Why I Loathe Sterling Lane

by Ingrid Paulson

  “Seat taken?” he asked. “Oh wait, of course not. Unless you’re saving it for the invisible man you dine with daily.”

  Kendall and Parker had moved back to the lacrosse team table now that our little plot had ended. They’d extended an admirably sincere-sounding invitation for me to join them, but I’d let them off the hook and politely declined. Besides, I had so many neglected outlines to update, I simply couldn’t spare the time. Fortunately, after just a few days of companionship, it wasn’t that hard for me to slip back into my usual solitary routine.

  “Actually, it is taken,” I said.

  When he raised one eyebrow, I looked away. I kept my eyes averted as he rose, but instead of walking away, he just stood there watching me.

  “Well?” He motioned to the chair.

  I didn’t know what else to do, so I set my book there and finally looked up into that smug, smiling face. “It’s infinitely better company than you.”

  “Then you can bring it on Friday night.” He walked around the table and sat in the chair directly opposite me. “I’m not a huge fan of small talk, either.”

  “What’s Friday night?” I asked.

  “The last school night of the week,” he said. “I’ll meet you after the lacrosse game.”

  “Why on earth would you do that?” I demanded, realizing too late that I’d raised my voice in my panic. A few curious eyes met mine before retreating when they saw the look on my face. “Or think that I would agree?”

  “Because Cole needs our help,” he replied mildly. “I’m hoping you’ll be reasonable for once.”

  “I’m always reasonable.”

  “That point isn’t worth debating because you are, in fact, uniformly unreasonable. It’s one of your more fascinating qualities. Still, Cole is up shit creek with two broken paddles.”

  “Speak normally,” I said. “What are you talking about? Is this about the disciplinary committee?”

  “Worse,” he said. “If I’m right, Cole owed money and paid his debt, but there’s still something they’re holding over him. Something big. As his sister, it’s your job to step up to the plate and find out what’s going on.” He pulled out his dreaded laminated cheat sheet. “Rule 25 demands you take action.”

  “It’s gambling, isn’t it?” I hadn’t yet worked up the courage to confront Cole.

  A flicker of surprise crossed his face, and he nodded. “I’m pretty sure Cole was scammed. We need to break that influence before they suck him down even further.”

  “Why do you care what happens to Cole?” I asked, genuinely curious. “How is it your problem?”

  “Two fair questions, for once.” He fired a smile right at me. “I never said I did, and it’s not.”

  “Clearly that’s not true,” I said. “Because you’re sitting here.”

  “Those are two possible motives out of a field of thousands.” He glanced at his watch. “And lunch is over. You can speculate on your own time.”

  “Wait.”

  Sterling paused and turned back to face me.

  “I hired a private detective,” I said. “I saw Cole getting out of a suspicious car, so I wrote down the plate and had it traced. It turns out it was stolen from another vehicle. The vehicle itself was likely stolen, too. The detective is working off a photo I took—to find the guy, I mean. That’s why you went to Café Bastille, isn’t it? He’s there.”

  “Smart girl.” Sterling smiled. “He works this Friday. Dinner shift. I’ll see you then. After my game.”

  I wasn’t ready for this—to sit at a table opposite Sterling Lane, pretending we could get along. Even if I was doing it for Cole, being alone with Sterling terrified me.

  “For the record, we’re not going to dinner together. We’ll just eat at the same place, at the same table,” I said.

  “An important but absurd distinction,” Sterling said drily.

  “I don’t trust you.”

  “And you shouldn’t.” He flashed a wicked smile that unleashed a river of adrenaline into my veins. “But we’re even now.” He paused. “Fun as it’s been, we’re too well-matched. We can’t keep hammering at each other like this. We’re likely to just pull each other apart, and the school with us.” I was taken aback by the gentler tone in his voice. Who knew Sterling had a serious side?

  “That’s a disturbingly practical thing for you to say, Sterling. And apparently I’m not uniformly unreasonable, because I agree.” My heart did a little leap—half joy, half terror. “I’ll see you Friday.”

