Out of His League

by Maggie Dallen

Amy’s brows rose and her lips pursed as she stared me down. It was a challenge, pure and simple. There was only one answer I could give if I wanted to face myself in the mirror or truly be able to say that I gave fate every chance. I never ever wanted to live with regrets. “Yes.” I took a deep breath and said it a little louder and with far more confidence than I felt. “Yes, I’m going to tell him. No matter what.”

  Amy’s face broke into a wide grin. “Well then, that changes things.” Jumping up from her bench, she reached out and grabbed my arm, tugging me toward the cafeteria door. “Come on then, let’s figure out how to get you to the beach.”

  Finding a ride was easier said than done. Amy helped, despite her many and varied lectures on why this was a bad idea.

  To clarify, she approved of me sharing my feelings but thought I was stupid to go to Senior Week to do it.

  “He lives next door, why do you have to drive to Jersey just to say I like you?”

  Seriously? It was like the whole concept of romance was lost on this one. Probably for the best. We evened each other out like that. I was the romantic, she was the practical one. Just like she was loud and I was quiet. She wore trendy clothes, and I wore hippie-ish clothes—not for fashion reasons, mainly just because I liked to be comfortable and nothing was comfier than loose-fitting tank tops and long, swaying skirts. The biggest difference between us was in our looks. With her vivid red hair, curvy figure, and form-fitting clothes, Amy stood out. She welcomed attention and thrived on being in the spotlight.

  I, on the other hand, had a tendency to fade into the woodwork. I was short, petite, and had long plain brown hair that acted like a shield most of the time. The ironic part was, though she loved the spotlight in real life, I was the one determined to make it big on Broadway. I was the actress, the singer, and dancer. I was the triple threat. Amy, meanwhile, acted in the school plays but her true love was art so she was far more interested in the backstage roles like costume and set design.

  She gave me a ride home after school—I might not drive but I was a senior, there was no way in hell I was taking the school bus. We were still half a block away when I heard it. Band practice. I couldn’t help but grin, even though Amy was rolling her eyes. I was leaning forward in my seat by the time she rolled to a stop in front of my house which was right next to Dylan’s. My parents hated Dylan’s band with a vengeance. Well, more like they hated that the band practiced in the Yates’s garage next door.

  But I loved it.

  I scrambled to undo my seat belt and ignored Amy’s pleading to just tell Dylan how I felt already so we could all move on with our lives.

  “Thanks for the ride,” I called as I slammed the door mid-speech.

  I loved Amy but she just didn’t understand.

  The band was all there, obviously, and for the first time in a long time Stephanie was not. Do not squeal for joy, Layla James. Do not do it.

  It’s not like I didn’t like Stephanie. It was hard not to like her, she was a sweet girl. Annoyingly pretty, perhaps, and way too chipper for my liking, but nice. Sooo nice. Unbearably nice.

  But today Little Miss Sunshine was nowhere to be seen. It was just the guys in the band and they were finishing up one of their songs. I walked toward the open garage slowly.

  This was my chance. None of my friends could drive me to the beach, but maybe, just maybe, I could get a ride from Dylan. We were neighbors, after all. And he’s the one who asked if I was going.

  I heard Amy’s car start to pull away and went into panic mode. My eyes flickered toward my own front door, which looked incredibly appealing.

  Man up, Layla. There were two weeks left before high school was over forever and mere months before I went off to New York for college at NYU. What did I have to lose?

  I recognized the song they were playing—it was a fast-paced number that they always played at their shows. And yes, I had been to every one of their shows. Dylan looked adorable as ever on his bass but he was so focused on the instrument in his hands that he didn’t see me coming up the drive. The singer, Brent, a former student of Midland High was doing his typical talk-singing thing that he did, which ended up making him sound like a bad version of Bob Dylan. The song was almost over, I recognized the last verse. I slowed my approach so I’d reach the garage at the perfect time.

  But then the lead guitar came to a sudden stop and so did my heart. The lead guitarist had spotted me. Oh no, not now.

  “Lay lady lay!” Jack Abrams shouted that stupid nickname into his mic so the entire neighborhood could hear my humiliation.

  Jack was my least favorite member of the band. Every girl wanted him, every guy wanted to be him…. And he knew it. So cool, so smug, so arrogant, he was pretty much everything I disliked in a guy. Also? He made me nervous. Not just because he was Mr. Too Cool for School but because insisted on calling attention to me with that stupid nickname every time he saw me.

