For the Rush (Playing for Keeps #3)

by Amber Garza

  His eyes flashed. “I was just surprised. I didn’t know you went to my school.”

  “And you didn’t know I was in marching band,” I prompted him.

  He shifted in his seat. “Yeah…that too.”

  “Is that a problem?”

  “Why would it be a problem?” His brows knit together in a look of confusion.

  I shrugged. “Well, you’re a football player and I’m in marching band.” Why was he making me spell it out? I felt like an idiot.

  “Right,” he said flippantly. “Why’s that a problem? What other people do on their free time doesn’t affect me.”

  I swallowed hard. Other people. Of course. Why was I making this into a big deal? It wasn’t like we were dating, and clearly that wasn’t Holden’s intention. I was just a girl he flirted with in the spa. Surely he flirted with girls everywhere he went. I had kind of hoped it was more than that. I wanted to think we had a connection, but that was probably more on my part than his. Guys weren’t like that. They weren’t all sappy and romantic like girls were. I’d learned that the hard way with my ex-boyfriend, Ethan. Every little thing he did for me I turned into some sweeping, romantic gesture. I thought he really loved me. Like we had something special. Something ripped out of the pages of a romance novel. But it only took him two weeks after I moved to meet someone else and dump me. That had always been my issue. I liked the idea of being in love, and I guess I believed that other people did too. But most guys weren’t interested in falling in love. They liked the chase, they liked the game and of course, they liked sex. Not necessarily in that order. Seeing my parents’ relationship had given me this false sense that every relationship was romantic and true. But what I’d learned was that guys in high school were nothing like my dad. They were giant pervs, plain and simple.

  When I glanced over at Holden, my heart flipped in my chest. So if that were true, then why was I allowing this boy to get under my skin like this?

  CHAPTER 7

  Holden

  My words had clearly upset her, but I didn’t know why. When I first got in the spa, her demeanor was icy, frigid, like a freaking snowstorm. But then she started to thaw. She even let me touch her arm. And damn, it felt good. Her skin was as soft as I’d imagined it, her flesh like silk beneath my calloused fingertips. But then she called me on my behavior last night. I’d been hoping she’d let it go, but I should have known better. In the short time that I’d known Chloe it was clear that she held nothing back.

  I thought that convincing her I didn’t care what other people did in their free time would appease her. That she’d realize I wasn’t like Ryan or the other guys. That I didn’t judge people. But instead she seemed perturbed - angry even - the coldness returning with a vengeance. And it made my insides twist. I liked talking with Chloe. I liked her easy smile and smooth banter, and I was worried she’d close up on me again.

  So I did the only thing I could think of. I asked her about the one thing I knew would get her talking. And in the process I hoped she’d see that I wasn’t bothered by her participation in the band. In fact, I was interested in it.

  “What instrument do you play?”

  Her eyes narrowed in skepticism.

  “I don’t know a lot about music, but I did play the clarinet for a year in elementary school. I royally sucked. So bad that my mom begged me to stop. She couldn’t take me practicing in the house anymore.” Chloe’s lips tugged upward a little bit, so I kept talking. “Still, I think it was better than my singing, if you can believe it. Freshman year I thought I might want to become a rockstar, so I sang with my friend’s band a couple of times, until he told me I should stick with football.”

  “Well, I’m sorry to hear about your failed musical attempts.” A genuine smile unfolded on Chloe’s face. “If it makes you feel any better, when I was younger I tried out for every sports team imaginable, and I sucked at all of them. Coordination is not my strong suit. But in my quest to find something I could get involved in, I realized I was actually pretty good at music. And oddly enough I started with the clarinet too. But my seventh grade band teacher thought I’d do well with the tenor saxophone, so he switched me to that. I’ve been playing it ever since.”

  “And you like it?”

  “I love it.” Happiness danced in her eyes, and I was glad I had chosen this topic. Clearly music was something she enjoyed talking about. “There’s nothing quite like getting lost in a song.”

  “That’s how I feel about football.”

