How to Hook a Hottie

by Tina Ferraro

I let my gaze bounce between them both. “I just want to let you know that I'll be billing you. Fifty bucks for giving Jenn your e-mail address, another fifty for sealing the deal.”

  Around us, a few people chuckled.

  “You . . . ,” Brandon sputtered. “What?”

  “I'm sure you've heard about my hookup business? You two are my best work of all. Not only are you on opposite ends of the popularity scale,” I said, and let my gaze linger on Jenn's face, “but I was so sly at this hookup that you didn't even realize I was behind every step.”

  Was that a collective gasp?

  “That's crazy,” Jenn said.

  “Think about it.” Then I smiled, like I knew what I was talking about. (Yeah, right.) “And look for my bill.”

  I didn't wait for a reply. I cruised on into the classroom, my heart pounding, and fell into my seat.

  It didn't take long for Brandon to follow and slide in beside me at our table, looking like a kindergartner who'd been benched for pushing. “Kate, I don't really owe you money, do I?”

  I stared him in the eye. The big jerk. “I guess not. But you do owe me an apology. I'm fine with you being with her. But I'm not fine with you flaunting it to try to make me look even stupider in front of everybody.”

  Confusion flashed in his eyes. “I wasn't trying . . . I didn't think . . .”

  But before he could finish his thought, I put mine together. No, of course, he didn't think. Brandon was no Einstein (a fact I'd known all along); he'd probably been making out with her simply because he wanted to.

  “I'm sorry,” he said, sounding sincere.

  I really did want to make him suffer a bit longer. But finally he'd actually said two words that were worth-while. So I nodded and shrugged.

  “So what's this about a matchmaking business?” he asked, leaning back in his chair.

  I smiled. “You really have been gone awhile, haven't you, Brandon?”

  •

  Aimee McDonald marched up to me after the last bell and demanded her Wait-List fee back. Not wanting to even go there, I pulled a couple of crumpled tens from the pocket of my jeans and dropped them in her hand. Whatever.

  I made a beeline for my car. My millionaire fantasy had been crushed. Now I was a potential pauper, and I just wanted out, and for this day to be over.

  Clicking my key chain remote to unlock my car, I spotted Skinny Girl leaning against the hood of another one.

  “I have a date Friday night,” she said, a smile pulling the sides of her mouth. “Thanks to you.”

  I froze. Then, gradually, as I realized what she'd said, the feeling came back to my limbs. I'd done something right? (And didn't it just figure that it was the job I'd taken pro bono?) But I contained myself. “So the icebreaker worked?”

  “Oh, I didn't try it. After you told it to me, I realized the secret to your success was giving clients the tools they needed to let their crushes know how they feel. So I jumped ahead and simply told him I'd like to get to know him better. And he suggested Friday night.”

  I felt my eyes widen. The secret to our success? I'd had no idea Dal's and my philosophy was so, well, simple.

  •

  I let Skinny Girl's words sink in while I drove over to the Hoppenfeffers'. Lexie wasn't standing outside when I pulled up, and I realized that Mrs. H.'s SUV wasn't parked in its customary spot, either.

  I threw the gear in park and hopped out of the car. The house looked closed up tight, but a legal-sized envelope protruded from under the door. My name was written on the front in bold letters.

  Huh.

  I grabbed the envelope and ripped it open, anticipation itching in my fingers, since it was payday. And yes, inside were the twenties owed me—plus a note.

  Kate,

  This is your last payment. Your services are no longer required.

  Amanda Hoppenfeffer

  Eighteen

  No one answered the Hoppenfeffers' door.

  I knew I should give up and go home. But I needed to know what I'd done. Or hadn't done.

  I rushed back to my car and drove to the one other place where I might get answers: the rink.

  My breathing strained from running across the lot, I entered the building to see Mark manning the skate rental counter. Dal was on the customer side, in street clothes, his jacket hanging over one arm. I hazily remembered it was payday for him, too, and guessed he'd dropped in for his check.

