The Boyfriend Game

by Stephie Davis

  “So, I’m the tenth kid out of ten,” he said after a while.

  I looked at him to see if he was kidding. “Really? That’s a ton.”

  “Swear.” He took another bite of ice cream. “My parents never made it to any of our games. Ten kids was too many, you know? So they said if they made it to some and not others, it would be like playing favorites, so they never went to any.”

  I swirled my tongue around the ice cream. “So?”

  “So, it didn’t mean they didn’t care. That’s all I’m saying.” He broke off a piece of his cone and popped it in his mouth.

  I bit my lower lip for a minute. “You think that’s all it is? That he’s busy?”

  He shrugged. “Once my parents forgot my birthday.”

  I thought of my birthday next month and wondered if my dad was going to forget. “Did you freak?”

  He grinned. “I made them feel so guilty for forgetting that they gave me a huge party a week later. I was the only kid in our family ever to get a huge party.”

  I couldn’t help but return his smile. “So, that’s cool.”

  He nodded. “So, don’t take it personally. Parents have stuff going on. Keep harassing him. He’ll come around.”

  “You think?” I took a bite of my ice cream and thought about it. My dad had said he’d at least try to come.

  “I know.” He raised his brow. “You ever done tears on him? My sisters are brilliant at it.”

  I lifted my chin. “I don’t cry.”

  He gave a nod of approval. “Good. Girls that cry drive me nuts.” He shot me a look, like he was trying to see if I was still bumming. I managed another smile, but it was a little weak. He looked thoughtful for a second, like he was planning something. “Is your ice cream good?”

  “Yeah, it’s…” I hadn’t even finished talking when he grabbed my wrist and pulled my cone toward him, dropping his head to take a huge bite out of my ice cream. “Hey!”

  He lifted his head, licking the ice cream off his lips. “It is good. Want to trade?”

  I eyed his cone. Oreo cookie was my second favorite kind of ice cream. “Can I try a bite first?”

  “Go for it.”

  I bent over and took a bite, but as I was pulling away, he moved the cone suddenly and smushed it against my cheek. “Graham!” I batted his hand away, then saw the mischievous look in his eye. “You did that on purpose!”

  He grinned. “Oops. Didn’t mean to do that. Sorry.”

  “You are not!” Oh, this was a battle now! I grabbed his cone and shoved it upward, smashing it into the bottom of his chin and his throat before he realized what I was doing.

  I cracked up as he jumped to his feet and danced out of my reach, ice cream dripping down his chin and over the front of his sweatshirt. “That was so overkill,” he protested. “I barely got you.”

  “What can I say? I’m competitive.” I grinned as I wiped a napkin over my cheek, clearing off the Oreo cookie ice goop. “Now that your cone has been shoved in your neck, I don’t really want to trade, but thanks for the offer.”

  His eyes dancing, he pointed at my throat. “There’s some on your shirt.”

  “Really?” Still laughing, I tugged my collar out from my neck and saw a little ice cream around the rim. “Good. I’ll snack on it later when I’m hungry.”

  He chuckled and sat down next to me, crunching on his cone. “You know, as girls go, you’re not too bad.”

  I grinned. “You’re not bad for a guy.”

  Yeah, like, so not bad. He helped me deal with my dad. Practice soccer.

  And he bought me ice cream.

  And he made me laugh.

  And he made me feel good about myself.

  And he was cute. Not that I cared.

  A red pickup truck suddenly pulled up in front of us and honked its horn. Graham jumped to his feet. “That’s my ride. Gotta go.”

  I snickered at the ice cream still dripping down his shirt. “You’re just afraid to take me on in an ice-cream battle. Wimp.”

  “Never.” He paused with his hand on the door. “There’s a Major League Soccer game on Thursday night. Any interest in watching it? We can learn a lot from watching their strategy. It’s on cable. We can watch it at my house. My sister can pick us up after your regular practice and we’ll skip our drilling session. Cool?”

  If he hadn’t already told me that I was a guy with highlights, I might’ve wondered if the invitation to go to his house was actually a pseudo date in disguise. As it was, no biggie. Glad I knew what was up so I didn’t wig out. I nodded. “Should be fine. I’ll check with my mom and let you know tomorrow.”