  Her gaze snapped to mine, and my breath caught in my throat. She stared into my eyes as if she was trying to figure me out, searching for some hidden clue, some answer that would confirm the truth about me. Like I was a mystery to solve, a puzzle to put together. It should have bothered me, but it didn’t. Unwavering, I held her gaze, hoping that in my eyes she’d read my sincerity.

  “You’ve been playing a long time?” She asked, staring down at the water.

  “Since I was a kid. My dad’s a big football fan, so he used to take me to games a lot.” I had no idea why I was sharing with her about my dad. Rarely did I talk about him, and never to strangers. But something about her made me comfortable, made me want to open up.

  “I bet he’s pretty proud of you. From what I hear, you’re like a big football superstar.” She didn’t say it in a teasing way. Instead she stated it like a fact, and I knew she wasn’t mocking me. She was reiterating what she’d heard. And I wasn’t surprised. Our football team was one of the best around. For years we had dominated, but since I’d started as quarterback we’d been unbeatable.

  Shrugging, I said, “Yeah, I am a big superstar, but I’m not sure that means much to my dad.” I was hoping that if I veiled the ugly truth in a joking manner it wouldn’t seem as bad.

  “Why not?” Chloe wiped her forehead with a wet hand and then stood, steam rising from her body. It was getting hot in here. I was dying from the intense heat, but I didn’t want to get out. I didn’t want to end our conversation. So I climbed up out of the spa and sat on the side, dangling my feet in the water. A jet brushed over my heel, water pelting it. Actually, it felt good. Chloe followed my lead, hoisting herself up and sitting beside me. Dipping her feet in the spa, she kicked her legs back and forth. I couldn’t help but ogle her exposed body.

  “My dad’s a football announcer for the Akron Avengers. His job has always come first.”

  She nodded, and I could tell she was trying to gauge whether or not she should ask anything further on the subject. In the end she must have decided against it, because she changed the subject. “Is playing football what you want to do for a career?”

  “Yeah,” I said emphatically. “That would be a dream come true.” Nudging her in the side, I asked, “What about you? You plan to become a famous musician?”

  “That would be amazing.” Staring out at the water, a wistful grin passed over her face. “I definitely want to do something with music. If I don’t make it as a musician, I’ll probably become a music producer or teacher or something.” She turned her head. “What about you? Do you have a back-up plan?”

  “Same as you, I guess. If I can’t play, I’ll coach or teach. Anything to still be involved in the game.”

  She chuckled. “It’s weird, huh? Here we are both high school students. But in six years or so we could both be teaching high school. Wouldn’t that be wild?”

  “Nah, what would be wild is if we both became what we really wanted.”

  “That would be wild,” she agreed.

  “Maybe, but I like to think that’s exactly what will happen.”

  “You’re one of those guys, huh?” She raised an eyebrow. A gentle breeze kicked up, and she shivered, goosebumps rising on her bare flesh. I wanted to reach out, to put my arms around her and pull her close. But I knew that would be too forward. So instead, I scooted toward the chair where I’d left my towel. I snatched it up, then moved closer to her, draping it over her shoulders. When I did, my fingertips barely grazed her skin. Sti
ll it was enough to turn me on. And it was enough to wet my appetite, to make me want more. Her eyelashes fluttered when she whispered a ‘thank you,’ flashing me a look of gratitude. It was almost too much.

  Clearing my throat, I forced myself back to the conversation. “One of what guys?”

  “A dreamer.”

  “Not in the sense that I’m unrealistic or have my head in the clouds.” The last thing I wanted her to do was get the wrong impression of me. “But I work hard.” I paused, my eyes meeting hers. “And I always go after what I want.”

  She swallowed hard, her neck swelling with the effort. Her hand fluttered up to her neck, touching the towel I’d given her. I liked seeing her in my towel. It felt right somehow. “You do, huh?” Her tone had taken on that playful quality that I liked so much from our first meeting.

  “Yep.” I hoped she’d caught my double meaning. “What about you? Do you go after what you want, Chloe?”

  “Yeah, I do,” she breathed.

