The Perfect League (Briarwood High Book 3)

by Maggie Dallen

  But there you had it. I was suddenly and inexplicably craving a cuddle.

  His smile had faded to a smirk and he shoved his hands into his pockets. “I just sent you a track.”

  I blinked. Um…what?

  “I, uh—” His eyes jumped around like he was about to admit to a heinous crime. “I wrote you a song.” His eyes finally settled on my shocked face. But seriously….What?

  His lips twitched slightly, no doubt amused by my wide-eyed open-mouthed shock. He placed a hand on my shoulder and leaned over slightly like he was about to tell me a secret.

  “Listen to it, learn it, love it,” he said softly, his lips so close to my ear that the feel of his warm breath made me shiver. “And if you ever let anyone else listen to it, our little arrangement is off.”

  That last part shocked me back to reality. It also let me know that he was serious. He was totally one hundred percent serious.

  Connor Matthews had written a song for me.

  I was too impatient to wait. “I want to hear it.” Now. Right now. I bit my lip to keep from begging. I needed to hear this song like I needed air to breathe. No one had ever written a song for me before and it was just too exciting.

  He pulled back and I caught another small smile. A little part of my brain noted it like I was that British narrator on Planet Earth or something. Another sighting of Connor’s legendary smile, this is a rare spectacle indeed.

  And yes, I spent an inordinate amount of time watching those documentaries because they were amazing and I was not ashamed.

  “It’s in your email,” he said as he started to walk away. I watched him go for a full second before I realized that I was just standing there when I could be listening.

  I was more excited than I could remember being about anything. Honestly, I was like a little kid on Christmas morning as I scrambled to get my keys out and slide into my car. Once I was inside with the door closed, I got out my phone, brought up my email and found it. The email was titled Spanish 101. There was no message, just a link.

  The moment I clicked it I heard some soft guitar chords coming from my phone. I stared at the device like it had just come to life.

  No way. That could not be Connor playing—

  When you want to say ‘to go’ but in Espanol, ‘Ir’ is the word you want to use…

  Oh. My. God. Connor’s sexy as hell voice was coming through the tinny little speakers of my phone, filling my car with a made-up song that sort of went to the tune of that The Beatles’ song. You know the one that has the obla-di, obla-da part?

  I sat there for God knows how long listening in awe to the great, scary Connor sing for me. He had a nice voice—no, he had a great voice. I could listen to that voice forever. It was sexy and deep, and it could hold a tune.

  He went through each of the verbs, adding a funny little opening about when you’d use the word and why and then in the chorus “obla-di, obla-da” part he conjugated the verb.

  It was…hysterical. And sweet. And ridiculously cheesy. And quite possibly the coolest thing anyone had ever done for me. Ever.

  The moment the song ended, I hit play again, but this time I also started my car. People would wonder if I just sat there in my car for hours on end and I so didn’t want this song interrupted by some well-meaning friend coming over to check on me.

  So I drove home, but I listened to the song on repeat the whole way there. Then I listened to it some more when I got home. I couldn’t stop listening to it. By the time that weekend ended, I not only knew the song by heart without even trying, but I was one hundred percent smitten with Connor’s voice.

  I’d texted him to thank him and couldn’t resist telling him how much he sounded like Eddie Vedder.

  I saw little dots pop up and then disappear, him starting to text and stopping several times. Finally I got a text from him that just said, You know Eddie Vedder?

  I was mildly insulted. Of course.

  Big fan of Pearl Jam?

  He was mocking me, this was clear. I didn’t lie. I know some songs, but he has a solo career too, you know.

  I know. Then, I just didn’t think you’d know.

  Oh, Mr. Smug. Somehow it was so much easier to interact with him without that brooding glare in the way. Or even his non-brooding look. The guy was too intense in person, but via text he was surprisingly normal. Well, not normal. I’d never gotten into a text debate over the merits of a soundtrack score with Matthew before.

