That Boy (That Boy Series Book 1)

by Jillian Dodd

  As if I can’t turn him down when he grins at me.

  Well, actually, I can’t.

  “Let me guess, American Pie for the hundred-millionth time?” I ask, knowing full well what the answer will be.

  I make snacks, and we head toward the family room. I notice that Danny is moving very slowly. He’s obviously sore, and he seems to be irritable. Unusual for him after a big game, especially a game he won practically single-handedly. I’d expect him to be flying high.

  “What’s wrong with you?” I ask him. “You had such an incredible game. Why are you being such a crab?”

  “It was a rough game,” he snarls at me, and then softer, “I’m just kind of sore, I guess.”

  I plop down on the couch between the boys.

  “Do you want me to rub your back?” I ask Danny nicely.

  Lots of times after a game, we’ll watch movies, and I’ll rub Danny or Phillip’s shoulders. I doubt Phillip is at all sore. He’s Danny’s number one receiver, but he got double-teamed all night and only got open in the flats. (Close in to the line of scrimmage, not way down field like usual.) That’s why it was such a tough game. Most teams can’t shut down the Danny and Phillip combination, but tonight they did. Because they have played together so much, it’s like Danny always knows where Phillip is going to be, even before he gets there. They make some amazing plays together and have a lot of confidence in each other. It’s really pretty cool to watch.

  About midway through the movie, I say something to Danny, and he snaps at me. “What?”

  “Jeez, Danny, I just asked if you took some Advil.”

  “No,” he says a little nicer.

  “I’ll grab you some,” I say, and pat his forearm reassuringly.

  He practically jumps off the couch when I touch his arm.

  “What is wrong with you?” I yell.

  “I’m just a little sore there!”

  I squint my eyes at that boy. What’s going on?

  “Danny, let me see your arm.”

  He sighs madly, but gingerly holds it up for me.

  I examine his forearm. No wonder he’s such a crab. His arm is quite swollen. So I touch it very gently, and crap, it feels hot to the touch.

  This is not good.

  And the skin is all shiny looking.

  Just a little sore, my ass.

  This arm is broken.

  “Danny! No wonder you’re being such a butt. Your arm is broken.”

  My screeching gets Phillip’s attention away from the TV, where a hot girl is taking off her shirt.

  “Did it happen on that last play? When you stiff-armed that guy? His helmet hit your arm, didn’t it?” Phillip asks in rapid-fire succession.

  “Um, yeah. I think so,” Danny mutters, then he turns to me and says, “It can’t be broken, Jay. Coach thought it was just bruised.”

  “Yeah, well, I hate to tell you this, Danny, but he’s wrong.”

  Next thing I know, I’m sprinting back over to my house. I bang through the gate and stand in front of the hot tub again.

  Everyone stares at me like I’m spoiling their fun, and they wish I would leave.

  I ignore that possibility and announce, “Hey guys, um, I think Danny broke his arm.”

  I know that will at least get their attention.

  “What?” they all say in alarmed unison.

  Oh sure, now we’re all concerned.

  “Not his throwing arm?” Danny’s dad asks.

  God forbid!

  And then Mr. Mac asks, “How?” before I can get a word in edgewise.

  I answer them both. “No. It’s his left forearm, and it happened when he stiff-armed that guy in the fourth quarter right before he scored.”

  Dad asks me, “Did they look at it in the locker room? Did Coach think it was broken?”

  Coach is a great guy. He’s coached winning teams at Westown for years, and everyone respects him, but excuse me, is the man a doctor?

  I think not.

  “No. He thought it was just a deep bruise, but I don’t agree,” I say, shaking my head like I’m an expert.

  I practically am, really.

  “It’s hot to the touch, and the skin is all swollen and shiny. So either you’re gonna have to share some of your stash with him to get him through the night, or he needs to go and get an x-ray. And definitely some pain pills. The boy is very crabby.”

  “Shit,” says Danny’s dad. “JJ, can you hand me the phone?” Then he announces, “I’m going to call Dr. Rohm and tell him to meet us at the hospital.”