  I smiled. It was good enough for me. Her words made me feel grateful that I had decided to come to the spa today. When I woke up this morning my shoulder was throbbing. Mom suggested I hit the spa after my workout today. It sounded appealing, and I told myself it was because of the pain. But deep down I knew it was because I thought Chloe might be here. Even though I knew I could see her at school now, there was something magical about running into her off campus, at a neutral location. A place where we could be ourselves, just Chloe and Holden. Not Chloe the marching band girl or Holden the quarterback.

  I glanced down at the hands she had folded in her lap. Feeling bold, I grabbed the one closest to me and turned it over. Her palms were wrinkly, and I ran the pad of my index finger over the ridges.

  “Looks like you made your goal today.”

  “Yeah, I guess I did,” she said in an amused tone.

  “I think that’s a sign.” I had already made my point. Already traced the lines on her palm, yet I couldn’t stop touching her. I longed to never take my hands away. It was weird, the way she made me feel. So unlike anything I’d experienced before.

  “You believe in signs?”

  “I do now.” I grinned at her.

  She bit her lip, and I marveled at the fact that she hadn’t pulled her hand away yet. I didn’t think she was the type of girl that let random guys touch her in the spa. “I’ve never believed in signs,” she said firmly. Then she glanced over at me, light flickering in her eyes. “But….maybe….I could be open to the idea.”

  My lips twitched at the corners. I had the sneaking suspicion we weren’t talking about our career aspirations or her goal to become a prune any longer. It seemed like maybe she was talking about me and her. And I sure as hell hoped I was right.

  CHAPTER 8

  Chloe

  I got a text during dinner. Startled, I flinched when the phone went off in my pocket. I hadn’t gotten a lot of texts lately. My friends from my old school had already moved on. Out of sight, out of mind, I guess. Every once in awhile Jasmine or Gianna texted, but not that often. And I wasn’t expecting a text from them tonight because I knew they were both busy. My parents didn’t like it when I checked my phone at the dinner table, but I couldn’t help it. Curiosity got the best of me, and I reached inside my pocket and yanked it out. The rough fabric chafed the skin on my knuckle. Holding the phone under the table, I glanced down at it.

  Holden: My hands aren’t wrinkly anymore. Looks like I need to go in the spa again. Want to train again tomorrow?

  I couldn’t help it. My lips curled upward, a tiny chuckle bubbling from my throat. My flippant joke had taken on a life of its own.

  “What’s going on under there?” Dad peeked under the table, eyebrows raised.

  “Nothing.” I turned my phone over, smothering it with my hand.

  “Doesn’t look like nothing.” Dad flashed me a knowing grin.

  “This wouldn’t have anything to do with the boy in the spa, would it?”

  My cheeks warmed. Apparently Mom had come looking for me at some point during our gym outing and had spied me in the spa talking to Holden. I had assured her that it was just a coincidence. That he was a guy from school and we happened to run into each other today. And even though it was the truth, it sort of felt like a lie.

  I wanted to shake my head, to deny it, but I had never lied to my parents, and I wasn’t starting now. It wasn’t because they would disapprove. They generally handled me having boyfriends okay. At least mom did. Dad was, well, a dad. I doubted there was any dad on earth who was perfectly fine with his little girl dating. He still called me his princess, and I swore he pictured me wearing overalls and pigtails. Mostly, I didn’t want to tell my parents about Holden because I didn’t know what to say. I liked Holden and he appeared to like me. But I wasn’t sure it would lead anywhere. I know that I wanted it to lead to something, and that both terrified and excited me. Realizing that my parents were both staring at me anticipating my answer, I cleared my throat and sat up straighter.

  “Um…yeah…actually. He just texted.”

  Mom cocked her head to the side. “So you gave him your number? Your dad’s right, honey. That doesn’t sound like nothing.”

  “He’s just a friend. You’re always telling me to make new friends, right?”

  “Is that all he is?” Dad pelted me with a challenging look.

