On top of getting kids to notice our lacrosse team, it looked like I’d have to change my clothes. I mean, I couldn’t reel Ashley in with my charm if I couldn’t get her to look any further than my rock-n-roll T-shirts.
It was time to lose my pride and ask Tessa for help. Tessa worked part-time at Replay, a consignment clothing store in town, and she had a sense of style. Definitely unique, but style nonetheless. Since I knew Tessa had a harder time telling me no face-to-face, I’d drop by Replay after school while she was working. (Hey, God gave me blue eyes and dimples for a reason. You bet I used them.)
Not that my charm worked on Tessa very often. She’d usually call me out on it, but I was a guy on a mission and had to at least try. I hadn’t become a darn good lacrosse player by giving up easily.
5
Tessa
It was the best of jobs, it was the worst of jobs. (Yes, I was a nerd who loved Dickens, and I didn’t care who knew it.) I worked at Replay, the second-hand clothing consignment store in town, two afternoons a week. While I used my paycheck toward gas for my car and any extra art supplies I needed, the truth was I would work here for free. Why? Most of my wardrobe came from Replay.
The reason it could be the worst of jobs was when the snobby rich kids or their parents lowered themselves to sneak in to sell or—heaven forbid—buy clothes at Replay. Don’t get me wrong—the majority of the wealthy families around town were as nice as anyone. But it only took one or two snobby ones to ruin a good work shift.
Normal kids—aka not me—loved being able to score popular brand-name clothing for a steal. You’d be amazed at the nice clothes that ended up here. Not any clothes I wore, but still nice.
No, what I loved were the vintage dresses, sweaters, scarves, and hats that arrived from the grandmas in town. From forties retro shirtwaister dresses to sixties miniskirts. From Katharine Hepburn high-waisted, wide-leg pants to Laura Petrie black cigarette pants and flats. Those ladies knew how to dress.
Since there was only one Mom and her daughter disagreeing on every pair of jeans in the pre-teen section, I stood at the long counter next to the cash register, sorting the new “old” inventory by style, sex, and size. I loved this task because it let me know what was available to help customers. There was also a comforting feeling of creating order out of chaos, from jumbled piles of clothes to carefully creased and hung, ready for display.
The bell over the front door jingled, and I looked over to see Spencer entering. He only had to send me one glance, and I could guess why he was here. I released a breath and rolled my shoulders back. I had said I’d support him, so I would.
“Hey, you,” I said, sending him a soft smile while I gave myself a mental talking to. No more judgment, Tess, just be there for him.
“Tessa.” His bluer-than-blue gaze locked onto mine, and he smiled, revealing those cavernous dimples that made females of all ages go fluttery.
Buck up, sister.
“Uh, huh. You don’t need to waste your baby blues and dimples on me. I figured you’d end up here, and I’m happy to help you.”
“How did you figure I’d be by?” He tilted his head.
I almost blurted that it was because I knew Ashley better than he did. She and I had been in the same homeroom class since the sixth grade. Ashley used to critique my thrift store outfits to amuse her posse. But I’d promised to be supportive. So I shoved those words back down.
“I’ve been practicing with my psychic powers.” I winked at him.
“Really?” He leaned his hip against the counter between us and grinned. “What am I thinking right now?”
“Too easy. You’re thinking that your best friend deserves a double-scoop of Caramel Chameleon from Toppings because she’s about to save your plan.”
“Wow, you really are psychic. But . . . you’re happy to help me? Really?”
“Not if you give me attitude.” I narrowed my eyes in warning before moving from behind the counter and over to the men’s section in the store. Shuffling through the rack, I selected ten shirts—both button up and polo—dumping them into his arms. “What size pants do you wear?”
“I have no idea.”
Right. Because he usually just wore whatever his mom bought him from Walmart or the Wrangler store.
“Turn around.” I twirled my finger at him.
“You checking out my butt?” he asked, grinning those dang dimples at me.
“Do you need me to give your butt the best friend stamp of approval?” I arched a brow at him. The sad fact was that the girl in me had already checked out his butt. In my defense, both Cody and Spencer were athletes, and both had nice butts. Being their friend didn’t mean I didn’t have eyes. “I need to check the size of your Wranglers. Duh.”