  “Outstanding,” he said, pushing himself to his feet. “Oh, and try to look like a girl. Got my reputation to protect and all that. Plus, I’m curious to see how it would turn out.”

  Heat flooded my cheeks. My hands balled into fists. I wanted to punch him—or kick him. Or both. Instead I picked up my napkin, crumpled it up, and hit him in the face with it. His eyes widened in surprise.

  “There’s no specific way a girl has to look or act,” I said. “And with a dad like yours, you should know how it feels to have someone try to cram you into a preconceived little box.”

  He leaned forward, placing his palms flat against the table. Inviting me to continue.

  “I am a girl,” I said. “A perfectly attractive girl. Cropped hair and all. That’s how it does turn out. Daily.”

  “I’m well aware,” he said quietly. “Right now, particularly.”

  Then he straightened and walked away. I sat there, breathing in and out. Watching his retreating back. Sarcasm—it had to be sarcasm. Why would he insult me and then do a complete one-eighty moments later unless it was to provoke me and keep me guessing? Or maybe it wasn’t sarcasm at all. Maybe Sterling was enjoying this power struggle as much as I was starting to.

  The more I turned his words over in my mind, the more I kept grabbing on to that last possibility above all others. Even the memory of the quiet, intimate quality in his voice as he murmured his cryptic comment sent a surge of anticipation down my spine. Sterling was a roller coaster. As frustrating and confusing as our games were becoming, I knew I’d stay on this ride until the bitter end.

  Reason 22:

  He paid for dinner just to

  make me uncomfortable.

  I arrived during the third quarter of the lacrosse game and watched long enough to observe that Sterling lived up to his athletic reputation. I even caught myself cheering along with the crowd a few times. Cole played well, but I could tell he was distracted.

  I was hardly going to give Sterling the satisfaction of seeing me wait around for him after the game. Instead, I caught Cole as he was leaving the field.

  “Great game,” I told him.

  “Thanks,” he replied. “I thought Friday nights were for pleasure reading. You never come to these games.”

  “Well, maybe that’s going to change,” I said, again aching at the thought that this could be one of his final lacrosse games at Sablebrook if I didn’t get him exonerated soon. “I miss watching you play—spending time with you.”

  “Me, too,” he said. “I was just thinking—wanna get lunch tomorrow? Catch up?”

  “I’d love that. Text me a time?” Cole headed off toward the locker room, leaving me alone. So I wandered back toward the bleachers and settled on the steps leading up to them.

  But I couldn’t focus. Butterflies nose-dived inside my stomach as I waited for my date with the devil. Even though I heard Sterling approaching long before he arrived, I refused to look up. I ignored the people who passed him, congratulated him on the game, or asked what he was doing that night. Pretended I didn’t hear the way he hesitated before he told them that he had dinner plans, and the fact that he never said with whom or where even when they asked. His silence gave the whole thing a sordid air, exactly as he intended.

  Finally, Sterling reached me. Even when he stood in front of me on the stairs, his dirty boat shoes two steps from mine, I pretended I was so intent on my book that the rest of the world had disappeared.

  “I know you see me,
Harper,” he said. “This is juvenile.”

  When I finally looked up, he was grinning.

  He was dressed like we were going digging for clams in Cape Cod for a lifestyle magazine photo shoot. His button-down shirt was rolled up at the sleeves and hanging untucked over battered khaki slacks. Both were slightly frayed in that casual, entitled way preppy boys have of making broken-in clothes look expensive.

  “Ready? Or do you wanna wait around until the rest of the team comes out of the locker room? They’re going for pizza and were insanely curious about why I said no. If you stall long enough, they’ll find out.”

  I was on my feet so fast he took a step back, startled. I pitched forward, almost losing my balance. Sterling put one hand on my forearm, laughing. His fingers trailed down along my wrist almost languidly before coming to a stop. Never in my life had a boy done something like that to me, a lingering touch. Nerves along my arm I didn’t even know I had exploded with delight. And it confounded me to know that my body could betray me so completely.