  “Hey,” I said, “have you guys seen Lexie or her parents today?”

  Dal turned to me, his eyes a dark, uh-oh shade of green. “No, and I guess we won't. Mark just told me her mom called and said she's pulling Lexie from the skating program.”

  “What?” My gaze zipped to Mark's. “Why?”

  “Something about the dad moving out,” Mark said, and shrugged. “And the mom not wanting to bother with skating anymore.”

  I muttered a curse under my breath while snippets of old conversations with Lexie and her mother started to come together for me. Unfortunately, it was beginning to make sense—as much sense as anything.

  “Bummer for Lexie.” Dal gazed down at me. “And for you, too, since I guess you're out of a job.”

  The funny thing was I didn't even think about me or potential money or my future. All that got swallowed up by some good old-fashioned sympathy for Lexie.

  The kid loved skating, and she had been working her little butt off to be the best. She belonged at that qualifying competition. More importantly, now that I knew her family life was falling apart, I knew she needed it. The planning, the excitement, the distraction.

  If anyone understood this, it was me.

  “How incredibly selfish is she?” I said to no one in particular. “Why punish Lexie because she can't get along with her husband?” I fished out my car keys. “I'm going back over there. I'm going to wait for Mrs. H. and tell her what I think.”

  As I turned to leave, Dal grabbed my arm. I looked him in the eye, and he was dead serious. “I'm going with you. In case you need backup.”

  It sounded good to me—but when had we turned into Starsky and Hutch?

  •

  Heading north on Division under a sun that slipped in and out of darkening clouds, I told Dal everything I knew about the Hoppenfeffers, and how Lexie's skating was a link with her dad.

  “That sucks,” he said. “To work as hard as she did and have it taken away out of spite. And to have her parents split on top of it. You and I never had to go through that, thank God, but we can only imagine, right?” He glanced toward me. “I mean, even though your mom's gone, it's not forever, right?”

  I bit the inside of my mouth. Ever since my mom had left, I'd kept my suspicions about my parents' marriage tied tight inside. Was it pride? Denial? Who knew?

  But in the past few days, I'd wedged open that secret place not once, but twice. And I'd lived, right?

  Maybe it was time to open it one more time. To the one person outside my family who I wanted to know.

  “Actually,” I managed, keeping my eyes on the road and my hands tight on the wheel. “I don't know if my mother is coming back from Germany. Or whether when she does, she'll move back in with us. I don't know if anyone knows, my parents included.”

  The only sound in the confines of my car was the Dixie Chicks' harmony.

  “Yeah,” he finally said.

  I glanced over at him. “You knew?”

  “I wondered. You're so weird about your mom. You say you hate her, but then sometimes, you act just like her. I figured there had to be something else going on, something you weren't talking about.”

  I drew a breath, but my lungs felt like they were already full. “Yeah. Well, now you know.”

  “Now I do.”

  He touched the back of my hand. Just fingertips on my skin. Still, I wanted to flick him away. Did he think I was going to do something half-baked like cry—over my mother?

  I said nothing, and eventually, he removed his hand.

  Soon we pulled into the too-fa
miliar circular drive. Mrs. H.'s SUV now sat in a ring of sunshine, looking like a gauntlet thrown down for a fight. One I readily accepted.

  I turned to Dal. “Let's go tell that woman all the reasons she has to let Lexie keep skating.”

  He put up his hand for a high five and I slapped it, and moments later, we were marching up the driveway, gravel crunching under our feet.

  When we reached the doormat, I rang, and we waited. After some heart-pounding moments, Lexie pulled the door open. Her usual scowl and aura of extreme confidence were hidden by pink, puffy eyes.

  Everything inside me tightened.

  “I can't,” she murmured. “I can't skate anymore. The Wicked Witch of the West—”

  “Lexie!” a woman's voice boomed. Heavy footsteps sounded, then ceased. The door pulled back farther to reveal Mrs. H. in another sweatsuit, a frown dug deep into her forehead. “Go do your homework,” she said to Lexie. “I'll take care of this.”