“I knew that.” He turned, lifting the hem of his Jimi Hendrix T-shirt up so I could read the size on the leather label. 32W x 34L. Got it.
I added two pairs of Dockers and one pair of the hottest brand jeans to the stack in his arms.
“The dressing rooms are in the back.” I nodded toward the curtained cubicles. “If you aren’t sure, come out and show me. I promise to channel my inner preppy-girl for her opinion.”
“Ha! If you ever had an inner preppy-girl, you tied her up years ago and left her to watch the CW on an endless loop.”
“Okay, that’s a fair point.” I shrugged. “Why waste time on mindless TV shows about spoiled teens when there are a gazillion classic movies yet to watch?”
“Hitchcock forever,” he said. Spencer shared my love of classic movies. We’d watched many together over the years, although I preferred the comedies like The Philadelphia Story and Young Frankenstein while he liked psycho-thrillers like Rear Window and The Usual Suspects.
“Go try those on.” I pushed him toward the back to get him moving. “We’ll have you prepped out in no time.”
Pretty much everything he tried on looked great on him. Great as in fit nicely, and the colors highlighted those killer eyes of his even if he did look like some generic preppy boy clone. The important thing in making Spencer into catnip for Ashley was that all the clothes had all the right logos.
“I believe my work here is done,” I called from outside the curtain as I gathered up all the clothes he was purchasing. The stack was so tall that I had to squish it down to see over it. “I hope you have money left for my ice cream.”
“I’ve been saving all my tips from work,” he said, sliding the curtain open and stepping out of the cubicle. “But I’ll put an item back if I need to.”
He was in the middle of taking the clothes from my arms when the bell over the entrance chimed.
I turned to greet the new customer. “Welcome to—”
Whoa. Ashley Marks? And Karen, Ashley’s BFF? In Replay? I whipped back around to Spencer and shoved him back inside the dressing booth. The only problem was one of his hangers caught on the shoulder of my knitted Irish wool sweater. There was no way I was sacrificing my favorite sweater for Ashley, so I ended up stepping into the booth as well, grabbing the curtain closed behind us.
“What are you do—” I slapped my hand over Spencer’s lips.
“Shhh. Ashley just walked in,” I hissed as someone (Ashley) pounded on the bell next to the cash register.
“Hello? Can I get some service?” she called.
“Be right there!” I called over my shoulder into the curtain before turning back to Spencer. I was plastered up against him and his armful of clothes in the cubicle. The very tiny cubicle. If I hadn’t already noticed his muscles, I would have now. We were closer than a game of Twister got you.
“Is that Ashley?” he asked. “I should go say hello.”
“No, you shouldn’t.” If Ashley knew he bought clothes here, she’d subtract points from him. Ashley did not shop at consignment stores. Ashley’s mother was a frequent visitor but only to sell their out-of-season clothes. “Trust me on this.”
“I’m in a hurry!” Ashley called. “My mother said not to leave without a
receipt!”
“I’ll be right with you!” I called, wiggling my shoulders in my attempt to release the hanger.
“What are you doing? Practicing your dance moves?” Spencer whispered. “Don’t you need to get out there?”
“I’m not dancing. I’m stuck. One of your hangers is caught on my sweater.” I tilted my head to the side. “Can you see it to slide it out? Carefully. I love this sweater.”
“Maybe. I need you to grab the clothes so I have both hands to work with, though.” There was a bit of awkward maneuvering between the two of us. My head bumped into his chin, and his elbow grazed my jaw.
“Sorry,” he whispered. “You okay?”
“Fine.” I peered up into his face. “Can you get it?”
“Trying, but this cubicle isn’t made for two people.” His gaze honed in on where he was attempting to slide the hook out. “By the way, why do you always smell like peaches?”
“My shampoo.”
“It’s nice,” he said, his eyes flicking to me and then back to the problem at hand. “Have I ever told you peaches are my favorite fruit?”
