“To make it stop, just tell the truth,” the evil Bethany clown said as she laughed maniacally.
“Fine!” I screamed. “I admit it. Ok? I admit it. I like him.” Tap, tap, tap, tap… “I like him.” Tap, tap, tap. “You can stop now, I told you…”
My eyes flew open, and I was face-to-face with a laughing Cam. He was tapping me repeatedly in the center of my forehead. Confusion morphed into relief. That only lasted a few seconds before I realized what was going on. I slapped Cam’s hand away from my face.
“What in the heck are you doing? And why are you in my room so early in the morning?”
Cam brought his hand back toward my face, and I swatted it away again before shoving him off of my bed altogether. He was laughing hysterically.
“You stupid jerk. How long have you been in here tap-torturing me?”
He did this regularly when we were in ninth grade. If he wanted something from me and I was less than cooperative, he’d tackle me to the ground with my arms pinned under his knees and tap me in the middle of the forehead. He’d do it until I agreed to give him whatever he wanted. It was a very effective form of persuasion.
“Only a minute or so.” He reached up to wipe a tear that had been pooling at the side of his eye. I’m glad this was so amusing for him. I sat up in my bed so I could scold him properly.
“Couldn’t you have tried to wake me in a nicer way? Perhaps waited until it wasn’t the butt crack of dawn?”
“I did try,” he protested. “I knocked on your door a few times. When that didn’t work, I opened it and called your name. That didn’t work, either. So I walked over and shook your arm, but still nothing. I probably could have made out with you in your sleep just now and you wouldn’t even have stirred. Man, Bebe, you sleep like the dead. Tap torture was my last resort.”
“Fine, but that doesn’t explain why you’re in my room so early on a Saturday to begin with.”
I stared down at his prone form, impatiently waiting for an answer. Cam sat up and faced me. His eyes went wide. It took me a second to realize what had him so shocked. I quickly whipped up the covers that’d fallen off when I shoved him from the bed. In my rush to rip him a new one, I’d forgotten how scantily clad I was. I always slept in nothing but my underwear and a tank top. A very thin, almost see-through tank top…without a bra.
Heat crept through my face. Cam had just gotten a front row seat to the half-naked Bebe show. Oh, kill me now. It was karma, coming to punish me for all the early morning voyeurism I’d practiced this summer.
Cam’s wide eyes turned into a dangerous smile. “Don’t feel like you have to cover up the goods because of me,” he teased. “I have a deep appreciation for the female form.”
I picked up my pillow and chucked it at his face. “Get out of my room, you perv!” I tried to sound outraged, but he must not have been too convinced, because he made no move to get up.
“I’ll leave as soon as you tell me what you were dreaming about, or rather, who you were dreaming about.”
“I have no idea what you mean.” I tried to play dumb, but he wasn’t buying it.
“Oh, I think you do. I think you know exactly who you were dreaming about. It’s obviously someone you like…a lot.” I narrowed my eyes and pursed my lips. He had to know this wasn’t information I was going to divulge. “Come on, Bebe, admit it. You were dreaming about me, weren’t you? There’s no way he could possibly know I was dreaming about him.
“What makes you think I was dreaming about you?” I folded my arms across my chest, just in case the blanket wasn’t providing enough coverage.
“Right before you woke up, you were murmuring something about admitting you like him. Does that ring any bells?” Crap. I’m so screwed. Please tell me I didn’t say his name out loud.
“What’s that got to do with the price of tea in China?”
“I’m just saying that I am the coolest, hottest most amazing man in your life. It’s only natural that you have those kind of dreams about me. My assumption is based purely on logic.”
“Fine, you cocky little…” I stopped myself before uttering something that wasn’t very ladylike. “If you must know, I was dreaming about Mike.”
“MIKE?!” Cam screeched like a tweenage girl.
