“You sure you want to do this?”
Turning to face me, he said, “Absolutely. You?”
“Sure,” I said, trying not to blush. “Thanks, Ash.”
“Anything for you, Spitz.” His eyes widened, one corner of his lips turned up as he looked over my head. “And so it begins.”
Before I could wonder what he meant, a familiar voice called, “Sal.”
Becks sounded annoyed, and when he reached us his expression matched his tone.
“Becks,” Ash said easily, looping an arm around my shoulders. I nearly gasped in surprise but managed to hold it in. “How’s it going man? You ready to take on Myers Park today?”
“I’m always ready.” His voice was icy, but his eyes burned, tracking the movements of that arm with a scowl on his face. “Sal, what’s going on?”
“Nothing,” I said.
“Oh don’t lie to him, Spitz.” I did gasp this time as Ash nuzzled my hair. What was he doing? “He’s a big boy. He can take it.”
“Take what?” Becks said, looking right at me.
“Well, we…I mean, we’re…” I’d never been too good at lying to Becks, and now with him looking so intense, staring right through me, it was next to impossible. I didn’t know why, but I didn’t want to admit that Ash and I were going out.
Luckily, Ash didn’t have that problem.
“Spitz just agreed to go out with me,” he said.
I stared at him slack-jawed. Ash had put it right out there.
If Becks’s eyes could shoot fire, Ash would’ve been dust. Without looking at me, he gritted out, “Sal, can I see you for a sec?”
He didn’t wait for an answer, simply tugged me a few feet away and started his tirade.
“What was that?” he said, head lowered, voice angry. “I asked you before what was going on with you and Ass Striker, and you said nothing. You aren’t seriously interested in that jerk?”
“Well, I—”
“He’s just playing you, Sal.” Becks shook his head, looking at me with pity. “And you’re letting him do it. I thought you were smarter than this.”
I set my chin, remembering how Ash had just admitted his feelings. No fear, no hesitation. I had to admire that.
“I like him,” I said.
“And you honestly think he likes you?” Becks laughed, but it wasn’t a funny sound. “How could he, Sal? He barely knows you.”
“Yeah, but he wants to,” I retorted.
“Yeah, he wants something,” Becks muttered.
“What?”
“You heard me.”
“Why are you getting so upset?” I asked, eyeing the hard planes of his face. “It’s not like you haven’t gone out with a ton of girls.”
“That’s different.” His tone was pleading. “You don’t know Ash. I do. We’ve played on the same team for years. He’s a complete ass.”
I took a step back. “Well, what if I want to get to know him better? He’s always been nice to me, Becks.”
Becks searched my face. “It’s him, isn’t it? I was right.”
“Right about what?”
“God, why didn’t I see it before,” he said, throwing up his hands. “Your crush, athletic, smart, good-looking. Sal, you’re kidding me, right? Ass Striker? You really think he’s attractive?”
Looking over, Ash winked, nodding, encouraging me. Our relationship was already off and running, and I’d barely had time to blink, let alone get used to the idea.
Wanting to see how Becks would react, I tested the waters.
“Sure,” I said, checking Ash out with a grin. “He’s funny, nice and has a great body. Not as good as yours, of course, Becks, but he is a year younger.”
Becks stepped back as if I’d struck him. “Sal…”
“Hmm?” I tried hard not to notice the look of hurt that flashed across his face.
“He doesn’t want you. Not really.”
The fact that Becks didn’t think any guy could want me wasn’t a surprise. The words still cut to the bone.
“Why not, Becks?” I refused to cry. “Because you don’t?”
“That’s not—”
“Enough talk,” Ash said, arm sliding around me once again. “Want me to walk you to class?”
Looking away from Becks, trying to smile, I said, “No, that’s okay. I think I can manage.”
Ash sighed loudly. “Well, alright, if you’re going to play hard to get.” Then to Becks, “I’m glad you let her go, man. Otherwise, I might’ve suffered in silence, burying my feelings down deep forever. It’s crazy how much I love her already.”
He was such a bull-shitter, it made me smile for real.