  I squirmed in my seat, but then I realized I could unequivocally answer, “Yes.” Because right now Holden was nothing more than a friend. Dad hadn’t asked what I wanted our relationship to be. He asked what we were.

  Dad searched my eyes, as if trying to gauge whether I was lying or not. “All right, then. Tell us about this friend of yours.”

  “He’s the quarterback of the football team,” I said, knowing this would impress Dad.

  “Really?” He sat forward in his chair, setting his fork down.

  See what I mean.

  “Ah, that Holden,” Mom interjected, most likely remembering him from the game they’d attended. “Did you meet him during marching band the night of the game?”

  I almost spit out the water I had just taken a sip of. “Sure, mom, I met him at the game. He saw me in my marching band uniform and was so impressed he came up to talk to me. I’m thinking it was probably the giant hat, or maybe he was attracted to the unisex pants.”

  The minute I caught a glimpse of Mom’s face I knew I went too far. “So you do like this boy.” It wasn’t a question, it was a statement. Damn, she was too intuitive.

  I shrugged, reaching for my fork. Then I drug it along my plate, pushing around the half eaten piece of chicken. “He’s nice.”

  “What did he text you about?” Dad asked, his head bobbing toward the phone still sitting on my thigh.

  “He wanted to know if I could meet him at the gym tomorrow.”

  Dad glanced over at Mom warily, and I held my breath. If it was up to Dad it would be a resounding ‘no.’ He would keep me locked in a glass tower like Rapunzel if he could.

  “I don’t see why not. We’re planning to go anyway,” Mom said.

  Taking a bite of my chicken, I held back my smile, not wanting to seem too eager.

  Dad paused, studying me a minute. Then he gave me a small smile. “Okay. Fair enough. We were planning to go around eleven.”

  “Thanks.” My fingers itched to respond to Holden now, but I knew better. “I’ll text him after dinner.”

  Dad’s smile deepened, clearly appeased by my good manners. Both he and Mom resumed eating. I was so excited, I couldn’t force down another bite. And the knots and tangles in my stomach only intensified when I thought back to how tender Holden was when he touched my hand and when he wrapped the towel around my shoulders. It was such a contrast to how he’d appeared at school, and even at the football game. When I saw him with that rude guy who was picking on Preston, I had pegged him as a jerk. As a typical meathead jock. And when I saw him at the game, he still seemed to be playing that role. But this morning he was dif
ferent. He was sweet. He was open.

  He was everything I’d been looking for in a guy.

  After dinner, I rinsed off my plate and hurriedly tossed it in the dishwasher. Then I raced upstairs to my room so I could text Holden back. I could feel Mom and Dad watching me curiously, but I ignored them. Sometimes I envied my brother for being away at college and out from under their thumb. Of course, other times I was terrified about leaving them and having to be out on my own. Go figure.

  After closing my bedroom door softly behind me, I sat down on my bed. Leaning my head against the black headboard, I stretched my legs out over my black and white polka dotted comforter. My saxophone case sat near the door, a folder of sheet music set on top. Not only was I in marching band, but I was in the jazz band as well. It was my zero period class. Today Mr. Grant had given me a solo to play in our upcoming jazz competition. My heart skipped a beat thinking about it. Being the new girl, I had worried that it would take awhile to prove myself. I wasn’t anticipating a solo right out of the gate, and I didn’t want to let him down. So after texting Holden, I planned to spend the rest of the evening practicing.

  I know, I know, pretty riveting Saturday night plans, huh? What can I say? I was a party animal.

  Picking up my phone, I punched in my code and then went into my text messages.

  Me: I’d love to. Does 11 am work for you?

  Biting my lip, I awaited a response. It had been awhile since he’d texted, and I hoped he hadn’t already made other plans. I was pretty certain Holden got a lot of offers. In fact, he was probably out at a party or something tonight. I doubted he spent his Saturday nights at home with his parents the way I did. When my phone buzzed, I jumped, a small squeal escaping through my lips.

  Holden: Sounds good.

  I wasn’t sure how to respond. Did I send a smiley face? No, that would have been dumb.

  Me: Ok. C U then.