  “Great. See ya then.” And then he hopped in the truck and was gone.

  I had just leaned back in my seat and taken a big bite of ice cream when I heard a familiar voice from behind me. “Oh, my God.”

  I turned around to see Sara standing in the doorway of the ice-cream shop with her little brother. Her parents were still inside, cleaning up the table they’d been sitting at. Even though Sara was out with the family, she was still dressed up. Makeup, hair, and a cute outfit. I forced myself not to run my hand through my still damp, unstyled hair. “Hey, Sara. What’s up?”

  “Did I just hear what I think I heard?” Her blue eyes were wide—like, really wide, not just mascara-enhanced wide.

  I shifted against the hard bench and tried to think of what she was talking about. “What?”

  “A date! You have a date with Graham!”

  “Oh, that.” I snorted and turned back to my ice cream. “Not at all. It’s soccer. We’re going to watch a game.”

  Sara plunked herself down next to me and yanked my cone out of my hand. “Trisha Perkins, a guy does not ask a girl to his house unless he likes her. I saw the way he looked at you.” She grinned. “You, my friend, have a date, with a very hot guy.” She took a bite of my cone for emphasis, grinning wider when I scowled at her.

  “Sorry, Sara, but you’re wrong. We’re just friends.”

  She cocked her head. “You sound like you really believe that.”

  “I know it. He just told me I was like a guy with highlights.”

  Her eyebrows went up. “Really?”

  I sighed. “Uh-huh.”

  “Ahhhh…” She leaned back against the bench. “So that’s it.”

  “So what’s it? Can I have my ice cream back?”

  She took another bite and then handed it back. “You like him.”

  “Graham? No way.” I shook my head hard. Then did it again. “Not a chance.”

  “Give it up, Trisha. How could you not? He’s totally cute, and I saw him making you laugh. You guys have been spending how much time together?” She giggled. “Trisha Perkins has finally noticed the opposite sex. It’s about time!”

  “No.” I said it firmly. “Our friendship is based on the fact that neither of us is into the dating thing. If I liked him, then he’d bail on me, so even if I was thinking of liking him, it would be stupid and I wouldn’t do it.” Would I? No. Of course not. The fact that I could still remember what he smelled like didn’t mean I liked him.

  Sara was wrong. So what if he was cute and made me laugh? I didn’t like him.

  I. Didn’t. Like. Him.

  She gave me this look that told me she wasn’t buying it, but all she said was, “Want to come to Pop’s Friday night? Kirk and Ross said they might be there, so I’m trying to talk Beth into going, but she’s been wigging around Ross ever since I told her he likes her.” She must have noticed my expression, because she added, “Please? I bet Kirk will come if you’re there. Just stay ’til he comes and then you can leave, if you want.”

  I couldn’t keep from grimacing. That didn’t sound like my favorite way to spend a Friday night. “I don’t think so. Why don’t you and Beth just come over to my house and we can watch movies?”

  “Please?” She put her head on my shoulder and sighed. “I’ll owe you forever.”

  I snorted at the tone in her voice. “Why
are you so into Kirk?”

  Her face immediately lit up. “I like how he makes me feel.”

  “Really? But he barely even talks to you.”

  She lifted her head, shaking it vigorously. “Only when you’re there. When it’s just us, he’s so nice. He makes me laugh, he compliments me and makes me feel good about myself, and he even listens when I complain about whatever’s bugging me.”

  I stared at her, an eerily familiar feeling coming over me. “He does?” That was how it was with Graham. But that was because we were just friends, right?

  She got this dreamy look on her face. “Totally.”

  “Wow.” I sat back, my fingers tight around my cone. “I had no idea that it was like that between you guys.” I also had no idea that it was the same as it was between me and Graham. Did that mean I liked him? No. It didn’t. It couldn’t. I would lose everything if I were stupid enough to like him.

  “So, you’ll help?” She sat up suddenly, an eager look on her face. “Will you tell Kirk that you’re dating Graham?”

  I jumped up in horror. “No!”

