I shrug. “You’re a heartbreaker.” Then I add, “—everyone knows.”
He quirks his brow. “I didn’t know.”
“Riiight,” I say as I take another sip of my yummy milkshake.
“Faith, I didn’t know,” he says, sounding dead serious. He bites his bottom lip, then lowers his brow, “Who all thinks this?”
I shrug again. “Everyone. Well, all the women in town. They’ll still date you—obviously—but they go into it knowing ahead of time to hold on to their hearts, because they know if you get a hold of it, you’ll break it. It’s even written on the bathroom wall here, ‘If you want your heart broken, give it to Justin Hanson.’ In fact, there is even a poem written about it in the third stall, something like, ‘If you want your heart broken and treated like a toy, give it to Justin-Boy.’”
Justin sits back looking stunned. But then he puts a hand over his heart, and says around a self-mocking smile, “I’m injured.”
He gives me a playful peek, “If I give you five bucks would you erase it?”
“No way. Women need to be warned. Besides, it was written in permanent ink—just like the pain you caused the poor girl, it’s written on her heart, forever.”
He gives me this look, like I’m nuts. And adorable. Then he gives me a lazy grin, “Did you write it?”
I squeeze my eyes shut. Busted.
I try to keep a straight face, “I can neither confirm nor deny that information. The things written in the ladies’ bathroom stays in the ladies’ bathroom.”
His grin quirks, “And yet you told me what’s in the ladies’ bathroom.”
I raise my eyebrows, “And I’ll probably be shot for it. Like you said, I’m on suicide-watch. Maybe it’s just a ploy to get the job done without me having to put out effort. Now I can just sit back and wait for the ladies’ bathroom mafia to come get me. I’m lazy that way.”
His smile quirks, “Or maybe you’re trying to tell me something?—I hurt you? … by not giving you enough attention? Senior year—the first day of school, you kind of growled that I made you mad by not leering at you sooner.”
My jaw drops. “That is not what I was mad about!”
He grins, pleased that I’m actually opening up about it. “Okay, so what were you mad about?—and still seem mad about?”
“No. I’m not even going to go into it with you—it will just make me mad again, and right now I’m feeling happy, so don’t blow it.”
His grin sparks, though it’s just teasing, “My company is making you happy?”
“No, this milkshake is. You had a good idea, thank you. And as repayment, I was trying to help you out with Miss Drop-Dead-Angry-Waitress-Lady.”
“Oh, is that her official name?”
“For you it is. I was just telling you what was on the bathroom walls to let you know what you’re up against. If you want to get to Miss Drop-Dead’s heart you’re going to have to somehow convince her you’re not a heartbreaker.” I sit back and grin smugly, “Good luck with that.”
He gives me a quizzical look, then changes the subject, “How well do you know Miss Drop-dead?”
“Obviously not as well as you,” I tell him, though she happens to be a substitute at the high school as well. Also, Daisy was a cheerleader back when we all attended good old Jefferson High together (though Daisy and I were never what you’d call “friends.”)
I tell him honestly, “I know her about as well as I know most of the high school faculty—which is not very well.”
“Yeah, that must be hard for you—those women were never really in your circle were they?”
I’m surprised he knows this. I slump in my seat. “No—but they’re in Chad’s.”
He raises his eyebrows. “Yeah, that would be hard too.”
He sounds so sympathetic I could cry. In fact, tears spring to my eyes. (I’m very emotional these days—and unexpected kindness is apt to bring tears to my eyes much faster than hostility—in fact lately I’ve expected hostility.) (Sad, I know.)
Justin says gently, “Why were you so sad tonight?—earlier? Before my magical milkshake?”
My heart falls. I don’t like this change of subject—I liked it when I was able to tease him about Daisy (though it hurt that he seemed to like her so much … and that he seemed to have officially put me into the “friend zone.” Admittedly, it’s exactly what I wanted—yet it kills. I know I should be sensible and mature, and be relieved. But oooouch!