  “Let’s get one thing straight about all this touching.” I jerked my hand away. “Kendall told me all about your despicable dating rules, and there’s not one single thing I want from you tonight or any other night. So you just keep your hands to yourself.”

  “Dating?” He smiled viciously. “This is all business, sweetheart. And if you know all about my dating rules, you know that sanity is a requirement. Ergo, this is not a date.”

  “You’re one to talk, sociopath.”

  He kept walking, not even breaking his stride.

  “I said you’re one to talk,” I repeated, louder this time. I waited another five seconds before I added, “It’s rude to ignore people, you know.”

  “I heard you,” he called over his shoulder. “Just waiting for you to get all fired up. The rabid Chihuahua act is my favorite.”

  That shut me up. There was no way I was saying one more thing to Sterling Lane for the rest of the evening. I wasn’t there to entertain him. My stomach tied into knots all over again as I replayed our conversation in my mind.

  I kept a half step behind him as we walked. From there, I wouldn’t be assaulted by that smug little smile every time I glanced up at him. I could focus my gaze on those dirty boat shoes and the way his button-down fit so perfectly it must have been tailored.

  We’d walked about two blocks before he slowed, waiting for me.

  “What are you, a servant or something? Stop walking behind me.”

  “We don’t have servants, so I didn’t realize the implication.” But even as I said it, my pulse picked up at the teasing tone in his voice. Was it possible I enjoyed arguing with him?

  “Neither do we,” he said. “It was a reference to feudal times—that servile, silent thing you’re doing. Either way, walk next to me.”

  Moments passed in silence.

  “Are you mad?” he asked. “I was teasing you, Harper. Don’t be so touchy.”

  “Fine,” I said. When he started walking again, I reluctantly took a step forward so that we were side by side. Then I kept plowing forward, forcing him to walk faster to keep up with me.

  “I thought we’d moved past this,” he said. “Called a truce, but you’re extra snappish—like you get when you’re backed into a corner.” He stopped walking and turned to face me. “Do I make you nervous?” His careful scrutiny of my face made my skin feel too small.

  “Don’t flatter yourself,” I replied, pushing past him and carrying on walking. I hated him for being right. My heart was thumping, and my knees had a coltish feeling.

  “Is there a reason I should perceive that as a good thing?” There was a playful edge in his voice as his long strides carried him back to my side. It was a fair question, since presumably he was no longer trying to intimidate me. But I didn’t have an answer I was prepared to share.

  We lapsed back into merciful silence, but I felt him glance at me from time to time as if considering something. My jitters grew jitters of their own.

  “This is it,” Sterling said, holding the door open for me. “Let me do all the talking.”

  “A night of listening to you nonstop?” I asked. “This is the seventh circle.”

  “I mean when we find him.”

  “Do you see him?” I demanded, scanning every corner of the restaurant.

  “Shhh,” Sterling murmured. “Subtlety is paramount.”

  “I refuse to believe all this secrecy is necessary. You act like you’re starring in a spy movie.” I poked his shoulder with my index finger. “Maybe that’s your motive for helping Cole—plain old spoiled, rich-boy boredom?”

  He pressed his index finger against my lips. Shushing me. Once again my body waged a full-blown mutiny, capillaries dilating, blood racing to warm my skin. Blushing like an idiot.

  His eyes skimmed over my face. There was no way he missed the effect he’d just had on me, but for once he didn’t say anything.

  “Why did you drag me here in the first place if I’m supposed to just play sidekick?”

  But he was already at the hostess station, issuing orders like he owned the place. I had to admit there was something admirable about the way he took control of the situation. Rule 244 reluctantly approved.

  The hostess led us to a small table in the back, right next to a couple who looked like they were five minutes away from bolting for the bedroom. The woman was leaning forward so far her chest was practically pressed against the tablecloth—the universal signal of attraction.