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Chuck,” Mrs. Diamond says to her husband. Then she turns to me and says, “JJ, do you think you could take him? We weren’t planning on going anywhere tonight, and none of us,” she looks pointedly at Mr. D, “should be driving.”

  Obviously.

  So I say, “Yeah, we’ll take him.”

  “Thanks, honey,” she replies. “His insurance card is in the cubby by the desk. He’s eighteen, so there shouldn’t be any problems. We’ll have Dr. Rohm meet you there.”

  “Drive careful,” Mom tells me.

  I think it’s ridiculous that they can’t take their son to the hospital, and no one is giving me any credit for caring enough about him to discover that his arm is broken. So I decide to point this out, just to let them know they all owe me big.

  So I raise my arms in the air and say, “FYI everyone, just wanted to let you know that I’ve earned myself a Get Out of Jail Free card.”

  “What do you mean?” Dad asks, eyeing me suspiciously.

  I point at him and look him in the eye, so he knows I am serious. “I mean next time someone wants to ground me, I’m turning that card in.”

  Phillip drives while Danny and I sit in the backseat. Danny’s head is resting on my shoulder, his sore arm’s lying across my lap, and I’m gently stroking his swollen fingers.

  Yeah, I know.

  Many, many girls would practically kill to be in my position.

  And let’s face it. Even I am not immune to Danny’s charm.

  But right now that’s like the last thing on my mind, because I know all too well what broken bones feel like. I’ve broken my right arm, my left wrist and three different fingers, while playing football with these boys. And I couldn’t even begin to count the numerous sprains, bruises, cuts and stitches. So instead of feeling slightly turned on, I just feel like I’m going to cry.

  And that’s weird, because I didn’t even cry when I broke my own bones.

  Oh, and FYI to all you doubters out there: Danny’s arm was indeed broken.

  I was right!

  I love it when that happens!

  I’m sitting in my room, curled up on my window seat, reading a great book. I’m having a hard time putting it down, because I’m dying to find out if Madison will end up with Chase, and if they’ll be able to solve the mystery and return the stolen diamond before the Mafia hit man gets them. I only have a few chapters left, and although I want to peek at the ending, I could never do that.

  It would ruin a perfectly good story!

  Just as I am getting to a really steamy part, where Chase accidentally walks in on Madison while she is in the shower . . .

  Accidental, my ass.

  My phone rings.

  It’s Lisa. Dang it! She is so chatty. I may never get her off this phone! She is regaling me with the story of Christmas at her father’s crazy relatives’, and I am half listening, half reading, when a huge snowball splats on my window, scaring me to death and causing me to drop both my book and the phone. I bend down, pick up the phone, and put it back up to my ear just as another snowball hits my window.

  “What was that?” Lisa cries in my ear.

  “Sorry. I dropped you. Someone is throwing snowballs at my window. It scared the crap out of me.”

  “Well, who is it?” she snaps impatiently.

  I glance out and see Danny holding a football up in the air, grinning at me. Phillip has so many clothes on th
at he looks like the Michelin man.

  “It’s Phillip and Danny. I think they want me to come play football with—”

  “Strip football?” Lisa screeches, interrupting me. “I’m coming over. Now.”

  I hear a click in my ear and know that she has hung up on me.

  Kind of rude, don’t ya think?

  But I will probably forgive her, because she has a huge crush on Danny and the idea of seeing him with no shirt on is almost too much for her to handle.

  I think it’s hilarious.

  I mean he’s just a guy. Okay, he’s a hot guy.

  I open my window and yell to the boys, “Be right down.”

  Strip football.

  Sounds indecent, I know.

  But we don’t strip, like, naked or anything.

  Well, at least not completely.

  Strip football is a game we created a few years ago. It is usually played on a sunny day, when there is snow on the ground. The rules are a bit sketchy at best, mostly because Danny and I tend to make them up as we go. The basic gist of it is if you mess up, like miss a well-thrown pass, get intercepted, fumble the ball, or miss an important tackle, you lose an article of clothing. Danny and I tend to argue. Okay, so we fight, during this game because what constitutes a bad play or pass is a bit of a gray area.