  Her face got tense and her jaw jutted out. “Why not? You said you don’t like Kirk. But you do, don’t you?”

  I shook my head. “No, no, that’s not it. It’s just that I don’t want to say I’m dating Graham. What if it got back to him? He’d flip!”

  She relaxed and gave me a speculative look. “Maybe he’d start thinking of you as more than a guy with highlights.”

  “Which would be bad.”

  She lifted her brows. “Would it?”

  “Yes.” It would. Totally. It would.

  So how come I suddenly couldn’t stop thinking about it?

  6

  JV practice Thursday was the worst practice I’d ever had. I was so nervous about my upcoming not-a-date date with Graham to watch the soccer game that I couldn’t concentrate.

  Of course, it didn’t help that Sara had told Beth, and they were both harassing me the entire practice about how cute Graham was and how much we liked each other and why didn’t I simply make a move?

  Even when I headed the ball into Sara’s face, she didn’t shut up.

  And then practice was over.

  And then Sara and Beth forced me to blow-dry my hair and put on makeup after practice.

  And then I was in the truck with Graham and his sister.

  And then we were alone in his basement, with a pizza and a couple of sodas on the coffee table.

  I stood in the doorway, not quite able to make myself walk into the room. Graham stood in front of the couch, fiddling with the remote control. He was wearing jeans and boots, and he had a tee shirt on with a faded red oxford shirt, unbuttoned. His sleeves were rolled up and he looked casual, but cute.

  Really, really cute.

  It wasn’t just Beth and Sara trying to convince me.

  He was a hottie, and I knew it.

  He finally found the soccer game, turned up the volume, and looked over at me, his eyebrows going up in surprise when he saw me still standing by the door. “What are you doing over there?”

  “Um, just hanging out.”

  He tossed the remote onto the coffee table. “Well, it’s kind of a long game to hang over there the whole time.” He eased down onto the overstuffed denim cushions.

  “Yeah, well, I’m comfortable.” Not. But I didn’t know where to sit. Next to him? On the couch? No, it might make him think I liked him and he’d bail on me. Or in one of the armchairs? But it might make him think I liked him and was pretending not to, and he’d bail on me.

  Stand. I’d stand. Then he could just think I was whacked and that would be much better.

  He opened the pizza box and I watched the steam rise from the cheese and caught a whiff of the bread and the tomato sauce. Um, yum. He pulled a piece free, and I watched the cheese stretch and stretch…then he slid his finger through the cheese and broke the strand and plopped the string of cheese on top of his slice.

  He set it down on a plate next to him on the coffee table and looked at me. “I’m not bringing it over to you.”

  Oh, wow. He wanted me to sit next to him on the couch. Did that mean he liked me?

  Ack! Of course not! Get a grip, Trisha!

  “Is this how you treat all your guests? Forcing them to eat at the table? So rude.” I managed to keep a light tone in my voice as I forced myself to walk into the room and I eased myself down onto the couch, a mere two feet from him. We were less than twenty-four inches apart!

  Oh, sure, we’d been much closer so many times on the soccer field, like when we were going one-on-one and bumping into each other and shoving ourselves off each other with our hands, but I’d never noticed it.

  Not like I was noticing it now.

  Graham served up a couple of pieces for himself, shut the lid, and turned up the volume. “I’m so psyched for this game,” he said. “New England just traded for a new forward who’s awesome. Tonight’s his first start.”

  “Super.” Obviously, Graham wasn’t feeling the same buzz from sitting so close to me. Stupid Sara, for making me think of him as a guy! I was so going to kill her when I saw her tomorrow.

  I managed an awkward smile and grabbed my pizza. The tip of the slice dipped downward and a hunk of cheese slipped off the end before I could catch it. It landed with a splat on Graham’s foot.

  We both looked down as it slowly slid off the toe of his boot and down the side, coming to a peaceful stop wedged in the off-white carpet fibers of his basement rug. Yeah, I was such the graceful girly girl. Sigh.

  “Want it back?” Graham asked.

  I giggled. “No, you can have it.”