  Lexie gave us a desperate look, then slinked off.

  Mrs. H. glared at me. “I trust you got your money and my note?”

  I nodded. “But I didn't know what had happened—if I'd done something—so I went over to the rink, looking for you.”

  “It has nothing to do with you,” she said, and took a step back, as if preparing to terminate the conversation.

  “But it has everything to do with Lexie, Mrs. Hoppenfeffer,” Dal spoke up. “I know you don't know me, but I work at the rink, and I've known Lexie for a while. She's a great kid and a hard worker, and she deserves to be happy.” He paused. “Even if she wasn't a great kid, she doesn't deserve to have her passion taken away from her.”

  Go, Dal!

  “I don't see how this is any of your business,” Mrs.

  H. shot back. “You don't know the circumstances.”

  “But I do,” I blurted out. “I know you don't like her skating. I know it's something she shares with her dad. So it doesn't take a genius to figure you're making her quit to get back at him for moving out.”

  Her eyes narrowed, and she exhaled loudly. I half expected steam to come out of her nose. “Not that it's any of your concern, but the bills have been piling up around here for months, with way more money going out than coming in. When my esteemed and estranged husband finally starts doing his share again, I'll consider the extras like ice-skating.”

  Fire lit her eyes. “But I promise you, Kate, after this insolence, you'll be the last person I'll hire to drive my daughter.”

  Like I'd work for a tyrant again!

  I wanted to tell her exactly what I thought of her and mothers who put themselves first. But again, I had to pull back and remind myself that no matter how personal this felt, this was not about me.

  “What about a grant or scholarship?” I pressed on. “What if we found a way for her to go to the New York competition for free?”

  Mrs. Hoppenfeffer cackled. Just like the Wicked Witch of the West! “They don't give scholarships to people in my income bracket, honey. But if you can pull off the impossible? Sure, be my guest.” Her brows arched. “Now, is this inquisition over?”

  “For now,” I grumbled. Then I turned away, my feet heavy, my body feeling low to the ground.

  The door closed behind us with a bang, the force nearly knocking Dal and me off the front stoop of the house. He looked at me, and I looked back at him.

  “What now, boss?” Dal asked.

  We turned toward the driveway. Gray clouds hovered on the horizon, promising something cold, wet, and icy before nightfall. But that was the least of our problems.

  “Back to the rink, I guess.”

  A shrill voice cut through the air. “Stop! Wait!”

  I pivoted to see Lexie waving her arms over her head, making tiptoed leaps in sweat socks across the gravel. Crunching toward her, I could see tears filming the poor kid's eyes.

  My rib cage seemed to tighten over my heart. I wanted so badly to help, to lift her emotional storm cloud. The one I knew so well. The one that tainted your every moment, your every movement, and even how you thought about yourself, until you were crazed to shut off your emotions, to lose yourself in something, anything, to make the pain of reality go away.

  “You've got to do something!” she cried.

  I reached out and rubbed my hands over her sleeveless upper arms to share my warmth. “We're going to your coach right now. We're going to see about getting you a scholarship for the competition.”

  She looked from me to Dal and back again, her eyes frantic. “No—your business. You have to use all your tricks, your hexagon and everything. To get my parents back together.”

  My words caught in my throat, though whether surprise or helplessness was the stronger emotion was anybody's guess. “We can't . . . do that,” I said, then paused, unsure how to finish.

  “Yes, you can!”

  “No.” I bent my knees until I was looking straight into her eyes. “I was a fake. I was just doing it for the money. Sometimes I got lucky and things worked out. But mostly they didn't, Lexie. I didn't know what I was doing.”

  “But if you get my parents back together,” she said, using the whiny tone that for the first time did not grate on my nerves, “then everything will be good again.”

  I pulled her into my arms until her cheek was pressed flat against my shoulder. She felt so small and vulnerable, a world away from the thorny twelve-year-old I'd battled with for the past few months.

  “I can't fix your parents' marriage. But I'll do what I can to help you, okay? And I'll be back later, all right?”