Silently, Justin’s eyes are on me, waiting to hear why I was so sad tonight, but I don’t think I can tell him. I’m afraid I might start crying, which would be fine with Rachel, but unthinkable with Justin—friend zoned, or not.
Justin bites his (gorgeous) bottom lip slightly as he watches me, seeming to negotiate in his head his inexplicable knowledge before putting it out there and wrenching my heart further. “Your ex is having your son meet his new girlfriend as we speak.”
He says it sympathetically, gently. Just letting me know he knows.
I slink in my seat. “How did you know that?”
“Small town, plus he wanted the word to get around, I’m sure. Since you were seen by the high school faculty busybodies kissing the—apparently: Town Heartbreaker.”
He raises his eyebrows, “Don’t be hurt by the jerk, Faith. He’s only doing it to get back at you—to hurt you.”
I slump further in my seat. “Well, it’s working.”
“Don’t let it,” he says. “The loser not letting your son go to church with you—the guy is only trying to punish you with that move too.”
It’s unnerving that he knows so much about me. And my life. I mean, like I’ve said many times, we haven’t actually civilly communicated with each other since elementary school. So this is blowing my mind a little bit—but in a very good way.
He leans across the table towards me, kind of confidential-like, “Look, the jerk isn’t worth a moment of your thoughts, Faith. Don’t let him make you frown. Find a new guy, worthy of you—your heart’s desire.” He stares into my eyes, “Just go for it.”
I quickly look away, since suddenly—for a crazy moment—he’s my heart’s desire. Well, the him from back in elementary school—not the heartbreaker.
I clear my throat. “We—we should go. It’s getting late.”
He gives me another quizzical look, but then Miss Angry Waitress sashays by with someone’s order.
“Daisy,” he calls to her again.
She shakes a fist—again.
He puts his hand over his heart and gives me another playful smirk. “I’m wounded.”
“Yeah, I can tell,” I say dryly, since he’s in a very good mood.
Apparently it’s hard to break a heartbreaker’s heart.
CHAPTER 12
Faith Cooper
I want to make it clear: I was asked to write things on Slugger’s bathroom wall. The restaurant wanted the place to look “authentically fifties.” Apparently, in the fifties people wrote on ice-cream shops’ bathroom walls a lot? Not sure. Anyway, the owner asked a few of the high school faculty to come in after the place was remodeled and write little things on the wall—and in return they offered us free ice-cream sundaes. I’m really not one to turn down free ice-cream (which is partly why I’m here, I suppose).
However, it’s not the only reason. I had also wanted a distraction from Chad—and I sure got it. Justin entertained me with funny stories about his son, who is apparently a motor-mouth. Which I happen to already know because I hear him through the walls—he’s adorable. But so was Chad as he animatedly told me adorable story after adorable story. (Swoon!) I was having a wonderful time, and having trouble holding on to my longing heart. (Apparently I’m not very mature and sensible.)
Right before Justin and I left our table at the restaurant, huge guys from his Christian hockey team piled into the restaurant all rowdy and loud (aka: their usual). Tough-guy Griffin Piper came up to us with a huge grin on his handsome face.
“Ohh, the kinderga
rten couple back together again.” Griffin grinned epically at Justin, “See, I knew it would happen,” he tells Justin. Then he gives me a playful wink, “I see this guy giving you puppy dog eyes all the time.”
He pats Justin on the back, “Did I not tell you?—first love never goes away. It lasts.”
Of course Griffin would say that. He’s one of the toughest guys on the hockey team, but he turns into a puppy-dog for his sweet wife, Ally. She was Griffin’s first and only love. Ever. Throughout high school the handsome tough guy had seemed like he would be a total heartbreaker, but his heart had always been completely Ally’s. It’s sweet.
… but (sadly) he’s wrong about Justin and me.
Yes, we were each other’s first love. Definitely. But it so didn’t last. After all, right at this very moment Justin is gaga for playing-hard-to-get-Waitress-Cheerleader, Daisy.
… and he was just giving me love advice about going after my heart’s desire.
So, yeah. Tough Griffin is the sweetest thing ever … but wrong.