“N-no.” Spencer smelled nice, too. Like fresh air and dryer sheets. Do not notice how your best friend smells, dummy. It’s against best friend rules.
“Do you have it?” I asked as Ashley stabbed the bell another twenty times.
“Almost. There’s not a lot of space to work. Tell your boss she needs a higher watt bulb in here.”
“Whoa.” I had to stifle a snicker at a flash of déjà vu. “Does this remind you of that time we played spin-the-bottle in fifth grade, and we ended up in Tanya Webber’s coat closet?”
“Uh-huh. Our first kiss.” His eyes met mine as he grinned at the memory. “You laughed when I kissed you.”
“I didn’t mean to, but I was kissing my best friend.” My gaze moved down to his lips, making the horrible observation that they looked extremely kissable. What the heck was I doing? I jerked my gaze away quickly. “In my defense, I also thought boys had cooties. Got it yet?”
“There. You’re free.”
“Stay here.” I shoved the clothes back into his hands, slid out from behind the curtain, and rushed over behind the check-out counter. “Sorry about that.”
“Whatever.” Ashley gave my vintage dress and schoolmarm sweater the once over before lifting her eyes to meet mine. “Do they make you dress like that for work?”
“No.” Ignoring the shared smiles between Ashley and her friend over her dig at me, I pulled the clothes from the bag Ashley’s mother had sent to count the items.
“If you wanted to look through that stack and take one of my cast-offs, I wouldn’t say anything.” Ashley’s smile twisted, baring her big white smile. “Unless you like shopping at Goodwill.”
I ignored her and kept counting.
“Why even bother to be nice, Ash? She’s ignoring you.” Karen, Ashley’s side-kick, reached over and mashed her hand down on the bell again. “Hello? Your customer service sucks. Is your boss around? I’d like to file a complaint.”
I wrote the number of items on the receipt and handed it across the counter to Ashley. “Please let your mother know we’ll send her an email with the exchange value before we add it to her account.”
Ashley took the receipt without a word and left, leaving the scent of her expensive flowery perfume.
“All clear!” I called toward the back of the store.
Spencer exited the cubicle and placed his pile of clothes on the counter, and I quickly rang him up.
“Thanks for your help, Tess.” He took each item from me, folded it haphazardly, and bagged it.
“I may not believe in your plan, but I believe in you.”
“Can I ask you one more favor?”
“I wouldn’t recommend it,” I snapped, shooting him a sharp look so he’d know I was serious. His future girlfriend—yes, I figured he’d succeed, when he wanted something, he went after it with everything he had—annoyed the heck out of me.
“Ooookay.” Spencer nodded and grabbed up his bags of clothes. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Sure.” But I sort of hoped not. The idea of watching preppy Spencer trying to get his flirt on with the snottiest girl in school made me nauseous.
Or maybe the overpowering flowery perfume was getting to me.
6
Spencer
“Take two. Here goes nothing.”
“We’re all rooting for you,” Cody said. “Well, not all. Not your mom or sister or Tessa, but, you know, everyone else.”
Right.
“You look great.” Cody reached out and fiddled with my collar like he was my mom. He even brushed lint away from the logo. I was afraid he was going to mess with my hair next, but instead, he grabbed my shoulders, spun me around, and pushed me toward the pillar I was going to stake out. “Go get her, Hale-storm.”
Ha! He used my lacrosse nickname when I went on the attack and scored.
The bell for the first lunch period rang, and I leaned up against the pillar to wait. It was only a matter of minutes before I saw Ashley walking toward me.
More importantly, she was looking right at me.
Play it cool. Think of something cool to say. Something she’ll remember, though. Something smart, but not geeky. Something to impress her.
When she got a few feet away, she paused, waiting.
This was it. This was my chance.
“Hey,” I said with a nod of my head. Hey? Oh, good. That’s memorable. Tessa was right. I am an idiot.
“Hey,” Ashley said.