  And, well, Danny and I both always think we’re right.

  That’s where Phillip comes in.

  I am convinced that the United Nations should send Phillip to the Middle East. He would have a Peace Treaty signed, with all parties thinking they got the best deal, in under an hour. It is simply due to his fine negotiation skills that Danny and I don’t kill each other.

  He is truly amazing. Smart too. Somehow, I think since he never gets involved in the arguments, he always stays warm and dry, while Danny and I are running around in the snow with nothing on but a T-shirt, jeans, one sock and, if we’re lucky, maybe a mitten.

  The fun part about playing the game in the winter—we have played in the summer but the game is over pretty fast—is that you have lots of layers to strip off before you’re out of the game.

  Our moms used to yell at us because they were afraid we’d freeze to death. It’s a major embarrassment to be called inside by your mom. Much worse than losing outright. But, thankfully, they gave up on us, assuming we’re old enough to come in the house before frostbite sets in.

  I quickly put on multiple layers. First a swimsuit, then T-shirt, bike shorts, sweatshirt, sweatpants, snow pants, jacket, mittens, socks and boots. I pull my hair back in a ponytail, throw on a baseball cap, and then I add sunglasses and a scarf for good measure.

  You have to be very careful about how many layers you put on, because there is a fine line between perfect and too many.

  Too many layers and you can’t bend your elbows or knees.

  And if you can’t bend them, it makes it very difficult to throw, catch, and run. Then you can end up stripped so fast that the extra layers didn’t really do you any good in the first place.

  When I get outside, I see that it’s not just Danny and Phillip who are going to play, but some other guys have shown up too.

  As you can imagine, strip football is a bit of a novelty game and is developing quite a following. You’d think since there is stripping involved that it would be a coed game, like strip poker, but this game is for guys only.

  Well, except for me. And it’s more of an I’m a manly, macho, tough guy, and I can stand to be out in the cold weather playing football with practically no clothes on kind of game.

  The boys have already split into two teams, by the time I plod over through the snow. We had a beautiful white Christmas, and there are about four inches of new snow blanketing the grass.

  The teams seem to be split, Juniors versus Seniors, with Phillip, Neil, Joey, and I, on one team and Danny, Dillon, Kevin, and Brandon, on the other.

  We huddle up and start on offense. Joey plays quarterback and makes a perfect throw to Phillip. Phillip catches it, but fumbles it and off comes a coat. The game continues like this. Every few plays someone loses an article of clothing. I’m doing pretty well. I have only lost my jacket, cap, and scarf. Phillip, who I knew was way too bulked up, has lost all three of his jackets and is now performing much better.

  Our team is also winning 21-14!

  Lisa shows up with Katie. The two of them are dressed like they are going to some posh ski resort in Aspen or somewhere. Katie has on trendy furry boots, and Lisa has some sort of sparkly stuff on her cheeks. I swear, they are such girly girls! It cracks me up!

  They keep working on making me that way, and apparently they’ve had some success because just the other day, I bought a pair of jeans with rhinestones on the pockets.

  Mom loves them!

  They also tell me that I must wear at least mascara and lip gloss every day.

  So I do. And I am getting pretty proficient at eyeshadow, as well.

  Did I mention that both of them decided to try out for cheerleading last year and made it?

  Of course, I don’t hold that against them. They both tried basketball with me as freshman, and it was kinda sad. I would much rather be a cheerleader than a benchwarmer too.

  And they feel it has definitely raised their popularity factor.

  They have Lisa’s trunk open and are getting out what, upon first glance, appears to be full tailgating paraphernalia, but is really just two lounge chairs, a table, and a couple thermoses full of hot chocolate with, knowing them, a little peppermint schnapps.

  Which will earn them bonus points with the boys.