  I’d finally admitted that I’d gotten into Eddie Vedder because he’d done the soundtrack for Into the Wild, a movie I loved.

  He’d helpfully pointed out that it was a book first.

  Duh. Yes, I’d texted duh. It was not my most eloquent moment.

  There was too long of a pause after that. I didn’t think I’d really hurt his feelings with the duh comment but it did occur to me that perhaps he was out with friends. Maybe he had friends outside of Briarwood. Or maybe he had a girlfriend.

  It was a Saturday night, after all. Maybe he had better things to do than sit at home and text with his tutoring student.

  But finally I got a text back. Have you read the book?

  It was a simple question but it was almost too innocent. Combined with that long silence, I suspected the worst. I stared at my phone and huffed. Thankfully I was alone in my bedroom as I fumed at my phone. Yes, I texted back. And to answer your question—yes, I can read.

  I didn’t say you couldn’t.

  You thought it.

  Once again I watched him start to type and then it stopped. I held my phone in front of my face, impatiently watching those little dots hovering and blinking, letting me know that a response was coming.

  Any second now.

  This was torture.

  The dots stopped. Seriously? He was just going to ignore me now?

  When my phone rang I dropped my phone in my lap. Holy crap, he was calling me.

  No one ever called me.

  I mean, I texted all the time, but phone calls? For a second I didn’t know what to do.

  “Hello?” Why did my voice sound so out of breath? I didn’t get this winded when I went for a run.

  “I never thought you couldn’t read.” That was his way of saying hello, apparently.

  Oddly enough, forgoing the whole awkward “hi, hi, how are you? Good. What are you up to?” part of the phone call made it easier to adjust. I shifted on the bed, making myself comfortable.

  “I used to think that was the problem.”

  Oh my God. I did not just admit that out loud.

  “Yeah?” He was so nonplussed that my horror left as quickly as it came.

  “Did you ever watch The Cosby Show?” I asked.

  If he was surprised by the change of topic, he didn’t let on. “Sometimes. Gina watches all those old shows.”

  “Yeah, I did too. My mom loved to watch the reruns.”

  There was a silence as he waited for me to make a point.

  “There’s this one episode where Theo finds out he’s dyslexic,” I said, leaning back and making myself comfortable. Like I was talking to an old friend and not Connor, Briarwood High’s resident bad boy.

  “Okay,” he said slowly, clearly not at all sure where I was going with this.

  I sighed. “I got really excited when I saw it because I thought maybe I was too.”

  “You got excited,” he repeated, his tone flat.

  “Yes.”

  “But you’re not,” he guessed.

  “No, I’m not. I got tested but it turned out I could read just fine.”

  There was a silence and then his low voice rumbled through my phone. “Why do you sound disappointed about that.”

  “I was disappointed,” I said. “I am disappointed.”

  He was quiet again for a moment and then, “That’s messed up.”

  I scowled, forgetting for a moment that he couldn’t see me. “No, it’s not. Because if I had some sort of learning disorder then there could maybe be some sort of cure, or
I could learn how to work around it or something. Instead, I’m just—” I clamped my mouth shut, remembering just in time that this sexy voice on the other end was not my therapist. He wasn’t even my friend.

  He was just my tutor.

  He didn’t let it go though. “Instead, you’re just…what?”

  I was sure he knew what I’d been about to say. I guess he needed to hear me say it. “I’m just stupid.”

  His groan was loud. “You are not stupid, Jules, but what you just said? That’s idiotic.”

  I found myself fighting a smile, not just at the words and his obvious conviction, but the way he’d called me Jules. Normally only my good friends called me by that nickname.

  I didn’t really have it in me to fight him on this one. I mean, I wanted to be proven wrong. But, at the same time, I didn’t want to give him false hope. “We’ll see, I guess.”

  His laugh was soft and low and freakin’ delicious. Could a laugh be delicious? If so, his was. “Yeah, I guess we will see.”