  I caught Dal's eye and watched him nod.

  “We'll be back,” I amended.

  •

  Lexie's coach was doing drills, but said he could spare us three minutes. Dal and I spoke with the speed and precision of moving from the on-ramp to the fast lane of the I-90 in rush-hour traffic.

  “I wish I could help,” the coach told us, taking his cap off to scratch his balding head. “But Amanda Hoppenfeffer's right. They're local celebrities. People around here would laugh at the idea of their kid needing financial aid.”

  I shifted my weight. “What about help from the national level?”

  “A year ago, maybe. Not now.” He readjusted his cap. “Believe me, I am sick about Lexie missing the competition. She's a natural. I thought for sure she'd medal for our team.”

  I thanked him and turned away before I told him what I really thought. While he might be “sick” about her missing the competition, there was someone who was “sicker.” A twelve-year-old girl who was being used as a pawn between her battling parents. Who'd just lost everything, including all hope.

  If there was one thing I knew, it was that as long as I had a breath left in my body, I wouldn't sit back and let this happen without a fight.

  Nineteen

  Outside, sleet was falling on the Winter Wonderland parking lot.

  “Where to?” Dal yelled into the wind.

  “My house!”

  He gave me a quizzical look.

  “My dad might be able to help,” I said, then looked away.

  I hadn't lied to Dal since seventh grade, when I had to sit out swim class once a month and he couldn't understand why. He was older and wiser now, and like I said, sometimes he knew me better than I knew myself. He also knew that my dad had become both mother and father to me lately, so I figured this lie would fly. Which was in both our best interests. If Dal had a heads-up on what I was up to, he'd try to stop me. Worse? He might succeed.

  In the car, I fiddled with the wipers to clear the windshield. “What time is it, anyway?” I asked, expecting him to read me the dashboard clock.

  When he didn't respond, I glanced his way . . . to see his left arm jutted toward me, wristwatch and all.

  My heart skipped a beat.

  I tried to read the face on the watch, but it was like one of those dreams where you can see the numbers and letters but you can't process them into anything that makes sense. All I could think was how he'd
passed the wristwatch test.

  He was into me.

  But then my saner side took over, pointing out how obviously amateur the test was, how it didn't take into account the kind of friends who hugged and poked at each other all the time anyway.

  Yep, the test was bogus. Just like everything else about our business.

  “Thanks,” I managed to say, then saw his arm, wristwatch and all, move toward the dashboard, where he flipped the heater switch to defrost for me. I mumbled thanks again, and then, feeling like we needed a radical subject change to clear the air of innuendo (even though I was probably the only one who thought it was there), I offered up a smile.

  “I hope you were smart enough to apply to at least one college in a warm, dry climate. These Washington winters are for the birds.”

  “Yeah,” he said, but his voice lacked the amusement I expected. “I'm set for next year.”

  My stomach clenched.

  Of course he was. I'd never bothered to ask where he'd applied, because I didn't really want to know. Of course he wanted to be with his beloved in Seattle. In the same dorm, if it was coed. In the same room, if they'd let him. Especially now that we were ending our business, just as she had dictated. They were sure to be closer than ever.

  I sighed and turned up the volume on the radio. Obsessing about the lovebirds only made the pain stronger.

  •

  The house was dark. No surprise. Suz was at water polo practice, and Dad never got home before six. I turned my key in the back lock, flipped on a few lights, and steered Dal toward the fridge.

  “Grab whatever you want,” I said, and headed for the stairs. “I'll be right back.”

  Up in my room, I dropped to the carpet and crawled under my bed. Curling my fingers around the shoe box, I dragged it toward me. Then I lifted the lid and gazed at the lovely tumble of green and silver. Almost three thousand dollars in U.S. currency, but priceless to me. It was my freedom. It was my future. It was my hopes and dreams.

  And soon it would cease to be mine. At the rink earlier, I'd realized what I had to do. I'd pay Lexie's bill. She had nowhere to turn and no one to help her. She needed this money a whole lot more than I did.