  “Excellent. I was hoping to add a little carpet fuzz to my pizza.” He reached down and picked up the piece, inspected it for a minute, then popped it into his mouth.

  “That’s so gross!” I burst out laughing as he proceeded to chew it, wrinkling his nose like he’d bitten into something horrid. “You aren’t really going to eat that!”

  He swallowed, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “Of course I ate it. It’s just carpet fuzz.”

  I laughed. “You’re disgusting.” Then I sighed as I blew on my pizza before taking another bite. He so wasn’t making the moves on me. No guy trying to impress a girl would eat carpet-fuzz pizza. It was too gross. Like I’d want him to kiss me when he had just eaten dirt…

  Oh, no. I’d just put “Graham” and “kiss me” in the same sentence!

  I was such an idiot!

  How could I be stupid enough to like him? Not like him, but like him? I mean, he hung out with me because I wasn’t into guys. It would be a total violation of our code of friendship if I started to like him!

  I didn’t like him. Did I? I had to know.

  I subtly peeked at him. He was leaning forward, watching the television, his hair all spiky, his forearms resting on his thighs.

  He glanced at me, winked, and my belly jumped in response even though he turned right back to the television.

  No guy had ever made my belly flip before. Not like that.

  There was no way to deny it.

  I liked Graham.

  He let out a whoop and slapped his hands on his thighs. “Did you see that play? We have got to practice that!” He turned to me, and his smile faded. All at once, he had a really wary look on his face, almost like he was afraid of me. It was the same look I’d seen on his face when he’d seen Ashley coming after him at the football game. I’d become another Ashley!

  “Trisha?” His voice was cautious and a little strained. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

  Oh, God. He could tell. How could he not? I’d been staring at him for, like, five minutes, thinking about him kissing me. Think of a reason, Trisha! But all I could think about was how cute he looked with his brow all furrowed. “Um…”

  He cleared his throat and stood up. “I’m going to the bathroom. Be back in a minute.” And then he vaulted over the back of the couch and sprinted up the stairs, three at
a time.

  It was the fastest I’d ever seen him move.

  Because he was running away from me.

  Argh! This was horrible!

  I yanked out my cell phone and dialed Beth. She answered on the first ring. “How’s the date?”

  “Horrible!” I filled her in on what happened, whispering as fast as I could, watching the stairs and listening for Graham to come back. “What should I do? He’s going to pull the plug on soccer, I know it!”

  “Hang on.” I heard her and Sara talking, but their voices were muffled, like she’d covered the phone.

  I tapped my foot and flinched at each creak in the house. “Hurry up,” I hissed.

  Finally, Beth came back on. “You have to go into Emergency Recovery Mode.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Give him a good reason for the strange look on your face, then talk soccer. Big-time. Make him think he misread it. We’ll do damage control when we meet up tomorrow. Got it?”

  The door to the basement opened, and I slammed my phone shut and shoved it in my pocket. I wiped my palms on my jeans as Graham walked down the stairs, a whole lot slower than he’d gone up.

  God, this was so embarrassing.

  I took a deep breath, then flopped back on the couch. “Did you bring ice?”

  He looked at me and paused on the stairs. “Ice? Why?”

  “I burned the roof of my mouth on the cheese. It’s killing me.” I rolled my eyes. “Sorry I wigged you out a second ago. I was trying to assess the damage to see whether I needed to go to the emergency room, plus I was trying to figure out how to blame you for it. Not that it worked.” I forced a giggle. “I’m the only idiot around here, and unless you’ve got ice, I think you need to call an ambulance.”

  “My fault? Not even.” Some of the tension left his shoulders and he resumed walking toward me, hopping over the bottom step. “The soda’s cold. Will that work?”

  “Yeah, good idea.” I grabbed a can of Diet Coke and flicked it open. “So, do you have paper and a pen? I want to take some notes tonight.” I took a gulp.

  He looked surprised. “Really?”

  “Are you kidding?” I injected an impressive amount of excitement into my voice and set the can back on the table. “I’m so pumped for this, and I don’t want to miss anything.” I clenched my fists and didn’t have to fake my determination. “I’m going to make varsity, Graham. No matter what.”