“Bye, Spitz,” he said, voice low, intimate. “I’ll see you later.”
Grinning at Becks, Ash lowered his head and then did the unthinkable. He placed a kiss, the briefest brush of lips on skin, just behind my ear. Becks’s spot. He’d just put his mouth directly over Becks’s spot.
I was wide-eyed as he straightened, looking carefree as a clam. Becks wore an expression similar to mine. Completely gobsmacked.
“Thanks again, man.” Ash lifted his chin. “Sal’s a great girl.”
I wasn’t sure if it was the kiss or the ‘Sal’ that did it, but between one blink and the next Ash and Becks were on the floor, rolling around like a pair of angry cats. Becks had the upper hand. I could tell that much. Ash wasn’t much smaller than him, but Becks looked like he had the most rage. Coach Crenshaw was actually the one who broke them up. As he tugged them to his office, I heard him saying, “What is wrong with you two idiots? Don’t you know we’ve got a game? Save that aggression for the field.”
I didn’t know what to feel. Two guys fighting over little old me. It was every girl’s dream, right? I wanted that zing of happiness to overtake me, but there was too much worry for that. I was nervous for Becks and Ash; I was pretty sure Crenshaw wouldn’t bench them—they were the best he had. But I didn’t want either of them getting into trouble, least of all on my account.
Hooker found me at lunch, nearly buzzing with excitement. She was sprinting as fast as she could, bouncing a little more than usual, making the male population in the cafeteria stare.
“Is it true?” she asked, out of breath as she collapsed into the chair next to mine. “Did Becks seriously try to stab Ash? Did Stryker kick him in the balls? Tell me, Spitz. Hurry up, I’m dying over here.”
For a second, I couldn’t speak. What she’d said was that out there.
“Spitz, tell me.”
“Hooker, none of that is true.” I couldn’t help but laugh at her disappointed expression. “They just had a disagreement. That’s all.”
“A disagreement?” she deadpanned.
“Yeah.”
“One that ended with them duking it out on the ground?” I didn’t answer. “What were they fighting over anyway?”
“Well…” I blushed, coming up short. There was no way I could tell her what Ash had done—or how Becks had reacted. No. Way.
“No,” Hooker said, eyes widening, a crooked smile sitting on her face. “No freaking way.”
Was she a mind reader or something? I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. “What?”
“Spitz!” She slapped me on the arm, sharp and unapologetic. “You’re with Ash now, aren’t you? I can’t believe you’re trying to keep it a secret. Have you forgotten that me and Martha were the ones who set this whole thing in motion?”
“Yeah, congratulations,” I mumbled, rubbing my abused biceps. If this thing with Ash bombed, at least I had two other people to blame. Besides my stupid self that is.
“Ah, don’t be like that.” Hooker was still smiling. “So…who’s the better kisser?”
“Hooker.”
“What?” she asked, all innocent. “I can’t tell just from looking. Ash has better lips, but Becks looks like he has skills.” Her gaze turned pensive as she rested her chin on her hand. “Actually, they both look like they could make a girl happy. Real happy.”
“Jeez,” I said, hand over my eyes. “Stop, Hooker. Please, you’re freaking me out.”
“Huh, why? It’s perfectly natural to compare kisses.”
Yeah, well, I couldn’t exactly do that since I’d only kissed Becks. But what freaked me out more was how much thought Hooker had obviously given thought to how good a kisser Becks would be. It was just wrong. And there was no way Ash had better lips than Becks.
“Okay, then who was your best kiss?” I asked.
She didn’t even hesitate. “Wade Weathersbee, seventh grade, behind the gym. Weathersbee had a lot of enthusiasm and could do this really cool rolling thing with his tongue. Naturally gifted.” Hooker waggled her eyebrows. “If you know what I mean.”
I didn’t—but it sounded really interesting.
As I was working up the nerve to ask her about it, someone said, “Sally, you busy?”
I looked up, straight into the eyes of Clayton Kent. He was wearing his usual assistant coach uniform, but the seriousness in his expression was so out of place, it made me uneasy.
“Oh hey, Clayton,” I said, trying to act natural.