“Yeah, Mike. What’s wrong with Mike?” I tried my hardest to look sincere. “I mean, he is way cute and he obviously thinks that I’m super fly. He’s got impeccable fashion sense, and every time we talk, our conversations are so deep. It’s like he really gets me, you know?” I laid it on so thick I almost had myself convinced.
This time, my pillow hit me in the face. “All right, all right.” Cam surrendered. “I won’t bug you about your dream. Won’t stop me from believing that it was about me, but I’ll drop it for now. Just promise me that you will never, ever speak about Mike that way again. I have to go home now and dump bleach in my ears so I can erase everything I just heard.”
Man, I loved winning. Cam got up and walked toward the door. “By the way,” he said, “it’s not early, lazy butt. It’s eleven o’clock. Even I don’t need that much beauty sleep. Get out of bed, get dressed, and meet me outside. I need to whoop your sorry rear end in some one-on-one. If you’re not down in five minutes, I’m coming straight back up here to drag you out myself. Whether you’ve changed out of your itsy-bitsy jammies or not.” He grinned at me and shut the door behind him.
CAMERON
Wow, I mean…just wow. I’d been in Bebe’s room plenty of times, but I’d never seen her half-naked before. We weren’t even allowed to close the door. I know she thinks I’m a big pervert, but I only put on a show to maintain my image. I’m really a gentleman in player’s clothing. I’d never intrude on her privacy, not intentionally, anyway.
Seeing her in that tank top and her underwear was a little more than I was prepared to handle. Especially since the tank was kind of see-through and her underwear was that super hot boy short style. Oh man, I loved those. I know I embarrassed her. I wish I’d had more tact, looked away before she caught me staring. But I was too stunned to think, much less respond appropriately.
Bebe wasn’t super busty, but that didn’t really matter to me. She was petite and proportioned well. It’s her legs that got me. I was definitely a leg guy. Despite how short she was, she had long, lean beautiful legs. I know she complained about how she could never get a tan, but I thought her skin was perfect. She didn’t look fake like all the girls who spent hours giving themselves cancer in tanning beds. Until today, I’d never really seen her legs above the knee. Basketball shorts were ok for dudes but a horrible, horrible thing for girls.
Bebe headed outside about ten minutes after I left her room, probably worried that I’d make good on my promise to drag her out in her underwear. Of course she’d put on basketball shorts and a T-shirt. I suppose after this morning I should be grateful that she didn’t come out in snow pants and a parka.
We played for an hour before Bebe threw herself on the ground. “I can’t go anymore,” she panted.
For us, one-on-one wasn’t a laid back, friendly competition. We were both very competitive, and she was good enough that I actually had to try. She never won anymore, unless I let her. When we met, she was already the same height she is now, but I was only about five-nine, so it was easier for her to get around me. Now that I was six-two, she had a hard time making it past my defense. I was ok with that. It made for more charging and a lot more contact.
“Fine,” I replied. “All you have to do is admit that I’m the better player, and we can stop,” I teased. She’d never admit that.
“You’re the better player,” she agreed without hesitation.
I was shocked. “You don’t mean that.”
“Of course I don’t,” she said, still breathing hard. “I’m just ready for a frozen drink.”
“You’re a brat.” I pouted.
“That’s why you love me.” Bebe gave me a toothy grin.
Her brattiness was one of the many reasons
I loved her. I held my hand out to help her up. She stood, then ran across the street. “Meet me at the car.” She called over her shoulder.
We got to 7-Eleven and I tried to pay for her drink, but she freaked out because I bought dinner the other night, and she ended up paying for my drink instead. I let her, because she’s stubborn. When Bebe has her mind set on something, there’s no changing it. Plus, I figured I wasn’t breaking my oath. I wasn’t lame enough to consider a Slurpee run a date.
“You want to hang out still?” I asked after we got home.
“Yes, but I can’t.” She sighed.
“Sure, you can. All you have to do is get out of the car, walk to my house, and sit on my couch. You can’t be so out of shape that you need a rest before walking across the street?” I know I was supposed to be treating her like other girls, but I couldn’t help it. I loved her responses to my teasing. I was rewarded for my rude comment with a kick to the shins. “Ouch. Why so violent?” I complained.