  I made a big show of rolling my eyes impatiently as Sterling pointed to a different table instead. A table for four in the corner, positioned so that two adjacent seats against the wall had unobstructed views of the dining room. Then he pulled my chair out for me and pushed it in as soon as I hovered over it—sweeping me off my feet, and not in a good way. As he settled in the seat next to me, his knee brushed mine. I scooted over an inch or two to ensure it wouldn’t happen again.

  Sterling’s eyes roamed all over the restaurant like he was hunting for hidden treasure. Finally, he visibly relaxed and leaned forward, close enough to whisper and be heard above the chatter in the restaurant. I leaned in closer and flushed red as I recalled the couple we’d just seen sitting with very similar postures.

  “Since you’re about as subtle as a cattle prod, I’ll do the talking,” he whispered as his eyes roamed over my face. “I know it’s killing you to take the backseat, but just this once can you concede, temporarily, that I might be better suited to sweet talk than you? Let Rule 204 guide you. I’ll let you berate me the whole way home just to even the score. I won’t even fight back.”

  “That doesn’t sound like any fun.” The words slipped out before I could stop them.

  Sterling barked with laughter. “You don’t normally look so startled when the truth sneaks out of those lips.” He dropped his gaze to my lips, lingering uncomfortably long.

  “Which reminds me,” Sterling said, flashing the smile that always warned me to brace for impact. “The lip gloss. Nice touch. You know, you’re not nearly as plain as you’d like to be.”

  Warmth crept up my neck and spread across my cheeks. He was watching me so intently, I couldn’t swallow. Couldn’t find an appropriate place to rest my hands.

  Leave it to Sterling to level a backhanded compliment that tied me into knots. Which part did he mean—if any? I didn’t want to be plain, but I also did and didn’t want him to notice I’d actually tried to look nice. Well, notice it, but not acknowledge it.

  “May I take your order?” An unfamiliar voice shattered the awkward silence that had settled between us.

  I looked up into the face of the blond guy Cole had argued with in the blue station wagon outside the main school parking lot. The guy I’d been looking for.

  He glanced at Sterling. “You’re back.”

  Sterling slipped into the fakest smile I’d ever seen. “I thought about what you said—about having connections in town. Thought perhaps we could place that wager. Off the record
, of course.”

  The waiter glanced around, making sure none of his other tables were clamoring for his attention. He must have been reassured by what he saw, because his eyes shifted back to Sterling and his shoulders relaxed.

  “Who’s your friend?” His eyes raked my face, like he recognized me but couldn’t figure out why. “What happened to the girl from last week?” I wasn’t surprised that he frowned at the unfavorable comparison between Kendall and me. Sterling had clearly downgraded.

  “I have lots of friends,” Sterling said, unleashing a wicked smile. “One for every occasion. Including undercover operations.”

  The waiter’s smile faltered as he glanced over at me again. Like me, he was wondering about the true meaning behind Sterling’s double entendre.

  “But Harper here is my favorite,” he said. “She’s a twin.”

  The waiter’s eyes opened wide.

  Sterling laughed. “Oh no, nothing like that. What a dirty mind you’ve got today, Gilbert. No, Harper’s a fraternal twin. Her brother is Cole Campbell. Know him? Of course you do—with your prodigious record you’ve probably bet on a game or two of his?”

  The waiter set his pen and notepad on the table and took a step back, curling his lip. Discreetly, I slid the pen under the table, tucking it away in the little ziplock evidence bags I’d packed, just in case.

  Just as quickly, he glanced around the room, remembering where he was, trimming his wide eyes and slack jaw back into a more controlled expression. A bland expression. “Never heard of him.”

  Yes, I’d agreed to take a backseat to Sterling in this conversation, but I couldn’t just sit there and listen to that little weasel lie.

  “Liar. You know him,” I said. Sterling kicked me under the table. I ignored him and pressed on. “I saw you arguing with him in the school parking lot. I’d say you know him well.”

  Hidden by the tablecloth, Sterling’s hand found my knee and squeezed. But it would take more than that to stop me.