“Would you mind stepping over here so we can talk?”
“Got something you can’t say in front of me, Coach Kent?” Hooker pouted. “And I thought you were a Southern gentleman.”
He gave her a patronizing smile then faced me. “Sally?”
“Sure.” Following him to the next table over, empty on one end—the one closest to us—I steeled myself.
Clayton didn’t beat around the bush. “Sally, did you really dump Becks?”
I gulped. God, he looked mad. “Yeah, I guess.”
“What’d he do?”
“Huh?” I said, dumbly.
“What’d he say? Was he a jerk?” His eyes flashed, and I didn’t think I’d ever seen him look so hostile. “Did he hurt you? I’ll kill him if he did, Sally. I swear it. You just tell me now, and I’ll take care of it.”
The threat was good, but the look on his face was better. I couldn’t contain myself. The laughter started low in my chest and bubbled out of my mouth, long and loud.
“Oh,” I gasped. “Clayton, I can’t believe you just said that.” Wiping tears from my eyes, I laid my hand on his arm. “Becks would never hurt me. He wouldn’t hurt any girl, and you know it.”
“Yeah,” Clayton agreed, reluctantly. “I was just hoping for a reason. You know, he’d get a whooping from each of us. Leo, Thad, Ollie and me wouldn’t stand for him making you cry. He didn’t, did he?”
“No,” I said quickly. His eyes got all squinty, but I smiled. “It’s sweet of you to offer, though. You know you’re my favorite, right, Clayton?”
“Of course,” he said, pulling me into a one-armed hug. “So you and The Whip are dating now?”
I shrugged. “That’s what they say.”
Clayton set me away from him, his hand resting on my shoulder. “You working your way through my bench or what? First Becks, now Ash. Next you’ll be going after Rick Smythe. He’s got a great block, nice set of calves.”
“Please.” I rolled my eyes. “How’d you know about me and Ash?”
“Heard it straight from the horse’s mouth as he and Becks were getting reamed by Crenshaw. The coach didn’t look too happy.”
That didn’t sound good. “They won’t get in trouble, will they?”
“Nah.” Clayton waved it off. “They’ll be fine. A little scuffed up, but fine. So…my Sally and Ash Stryker, huh? ‘Sash,’“ he said to himself. “That’s not bad.”
“Yep,” I said, ducking my head. It was strange how he seemed to accept me and Ash easier than me and Becks. It’d taken him less than an hour to link our names together.
Sash. Good grief.
“Hey.” Clayton waited until I met his eyes, then said, “Make him suffer.”
“What?” I asked.
“Becks,” he grinned. His crystal clear eyes seemed to see too much. “My brother needs to be smacked over the head sometimes. Don’t you dare let him off easy, Sally. You just be sure you make him work a little before giving in.”
“But Clayton…” I stammered as he walked away.
“Make him suffer, Sally,” he tossed over his shoulder, leaving me dumbfounded.
Clayton was a terrible big brother for saying that, but he was a good friend to me, and I appreciated the support. I didn’t want to hurt Becks, but it would be sweet to make him a little jealous—to know that he could get jealous over me, like a guy gets over a girl, a man over a woman. Time would tell, but in the meantime, I had to get back to Hooker and find out more about this tongue rolling thing.
CHAPTER 15
They won (of course). Chariot breezed past the second round of sectionals and the quarterfinals as well. Becks was playing better than ever. Like I’d heard Crenshaw say, it was as if someone had put gasoline on his already lit fire. He was unstoppable on the field, a one-man army of soccer devastation. The coach made the most out of Becks’s and Ash’s new feud, always putting them in together, never letting one sit out when the other was in action.
Not like they’d let him.
The two seemed to be in an all-out battle to see who could do the best, score the most. It was amazing to watch Ash try and rise up to Becks’s level. The Whip had already been a force to be reckoned with, but this was something else. Becks ended up outscoring him in the second round but not the third—which I could tell disturbed him greatly.
The day after it happened, Becks came up to me and said, “Did you go to the movies with Ass Striker?”
I shut my locker, doing a mental eye roll at the name. “Yeah, how’d you know?”
