”
There’s a tiny breath of pause and then twelve voices chant, “Josie!” and “I did I did!”
I have to plant my feet to withstand the onslaught as half a dozen bodies hurl themselves at my waist. I dish out as many hugs as I can, smiling over the top of their heads and making eye contact with the ones who held back. I recognize them all, and I’m glad to see a few I wasn’t sure would come again. “All right, everyone. You know the drill.”
The parents wave goodbye as the kids run to the round rug. They settle themselves while Javier does a loop to be sure everyone is in their place. My seat is the throne at the head of the circle. I made it myself out of a straight-backed chair and an upholstered headboard I found at a garage sale. James cut the headboard for me and nailed it to the chair, and I decorated the material with cutout stars and hearts. Brandi gave it two thumbs up and declared that I was officially in charge of both toddler groups. That was a year ago.
It’s what I’m going to miss most when I graduate.
Seated on my throne, I take a minute to commit this scene, this feeling, to memory. All eyes on me, a fizz of excitement in the room. The kids are ready to go where I lead. It feels good to be trusted that way. To be able to trust them, too.
“So,” I begin, “today’s book is called Pizza Breath.”
Voices rise along with their little bodies. “Josie! Noooooooo!”
“Oh dear!” I clap my hands over my cheeks. “Was it Socks for my Head?”
There are hysterical giggles and a louder chorus of “Noooooooo!”
“Then who can tell me what book we read?”
“Princess Pudding!”
“Yes!” I say, and I pull my copy from under my throne. “Princess Pudding. Who can tell me something special about the princess?”
“She loves pudding!” they all yell.
I lead them through a series of questions and lots of opinions are given, nearly all of which I agree with.
Yes, pudding is good.
Yes, it was funny when the dragon slipped in the pudding.
Yes, it was good that the prince had the princess to save him, or else he’d be dragon dinner.
I love how much picture books have changed since I was a kid. Girls aren’t lying around in metaphorical sleeps waiting for a guy to wake them up. Today it’s Power to the Princess, and not even the boys question it.
“Who’s ready for snacks?” I ask. Again, they know the drill. They sit in their spots so I can hand out cookies. The bookstore crew usually leaves the package on an upper shelf. I look, but no cookies.
“Let me see if I can get Brandi’s attention,” I tell the kids. “Sit still for a minute.” I walk to the door, and something flickers in my peripheral vision.
Blue.
Bright blue raglan tee over blue jeans. Brighter blue eyes.
My pulse jumps. “Why are you still here?”
Garrett is half sitting on one of the tables meant for browsers. “I’m waiting for you. You’re very cute with the kids.”
Heat stings my cheeks. “You were watching?”
“It’s a bookstore. The door is open.” He grins. “Do you have a tiara, too?” He wiggles his eyebrows.
I refuse to smile. I’m not going to encourage him. An un-encouraged Garrett Reeves is as much as I can handle. I point a finger toward the picture book section. “Go and find Brandi. Tell her I need cookies.”
“I don’t know who Brandi is.”
“You’ll figure it out.”
“Do I get a cookie, too?”
“You’re worse than the kids.” I point again. “Go!” I walk back in and tell the kids, “The cookies are on their way.” I hope I’m right. My heart is racing. I smooth my ponytail and then mess it up again when I realize what I’m doing. What is wrong with me? I don’t even like him. I take deep breaths until my pulse slows.
A few minutes later, he’s at the door, a stack of napkins and a package in his hand. “Sugar cookies, anyone?”
The kids clap and cheer, turning shining eyes on Garrett as he saunters in.
“You look like the prince in the book,” Ciera says.
“Are you a prince?” Kate murmurs, her eyes like Frisbees.
He tears open the cookies. “I am.” He walks around the circle, squatting beside each kid as he hands them a cookie and a napkin.
“You’re big,” Bryson says. “Are you a football player?”
“I’m a baseball player,” Garrett says. “You like baseball?”
“I like football better.”
“We’ll work on that.” He gives Bryson a wink.
Talia tugs on my leg. “Is he your prince, Josie?”
“No,” I say. “Girls don’t need princes, do we? We’re like Princess Pudding.”
“But who will kiss us?” she asks.
Garrett points a finger at Talia as if she’s asked a very good question. “Yes, Josie. Who will kiss you?”
I spare a second to glare at him and then smile at the kids. “I’m not old enough for kisses.”
“My brother kisses his girlfriend,” Ciera says. “Sometimes he kisses her on her boobies.”
“Ohhhkay!” I say, ending with a clap so loud my hands sting. “Well. That’s all the time we have for today.”
Garrett is trying so hard not to laugh, his whole body is shaking.
The parents are waiting near the door, so I excuse the kids. I’m surrounded by more hugs and thanks. Half the girls swarm Garrett, and he doesn’t seem the least bit surprised or uncomfortable. He’s probably used to female attention wherever he goes. He immediately gets into the swing of it, saying something sweet t
o each of them in turn.
Until it’s just the two of us.
My pulse quickens again. He watches me while I shelve the book and toss out the cookie bag. He’s making me nervous and that makes me mad. Mad is safe. Mad I can do. “You need to go. I have work to do.”
“Another story time?”
“Unpacking boxes.”
“Doesn’t sound nearly as fun.”
“It isn’t.” Through the open door, Bryson is playing imaginary hopscotch while his mom browses the books.
Garrett follows my gaze. “They’re great, aren’t they? Every summer, Coach Richards runs a baseball camp and I volunteer. Kids are about the same age as this group. Sevens and eights. But ball caps instead of tiaras.”
He slides his hands in the pockets of his jeans, rocking a little on his heels as if he’s reliving a moment of time. I knew a lot of ballplayers who volunteered because it was expected, but there’s no arguing that Garrett was good with the kids today.
“The things they say,” he murmurs. “And the way you feel when you show them something and they get it right. You know?” His gaze shifts to me, his smile genuine.
I scowl. Yes, I know, but I’m not going to admit it. I don’t want to have this conversation with Garrett. He’s looking for an angle—trying to wriggle his way into my—
“You lied,” he says, shocking my brain into silence.
“What? What are you talking about?”
“You said you don’t do things for fun. And this—” He gestures to the room. “You were having fun.”
I flush, feeling exposed. “I get paid to do this.”
“Yeah, but it can’t be a lot. You could make more somewhere else.” He eyes my throne. “This is something you love. You’re lucky to have that.”
“You’re making too much out of a part-time job.”
“Stocking books is a part-time job. You have a talent with those kids.” His charming smile switches back on. “Seems like you’re one of those people who’s talented at a lot of things.”
I react with a sniff of disgust. “Now you’re laying it on too thick.” I bend down for a heavy box of books that should go to storage.
Garrett takes the box from me before I have time to straighten completely. “Doesn’t mean it isn’t true.”
Announcing Trouble Page 3