“Why so immature?” she retorted.
“I guess you bring out my youthful side.”
“I think it’s your idiot side.”
I grabbed for her. She tried to dodge, but she wasn’t quick enough. I scooped her up and threw her over my shoulder, then started for her side door. I thought about pinching her butt, grateful I was able to restrain myself. Bebe didn’t show any restraint, though. She smacked me repeatedly on the ass as she yelled at me to put her down.
“You think spanking me is incentive to let you go?” I asked. “If anything, it’s reinforcing my poor behavior.” We reached the door, and she gave me one last swat before I put her down. “As much as I’d love for you to continue touching my butt, I assume you have a decent reason for not hanging out?”
“Yes, there is,” she replied. “I have an English paper to write.”
“Always the procrastinator.” I laughed.
“Procrastinator? It’s only Saturday. I’m starting early.”
“Early, for a procrastinator.”
“Whatever.” She held her hand up to my face, then turned for the door.
I grabbed her hand away from my face, then held on to it. “Don’t go. I’ll be lonely if you leave,” I begged.
“Sure, you will.” She huffed, but she also blushed as she looked at our hands. That alone was enough to keep me encouraged.
“Now, get lost so I can do some work.” Bebe pulled away from me, and I was instantly disappointed.
“All right, I’ll go.” I sighed. “At least I can watch you study from my bedroom window.”
“See you later, creeper.” She laughed, then went inside.
I trudged up to my bathroom and hopped in the shower. Ten minutes later, I was sitting at my computer. What to do, what to do? I opened Facebook to see if anyone mentioned a party or something tonight. My desk was situated in front of my bedroom window, so I pulled open my blinds. I wasn’t kidding about spying on Bebe. Our houses were the exact same floor plan, and she and I had the same bedroom. We’d intentionally put our desks in front of our windows so we could make faces at each other when homework got boring. Bebe was sitting at her desk, absorbed in her computer screen.
I clicked on her Facebook page and scrolled through her pictures. One of her and Beth in front of their lockers at school. One of me and her at the conference championships last year. A selfie with the three of us from last Tuesday in government class. Bebe and I spent plenty of time together. When did I become so desperate that I had to Facebook stalk her in the few hours we spent apart?
I didn’t know the best way to approach this. My quasi-date had been a bust. I wasn’t any closer to knowing how Bebe felt about me. Every now and then I’d see a hint of a reaction when I flirted, but it vanished so quickly there was no way to be sure. She’d never treated me as anything more than a good friend.
As I saw just now on the driveway, even if I confessed my feelings she wouldn’t believe me. Not without really proving how much I cared first. I’d have to show her how I felt before I said it. That way when I finally told her, she’d have to believe me. How could I do that without revealing my feelings to soon? This was so messed up. Why couldn’t it be as simple as walking up to her and asking her out?
I needed help, lots of help, and not only the mental kind. I needed the help of the one person who knew Bebe better than I did. I opened up my phone and shot off a quick text message to Beth.
C: Hey. I need to talk to you.
B: Sure, what’s up?
C: No, I need to talk to you in person.
B: Uh-oh. This sounds bad.
C: Not bad. Just need your help with something.
B: I’m on my way to practice. I’ll be home in a few hours.
C: Actually, I wanted to talk to you when Bebe wasn’t around…
B: Ok. You guys have a fight or something?
C: Or something.
B: Well, we live together, so talking when she’s not around might be difficult.
C: She said something about a basketball meeting Monday after conditioning.
B: Well, then you can ride home with me after cheer, and she can catch a ride home with someone else.
C: Thanks, Beth, you’re the best.
B: I know :-)
Hopefully she doesn’t tell Bebe about this cryptic conversation. I don’t think she will. If you can trust anyone to keep a secret, it’s Beth. Now I only have two days to come up with a brilliant plan.
. . . . .