  There was another pause and I had a twinge of remorse when I realized I should probably let him go. It was a Saturday night and he hadn’t really called to chat.

  Had he?

  No. He’d just called to clear up the fact that he didn’t doubt that I was literate. In a way it was a work call. As if to prove my point, he switched back to talking about reading.

  “So what kind of books do you read?”

  “Um, mainly fiction. Romance novels, fantasy, some mysteries…”

  “Clearly you read some non-fiction,” he said. “Into the Wild isn’t fiction.”

  “But it reads like a novel,” I said.

  “Yeah, Krakauer is great like that. So, what other old shows did you watch with your mom?”

  “Um…” The abrupt change of topic threw me for a second but then I started rattling off a list. Only then did I realize just how much television I’d watched in my lifetime.

  “Which was your favorite?”

  That was easy. “Buffy the Vampire Slayer.”

  He laughed. “That makes sense.”

  “It does?”

  “Totally. Buffy struggled at school but was still a badass hottie. It’s not really a shocker that you’d identify.”

  I found myself smiling like an idiot. He thinks I’m badass.

  And then…he thinks I’m a hottie? After a moment of insane glee, I managed to calm myself enough to respond with sarcasm. “Yes, I am exactly like the blonde cheerleader turned vampire slayer. If you replaced basketball with stake-wielding we’d pretty much be the same person.”

  He laughed, like I’d hoped he would.

  “What about you?” I said. “Favorite show.”

  And that was how I spent my Saturday night.

  An hour passed before we finally hung up, and even then I didn’t really want the conversation to end.

  We’d been having fun. We made each other laugh. It was, I realized, quite possibly the best date I’d ever been on.

  Except that it hadn’t been a date, or even a hangout. But it definitely wasn’t a school-related tutoring session either.

  I stared at the phone in my hand.

  So then…what the hell was it?

  Chapter Six

  Connor

  Gina opened the front door for Juliette a couple weeks later when she showed up for tutoring since I was still prepping for dinner. My mom worked some weird hours as a nurse, which meant that Gina and I were on our own tonight.

  “Juliette!” I heard Gina squeal. She said it as though it was a shocker that Juliette was standing on our doorstep. It was not a shock. It had been planned and Gina knew she was coming over for school work, just like she’d been doing most days after her practices let out. Somehow Gina got excited each time.

  And so did I. It was embarrassing to admit, but it was true. I’d have been lying if I didn’t admit that every day I couldn’t wait to hear that knock on the door. And then when I heard her voice? When I saw her there in my house?

  My heart leapt in response every single time.

  On cue I heard Juliette’s voice and she sounded just as excited as Gina, and I knew exactly why. Or at least, I hoped I did. Her Spanish teacher had taken his sweet time grading that test. It felt like we’d been waiting forever for her results—the first test under my tutelage.

  I faced the entrance to the kitchen as she walked in holding up a piece of paper. Her face was lit up with excitement, her eyes wide with disbelief. “I did it!” she shouted, jumping up and down. “I got an A in Spanish.”

  I grinned at the sight of her so ecstatic and laughed outright when Gina started squealing and dancing around, always eager to join in on a celebration even if she had no idea what we were so excited about.

  I leaned against the counter. “I’m not surprised.”

  “I am.” Juliette was staring at me like I was nuts. “And you should be too.”

  She was wearing a track suit and her hair was wet. She’d come straight here from practice and something about this little scene felt so homey.

  So right.

  No, not right. Just…cozy. Sure enough, Juliette walked further into the kitchen like she lived here. “What are you making?”

  “Just some lasagna.” Suddenly I felt ridiculous. She typically came after I was done prepping dinner but I was running late today. I could feel her eyes on me as I spread a layer of ricotta. This was my home and I was taking care of my sister, there was no reason to feel self-conscious. There was nothing to feel weird about. Still, I wasn’t used to anyone else in our space. For years now it had just been me and my family, aside from some short-term, failed boyfriends of my mom’s who could never quite stick around long enough to earn stepdad status. But Juliette had become a regular in our house, making herself at home during these tutoring sessions as if she belonged here.