Woefully, woefully wrong.
CHAPTER 13
On the drive home Justin tells me, “So, as you may have figured out, there is this woman I’m completely taken with.”
He gives me a sideways peek, “But she won’t give me the time of day.”
I know he’s talking about Daisy. So it makes my heart sink. Still, I enjoyed my evening with him—a lot. Way more than I’m comfortable with, and in any case, he cheered me up when I was completely down in the dumps, so I throw him a bone. I mean, why not? If he likes Daisy so much, she would probably enjoy his attention. After all, every other woman does. And yes, it will probably end in a little heartache. But here’s the thing: it isn’t as though Daisy herself doesn’t enjoy breaking hearts. I figure it’s karma. The two deserve each other in that respect. (Though really, Justin is wayyy too good for Daisy, but if that’s what he wants. Well.)
With a resigned sigh I explain to Justin, “No woman will let you near their heart if they’re smart. You’re going to have to prove to her that you’re not going to do your usual.”
He tilts his head, giving me another sideways peek, then says like he’s just taking a stab at what his “usual” is, his voice questioning and wary he says, “Break her heart?”
He says it as a total question.
“Of course break her heart!” I practically growl it. Then calm down, because he looks so perplexed. Maybe he doesn’t know he’s evil. Is that possible?
I sigh, “Look, you’re going to have to prove to her that you’ve changed since we’ve all known you in high school. That she’s special to you and you’ve changed your evil ways.”
He winces. “My ‘evil’ ways?”
“Your heartbreaker ways,” I clarify.
His jaw muscles flicker back and forth for a while.
He squeezes his eyes shut, then finally says huskily, “Okay, how do I do that?—how do I show her that she can trust me?—that I’m not out to break her heart?”
I glance out the window a moment. I don’t really want to help him get Daisy. Why do all the men like her so much? Even Heartbreaker Hanson is willing to change his heartbreaker ways for her. It seems so … well, pathetic actually.
“Give her a grand gesture—something that you haven’t done for another woman—all those women whose hearts you’ve broken.”
He murmurs, “A grand gesture.”
“Right.” I sigh it, since it seems like he’s really actually listening to me. Like he’s really going to try it. So, at this moment I’m steaming jealous of stupid Daisy. So steaming jealous that I could just … well, do a lot of stupid, immature stuff. Geez, I hate that—that he’s already digging into my vulnerable heart again. Already has. With just his half-attempted stab at playing me yesterday with his roses and cookies, and … church. I’m such a sap! What I need is for him to actually have someone—anyone—at least for a while. So my heart can settle back down. I’m too vulnerable for this—for getting close to Heartbreaker Hanson. My heart is weak, and my longing fantasies are vivid.
“Wait! Stop,” I tell him as we pass the elementary school.
Excitedly I bet him, “If I beat you in hopscotch you have to do your grand-gesture tonight. Like, as soon as you drop me off.”
He tilts his head, seeming to weigh my request, but he’s smiling. “This is a trick—you always beat me at hopscotch. I really hated that game, by the way. I only played it to please you.”
“You are such a liar! You LOVED that game. You were the only boy that would play it, and all the girls loved you for it.”
He shakes his head, but with another lazy grin, “I only played it for you, Faith.” He exhales, “But I’ll play again for you. But this time I’m actually going to try to win—because you’re not my kindergarten girlfriend anymore, so your smile kind of hurts my heart a little.”
I blink at him. “What are you talking about?”
He laughs softly, “It always made you so happy to beat me. I loved your smile.”
A jet of warmth shoots through me.
He seems to know the effect he’s having on my melting heart, he says softly, “I used to love to make you smile.”
I clear my throat and have to look away from his warm eyes. I’d only come up with the wager because I wanted him to get together with Daisy NOW and put me out of my suddenly longing agony—since (pathetically) I was starting to get all gushy again for the handsome heartbreaker that put me on the shaky vulnerable path I’ve been on ever since he dumped me all those years ago. The path that let me know: you shouldn’t give your heart to a boy … he’ll break it like a toy; a play-thing.