To me. She said, “hey” to me. Should I say something else? What should I say? Maybe hey was enough? She was still looking at me. Peeking at me really, under her lashes in a flirty way. In fact, she peeked me up and down with quick little looks. First, at my jeans. Yes. That look alone made the money I’d spent on them worth it. Next, she flashed a look at my shirt. My new, blue polo. One quick peek went to my shoes and then a last one up to my hair. I felt an urge to reach up to check it but stopped myself. Not cool.
“You’re Spencer, right?” she asked.
“Yeah, Spencer. Spencer Hale.” It felt like when I stood on the lacrosse field, visualizing a play in my head just before I ran it. My brain saw possible outcomes and I braced, ready to call an audible. “And aren’t you . . . uh, Ashley, right?”
“Yes, I’m Ashley.” She finally looked right at me with her big brown eyes. “Are you new here?”
“Nope. I’ve been here the whole time.”
“Well, you must be a spy since you’ve been hiding in plain sight.” She smiled while her gaze ran over my muscled chest. “I can’t believe I’ve never seen you around. Are you on the football team?”
“No, I play—”
“Soccer?” Her gaze ran down to my thighs, like soccer thighs were an actual thing.
“No, I play on the lacrosse team.”
“What? Sweet Mountain has a lacrosse team?” She frowned. “Since when?”
“Just since last year.” All the guys on the team had been playing local club ball while we waited for the county to add lacrosse.
“I guess you work out a lot.” She reached out, squeezing my biceps. Was she one of those touchy people, or was she checking out my muscles? I casually flexed my arm just in case. Hey, it couldn’t hurt. “I haven’t seen you at the fitness club like I see all the football players.”
“Oh, yeah. I uh, go to a different gym.” Kids from my neighborhood couldn’t afford the fitness club. The weight bench and barbells in my garage were my gym. So I hadn’t lied.
“I’ve got to go. Maybe I’ll see you around.”
“Sure.” Crash and burn number two. She wasn’t sold, but I was on her radar. That was something, wasn’t it?
Yes. I’d take it as a positive. But now I had to attend the nerd convention, otherwise known as the Star Wars Role-Playing Club. It was not lost on me that three years ago—heck, even one year ago—I would have been excited over joining this club
. But life moves on, goals change, and thus I had changed. Or had I?
I still liked the same movies and video games.
I could be nerdy once a week without destroying my cool-factor, right? No one had to know about the club. Knowing Tessa would only roll her eyes at my worrying about it was enough for me to get over myself.
Grabbing my bag lunch from my locker, I made my way into the media center and found my fellow nerds.
“Welcome, Mr. Hale. Come join the fun.” Mr. Nelson, the librarian and sponsor for the club, waved me in. Aaand I knew almost everyone in the club. They were all kids I hadn’t hung out with since middle school since I mostly hung out with my lacrosse teammates.
A bright, familiar laugh caught my attention, and I turned to find Tessa making a group of boys groan as she beat the pants off them in Edge of Empire. I walked over to join their table, taking the seat across from her.
Tessa looked up, giving me a bright smile.
“Hey, you,” she said, sending me an impish smile. “Welcome to the dark side. You want to join the game?”
“Sure.”
“Wait!” Michael Plotz held his hand in the air. “You can only join in late if you can beat Tessa. She’s cleaning our clocks.”
“Sorry.” I shook my head and grinned. “This girl is a stone-cold player when it comes to games. I’ve only managed to beat her once or twice.”
“What? But she’s a girl.” Josh Hemmer, Mr. Obvious.
“Dude, that has nothing to do with it,” Frank Tesh came to the defense of women everywhere. He tossed a dice at Josh. “Stop being an idiot.”
“She looks sweet, and then she captures your ship and turns you over to collect the bounty,” Arnold Baker grumbled. Arnold was considered the king of the nerds. The poor guy looked like Hollywood’s stereotypical nerd: skinny with thick, black-framed glasses and awkward. The dude was super-smart, as in future-billionaire genius smart. I was looking forward to our twentieth high school reunion when Arnold got to say “Who’s the nerd now?” to all the kids who teased him.
My Totally Off-Limits Best Friend: A YA Sweet Romance (Sweet Mountain High, Year 2: A Sweet YA Romance Series) Page 3