  “Can I help?” Juliette asked.

  I shook my head but Gina beat me to it. “I’m making the salad,” she said. “Want to help me?”

  “Sure.” She took over for Gina, washing the lettuce and chopping some tomatoes while Gina held court over the kitchen, filling us in on every single aspect of her day.

  Every. Single. Aspect. Like, we knew what flavor fruit cup she’d had with her lunch.

  When she finally paused for air, I informed her that she needed to get her homework done before dinner and that Juliette and I had work to do.

  This was all true, but mainly I wanted a moment alone with Juliette. Why? What did I hope would happen if we were alone?

  I guess that was obvious. I wasn’t much on lying to myself and I could see the writing on the wall. The way my heart rate kicked up several notches every time she was around. The way I couldn’t seem to stop thinking about her even when she wasn’t around. The way I was fixated on the way she smelled, the way she wore her hair, the way she smiled.

  I had a thing for Juliette.

  This was stupid in and of itself. If there was one person I should not develop a crush on, it was her. For so many reasons. First of all, it probably broke some sort of tutor code. But second, and far more important—I didn’t do relationships. I mean, I had. I’d dated in the past, but that was before I’d learned that everyone other than my family was temporary in my life.

  That would change at some point, obviously. I didn’t plan to become a monk or anything. One day I’d date again, maybe even have friends again. Like when I went to college. But until then? This was all temporary. Briarwood was just a blip on the radar of my life. I’d be getting the hell out of this town and leaving it all behind in a matter of months. Okay, more like two years. But still. There was an end date. And I had no plans to make that departure harder than it already would be.

  It would be tough to leave Gina and my mom behind for college; I didn’t need friends or a girlfriend making it even harder.

  And that was if Juliette felt the same way, which we all knew was a very big if. She probably dated guys like Matthew. Asshole jocks who were into school s
pirit crap just like she was. She’d be looking for someone who wanted to belong, and someone who was friends with her friends…

  It was decided. I put the lasagna in the oven with too much force. Juliette and I were just tutor and student. That was it. The end.

  “Can we go to your room?”

  Juliette’s question had me spinning around so quickly I almost toppled over. “What?”

  She gave me a funny grin, like she was trying not to laugh at my obvious surprise. “On the phone last night, you’d said you’d show me your vinyl collection.”

  I stared at her for a second as my libido caught up to my brain. Right, vinyl. Completely platonic vinyls. Who could have known that Briarwood’s favorite sweetheart was a fan of the 90’s grunge rock scene? But I knew. Because when we weren’t studying at my house, we were talking on the phone. These calls usually started because she had a question about something she was studying, or I had a question about her syllabus, but that accounted for the first few minutes of our hours-long conversations. Time seemed to slip by without me even noticing, and next thing I knew, I was apparently telling her about my record collection. I cleared my throat, hoping against hope that she hadn’t been able to read my mind or see the dirty places it had gone when she’d suggested we head to my room.

  Alone.

  “Yeah, sure.” I led the way to the stairs to the basement where my bedroom was tucked away. To be honest, I’d forgotten I’d told her about my vinyl collection—I’d sort of inherited it from my dad when he took off. I didn’t keep them out of any sort of emotional connection but simply because I liked them. I liked the look of the old records, the feel of them…I don’t know. It was hard to explain.

  But that hadn’t kept me from trying on the phone. Jesus, what had come over me? Not for the first time—or the eighteenth, for that matter—I found myself cursing my idiocy in calling her that first night and all the subsequent nights since.

  What had I been thinking? Well, I knew what I’d been thinking that first time I’d called. I’d felt bad that she’d thought I’d meant something mean and had wanted to clear the air. And then her voice had been so sweet. Soothing, even. Like hers was the one voice I’d been waiting to hear all day.