And then move on to another girl.
I shove back my shoulders and finally dare to look at him again. In fact, I look him right in the eye and try to sound challenging (and in total control of my heart), “I’m going to kick your rump at hopscotch, then you’re going to drag your sorry kicked rump off to do a grand-gesture—okay?”
He nods, then says softly, “Okay.”
Then he adds with a teasing smile, “But if I win you’re going to erase what’s written on the bathroom wall about me.”
I shake my head, trying not to smile. I raise my eyebrows, “It’s permanent.”
“Nothing is permanent, Faith.”
“Tell me about it,” I grumble under my breath.
He stills, then shoots me a quizzical look. His jaw muscles flicker as he stares at me, his gorgeous eyes so glued on me my heart is turning into a puddle. Finally he murmurs, “This grand-gesture—how big does it have to be?”
“Epic,” I tell him.
“Yeah, I’m beginning to see that.” He runs a hand over his face. “Faith, why are you so willing to forgive everyone in the world—but not me? I never cheated on a girlfriend—ever. I’m really not a heartbreaker.”
“Tell it to my heart,” I growl. (But only in my head.)
To him—aloud—I grunt: “No more talking—it’s time for rump kicking.”
He grins amusedly, “Let the games begin.”
CHAPTER 14
What a night!!
When it was over, Justin walked me to my front door. He stared into my eyes, making my breath catch and my knees go weak.
Huskily he said, “I had fun, Faith.”
It was almost too much for my mushy heart to take—the earnest way he said that. Also the warm scrumptious way he looked at me as he said it. Be still my heart!
He was right though. It had been fun. So fun. Goofy fun—but sweet and joyful, and just what I needed.
We actually really played hopscotch! Really! Tough, huge Justin—played hopscotch! We had to make a new one though, as the one we used to play on turned out to be absolutely tiny. We laughed when we saw it, but Justin said, “Here we go.” He found an abandoned stick of sidewalk chalk and quickly drew us an adult-sized hopscotch. We played ruthlessly, then had an epic swing-jumping match on the elementary school’s swing-set that we used to play on together every day.
It was just like I had my adoring elementary school Justin back. My heart had soared.
As we stood at my front door, staring into each other’s eyes, Justin woke me from my dreamy reverie. He gently placed the rock I had used for my hopscotch marker in my hand, shocking me.
“Something to remember me by,” he said huskily and smiled. “I swiped it.”
Then he showed me his marker, a piece of a broken comb that we’d found on the playground. “Memorabilia of my big win—score!” he murmured with an adorable smile.
It was sooo adorable that it made my heart pound wayyy too hard. I had to look away. (And dunk my head in a bucket of ice-water.)
Feeling shy, I stared down at my rock. This thing to remember him by. I grinned. “Every time I see it, I’ll think of you—definitely,” I said teasingly. “’Cause it’s just like your heart,” I smiled, “—a hard, cold rock.”
“Ouch.” He winced in mock-pain, then he muttered playfully, “Talk about a cold heart—man, Faith. You’re cold. You’re the heartbreaker—and you play a mean hopscotch. The only reason I won is because my heart was so light from total innocence—yours? Not so much.” His eyes twinkled.
For a moment we dreamily stared into each other’s eyes again. When I noticed, I turned red.
He winked, “Don’t forget to erase the bathroom walls.”
“Yeah, yeah,” I mumbled playfully, wanting to invite him inside, so bad, but I got the feeling he was going to go off and do his grand-gesture anyways—despite that in the end, after three (3!!) rounds, he was indeed crowned the victor of our kindergarten matches.
“Okay, I guess I’ll finally stop lingering,” he said. “Since I see your mom keep peeking at me from the window. I guess I’ve changed a lot. She used to offer me cookies, but now it looks like she wants to call the police.”
“Well, you’re a hockey player—scary stuff.”
He grinned, “No, what’s scary is mermaids that hold men’s hearts in their hands—yet write mean poems about them on bathroom walls.”
The Heartbreaker Next Door (The Hockey Team Book 1) Page 5