“Ok, you slackers, move faster! How’re you going to defend your conference championship titles if you run like a bunch of asthmatic kids at fat camp?” Coach Lambert barked at us. The girl’s coach was a beast. Bebe’s theory was that her coach was mean because she batted for the other team and was sexually repressed. I disagreed. I saw the way she looked at Coach Adams; she definitely had a thing for him. He was an ex-college player with mad skills, and even though he was kind of old, he was pretty fit and looked distinguished. Dude made graying hair work. But, he was also married. So I’d bet Coach Lambert was nasty all the time because she had a case of unrequited love.
“I think I’m going to throw up.” Bebe groaned as we met each other at the half court line.
“What’s wrong, Bebe, feel like an asthmatic kid at fat camp?” I mocked coach Lambert, then turned around, heading for the end line. Boys and girls had been lined up across from each other and running half court suicides for the last twenty minutes. Bebe stood directly across the court from me so we could compete for best times. I had longer legs, so I won for the first fifteen minutes. Bebe had better stamina, though, and for the last five minutes she’d been hitting the half court line just before me. For all her complaining about throwing up, she was in pretty good shape.
After a greatly needed thirty-second rest, Coach Adams yelled the words we were dying to hear. “Ok, guys and gals, one more, then we’re done with suicides…” Cheers erupted around the gym.
“…and on to burpees,” he finished. Ok, not so much the words we were dying to hear and more like the words that might make one of us die. “Last one finished from each team does an extra suicide. Ready, go.”
Coach blew his whistle, and I took off in a sprint. Bebe was running pretty fast, and we ended up hitting the half court line at the same time. We both bent down to touch the line, but as I put my hand on the floor, she reached out and pushed it from underneath me, causing me to lose my balance. It wasn’t enough of a push to make me eat the floor like an uncoordinated jackass, but it was enough to give her the advantage she needed. She sprinted across the finish line before I did, no doubt reveling in her dirty defeat.
I glared at Bebe, even though I wasn’t mad that she won. I was annoyed that her sneaky cheater moves hadn’t crossed my mind first. She might have beaten me, even without cheating. At least now I could blame my loss on something other than her being in better shape. She walked around the end of the court with her hands behind her head, face red, panting and dripping sweat. Gosh, she was hot, even
like this. No, especially like this. Ten minutes of burpees and then we could head into the weight room, where she could be my spotting partner and I’d have an excuse to touch her.
When we finished, everyone headed to the water fountains. I cut Bebe off in line, and when I bent over for a drink, she pushed my head into the water. I held some in my mouth as I moved out of line. When she bent over for a swig, I leaned in and sprayed the water on the side of her face. She yelped and ran into the weight room. I’d pay for that later, I’m sure. What I wasn’t sure about is why I was acting like an eighth grade moron with a stupid crush. I was usually good at playing it cool with the ladies. I don’t know why, but she brought out my dorky side. I must be farther gone than I realized.
“Hey, Bebe,” I called out as I entered the weight room and strode over to the bench press. “Get over here and spot me.”
“Can’t” she replied. “I already told Brady I’d be partners with him today.”
What the hell? I thought she understood that she wasn’t allowed to spend that much time with other guys. “Fine, if you don’t think you can handle spotting all this,” I waved my hand from head to toe, “I guess I understand.”
“No, I just figured after the stunt you pulled at the drinking fountain it was best to keep my distance. Don’t want to end up getting depantsed or something.” She smirked at me.
“Touché.” I’d never do something so immature. Of course, I did just spit water on her face. Now she’s paired up with Brady for the next forty-five minutes, and it was all my fault.
“I’ll spot you, bro.” Mike wandered over. Since Brady was lifting with Bebe, I guess that left me with Mike. Lovely. It was bad enough that I had to watch Bebe talking to another guy the whole time, but now I had to listen to a bunch of dudes and bros. Mike’s vocabulary could use some expansion.
Perfectly Oblivious (The Perfect Series Book 1) Page 6