“The jerk tweeted it,” he said in disgust.
“He did?” I couldn’t hide my surprise. “What did he say?”
Becks held his phone out to me, and I scanned the screen.
The account was for @AshTheWhip24/7, and it said: “Scream Deluxe, popcorn, and a hot older woman at my side. Doesn’t get better than that.”
I laughed. Ash was such a goober.
“Sal, we were supposed to go see that one together.”
It was true. Becks was a huge fan of horror, but Ash had asked me first, and like he said, I couldn’t wait around forever. I wouldn’t. Becks’s puppy dog eyes had always worked on me in the past, but now I was a rock. Stone cold, hard, impassive. I just wished he didn’t look so disappointed in me.
I shrugged. “We can go see it again if you want, but I might have to check and see if I’m doing anything with Ash.”
“What’s up with that?” he said in exasperation. “Is he your babysitter now? Sal, you hate Twitter. Just last year you called the people who do it ‘online attention seekers with no life.’ What happened?”
You, I thought. You happened, and now I’m on this stupid mission to make you see me as a girl and to give someone who actually likes me a shot, and it’ll probably go nowhere, but I’m going to try my best anyway. Call me what you like, but Sally Spitz was no quitter.
“So Ash tweets,” I said. “It’s not that big a deal. I accept him for who he is, and he accepts me for who I am.”
“Hmph,” Becks said and then stalked off without a backward glance.
Later on, the coach was drilling them hard. This would be the last practice before the semis, and he wanted his team both mentally and physically prepared. They’d been at it a full hour and a half before he let them have their first break.
Ash jogged up to me, hair plastered to his head with sweat, muscles shifting beneath his skin, his shirt long gone.
“Hey,” he said, pulling me into a very warm, very wet hug.
“Ugh,” I laughed, then whispered, “when I agreed to go out with you, I don’t think sweaty hugs were part of the deal.”
“They totally were.” He released me with a tug on my ponytail. “Fine print, Spitz. Never forget to read it. You’ll be sorry if you do.”
“I heard about your tweet.”
“Who’d you hear
that from, I wonder?” Ash looked pleased. “Tell me, was he crying when he told you? Did he get down on one knee right there, sweep you into his arms, and ask you to forgive him for being such a loser?”
“Hey,” I said, “no calling Becks a loser. We talked about this.”
“Alright, alright,” he said. “I’m working on it.”
“He’s my best friend, Ash. And if we’re going to be friends, you need to work harder.”
“I said okay.” Ash crossed his arms. “So I assume this means you’re still in love with—”
“Shhh!” I hissed, clapping a hand over his mouth. “He might hear you.”
Ash stared at me balefully until I removed my hand. “I’ll take that as a yes,” he mumbled.
A second later Becks was there at my side, drawing me into my second sticky hug of the day. Despite the sweat, I closed my eyes, couldn’t bring myself to pull away, sinking into him like home. It’d been a while since Becks touched me.
“Hey, Sal,” Becks murmured, tightening his hold.
“Becks,” I sighed. He really did give the best hugs.
Who knows how long I might’ve stayed there (probably forever) if Ash hadn’t chosen that moment to grunt, a loud and piercing sound that cut through my Becks haze.
Shaking myself out of his embrace, I tried to stop the blush from stealing up my cheeks. From Becks’s smile and Ash’s faint look of disapproval, I could tell I was unsuccessful.
“Mount Tabor doesn’t stand a chance,” I said to fill the awkward silence. “You guys look really great out there.”
“Why thank you, Spitz.” Ash smiled. “You’re looking good yourself.”
“I-I didn’t—”
“No need to stutter.” Looking down at himself, he flexed which brought even more heat to my face. “Many a woman has admired my physique.”
Becks snorted, crossing his arms, his own muscles contracting with the movement.
The cheerleaders threw catcalls our way; a couple nearly swooned and I couldn’t even blame them. I was about to pass out myself. I kept switching from Becks to Ash, Ash to Becks, chest to chest, but no matter where I looked there was more skin. With that much excellent male flesh on display, what’s a girl to do?
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