  I politely ask them if they would like to play with us, knowing full well, there’s a snowball’s chance in hell that they will.

  This is when Danny, for no apparent reason, starts purposely picking on me.

  Well, actually, there is a reason.

  Lisa drives him nuts.

  She really hoped that once she became a cheerleader she would have a shot at dating Danny, but it hasn’t happened so far. And between you and me, I don’t think it ever will. Even though she’s now a cheerleader, she’s still not Danny’s type.

  But Lisa is an eternal optimist, and Danny is currently girlfriend-less.

  Stranger things have happened.

  So Danny starts throwing the ball to Dillon, who I’m guarding, and, shhhh, sorta crushing on right now. He is soooo cute!

  Oh, sorry.

  So, I’m a tall girl, but Dillon is about 6’4”.

  Yes, Mom was right. The boys finally caught up. Anyway, he’s a full six inches taller than me so, aside from my being distracted by his cuteness, Danny’s passing the ball so far above my head that I have no chance to defend it.

  And it’s really pissing me off.

  Soon, we are losing by a score of 21 - 28, and I’m left with just my socks and boots, snow pants, and swimsuit top.

  Danny throws a great pass to Dillon in the end zone.

  And, well, you know what they say. Desperate times call for desperate measures—or maybe a little creativity.

  Dillon jumps up and catches the ball, but he lands just outside the out of bounds line.

  Really! I swear.

  Okay.

  So my fingers might be crossed behind my back, but whatever.

  I say, “No good. Out of bounds.”

  “No way!” Danny raises both of his arms straight up in the air, “Touchdown.”

  I shake my head at him. Dillon isn’t exactly sure where he landed. I was really the only one who saw.

  Danny comes bounding down toward me, looking for Dillon’s boot prints, which I have already conveniently obscured.

  “TD.” Danny smirks. “What’s it gonna be this time, Jay? How about the swimsuit top?” he teases, daring me to take off my top.

  Like that would ever happen, other than maybe in his dreams.

  I walk up to him and hand him the football. “In your dreams, sweetie. He was out of bounds. No touchdown.”

  “Prove it, because the fi
eld judge, me,” he smiles a fake smile, “saw him land in bounds.”

  He is so competitive and a liar, I am sure. He couldn’t have seen.

  “Oh yeah? Well the line judge didn’t have a clear view,” I say, nodding toward Phillip. “The side judge over there was watching the cheerleaders.” I point at Neil, who’s flirting with Lisa and Katie. “And since there is no instant replay,” I smile a shit-eating grin, “I’m just gonna have to call a do over.”

  “It’s only fair,” I add.

  “You’re a cheater,” Danny says, squinting his eyes at me.

  I raise my eyebrows at that boy and say, “Yeah? well that’s better than being a liar.”

  I mean, really, it is.

  Phillip finally comes over to intervene, and I get my way.

  Yes!

  We do the down over, and Danny does the exact same play.

  I told you! He’s after me!

  But this time I’m expecting it, and I jump up as high as I can in front of Dillon and manage to just tip the ball away from him.

  “That wasn’t your fault, Dillon,” I tell him. “Danny loses something on that one. It was a terrible throw.”

  Dillon is on my side instead of his teammates on this one because all he has left on are his jeans and his boots, and he really doesn’t want to give up a boot.

  I jog back up to midfield and tease Danny. “That didn’t work out quite the way you planned, did it, Danny boy?” He hates to be called that. His mom called him that when he was little. “So what’s it gonna be, Danny? Your shirt or a shoe?”

  That boy gets a nasty look on his face, but then the look changes and he smiles a wide, slightly evil smile at me.

  Devil Danny is back, I think, and he’s standing right in front of me.

  I glance at Lisa. She can barely contain her excitement. I mean, this is what she has been out here braving the cold for.

  Danny stands in front of me and very, very slowly pulls his T-shirt up over his chest. He is doing a strip tease just for my benefit. Although, I’m willing to bet that Lisa will warp things in her mind and be convinced that he was showing off for her.