  He was another senior but he’d transferred to our school last year and for a reason I could never understand, Dylan had befriended him and the two of them had started up the band, which was an instant hit among our peers. In my opinion, their popularity had more to do with Dylan than the actual music but whatever the reason, they were Midland High’s version of The Beatles.

  Jack was grinning at me now. No, not grinning. Smirking. I don’t know what I ever did to him but whenever I’m around he seems to go out of his way to make me miserable. Like now. I snuck a glance at Dylan but he was still frowning down at the equipment as he fiddled with a dial on an amp.

  “Are you our new groupie?” Jack asked.

  Yup. It was official. I hated him. I shifted my bookbag on my shoulder and glanced from him to the others, looking for a little help. In return I got a friendly wave from Herman, the other senior who played drums, and a nod of acknowledgement from Brent.

  “I just wanted to hear you guys play,” I said, my voice irritatingly weak and shaky.

  Lame. So lame. But it was the best I could come up with short of, “I was hoping to weasel my way into a ride from Dylan and, oh yeah, maybe see if he wanted to make out while I’m at it.”

  Jack’s smirk got smirkier, if that was possible.

  Dylan finally seemed to notice my presence and he lifted his head and looked right at me. God, he was hot. He tossed his head a bit so his shaggy blond hair wasn’t in his eyes and gave me a smile that was like the sun coming out from behind the clouds.

  Breathe, Layla.

  “Hey, Laynie.” See? Now there was an appropriate nickname and one that I absolutely adored since Dylan was the only one who ever called me that.

  “Hi.” I shuffled my feet a bit, willing Jack to stop smirking at me and Dylan to continue speaking.

  Dylan’s face lit up like he just thought of something awesome. “Hey, Laynie, you going to the beach next week?”

  My heart did a galloping move. He brought it up! Again. This was destiny. And clearly he cared whether I was going, so much so that he asked me twice. Twice! Wait til Amy heard that one. “Yeah, I think I’ll go.” Swallowing thickly, I forced out the next words. “I still need to find a ride though.”

  Dylan’s look of disappointment was equally heartening and disappointing. I mean, it wasn’t like he leapt to give me a ride, but for all I knew he wasn’t driving or his car was full already. And he looked really disappointed so… that was something.

  “Bummer,” he said.

  Offer me a ride. Offer me a ride. Offer me a ride. I’d never had success with telepathy to date but it never hurt to try. Where there’s a will there’s a way.

  Jack, who was still watching me with that stupid mocking grin, started playing some chords on his guitar, a not-so-subtle hint that chat time was over.

  “See ya, Laynie,” Dylan said as I started to back away.

  My “bye” was drowned out by Jack’s guitar but his parting, “Don’t run away, lay lady lay!” shouted into his mic could most likely be heard for blocks around.

  I ignored him, lik
e I always did, but I could feel his smirk following me as I cut across the lawn to my house.

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  About the Author

  MAGGIE DALLEN IS a big city girl living in Montana. She writes romantic comedies in a range of genres including young adult, historical, contemporary, and fantasy. An unapologetic addict of all things romance, she loves to connect with fellow avid readers. Subscribe to her newsletter at http://eepurl.com/bFEVsL

  LINKS & OTHER WORKS

  Facebook: facebook.com/MaggieDallenAuthor

  Twitter: twitter.com/Mag_Dallen

  Website: maggiedallen.com

  Check out Maggie’s other books:

  Barely a Fairy Tale Series

  Cinderella Blackmail

  Snow White Espionage

  Rose Red Rebellion

  Beauty & The Heist

  Starting from Zero Series

  Love Times Two

  Less Than Three

  The Plus One

  Chance Romance Series

  The Accidental Engagement

  The Accidental Boyfriend

  The Accidental Elopement

  Reel Romance Series

  Her Leading Man

  His Leading Lady

  Her Leading Hero (Releasing December 2017)

  What the critics say about Maggie’s books!

  "What an absolutely delightful romantic romp....The Accidental Engagement is such a lighthearted, simply fun read. I could easily picture this as a romantic comedy movie...I would definitely recommend this for anyone who loves to... well, fall in love. Indulge yourself and enjoy."

  —KEEPER BOOKSHELF

  "A fun read, I recommend The Accidental Engagement for any romance reader looking for something sweet."

  —HARLEQUIN JUNKIE

  "I loved every minute of this story and couldn’t put it down until the very last page...I can’t wait to see what Maggie Dallen has in store for her other characters...Maggie Dallen is now on my must-read list."

  —EYE ON ROMANCE