by Niki Burnham
Of course. Now Josh comes home.
I listen for him to stomp through the mudroom in his cleats so I can yell at him to get his tail to his dentist appointment. But a full minute later, when there’s silence, I go to my window and peek through the slats. He’s still sitting in his car, and he’s not alone. My throat tightens as I squat down for a better look at the passenger side.
Connor.
I straighten, blinking. I wasn’t expecting Connor. Given that he’s here all the time, I suppose I should have, but Josh said they were staying as far apart as possible during the tournament. Maybe they were eliminated?
I drop the slats so they don’t see me watching them. Ridiculous, because it’s not like I haven’t checked on my brother and Connor when they’re in the driveway before. Hundreds of times.
Maybe it’s that this time, I’m checking on Connor. Not Josh.
I sneak another look at the driveway from my second floor window, feeling like the neediest dork of all time. How crazy is it that I have the urge to go check out my hair and teeth in the mirror? Or worse, to run outside, shove Josh out of the car, jump in Connor’s lap and pick up where we left off when his mother showed up?
Since yesterday afternoon, each time I touch my face I’m reminded of the warmth of his breath against my cheek at the moment he leaned in to kiss me. When I adjust the drawstring on my cargo pants, I have to force myself to stop envisioning Connor’s hands at my waist, his fingers playing with the edge of my shirt. And whenever I sit or lie in bed, I remember the all-out want he made me feel when he tilted me back against his pillows, cradling my face in his hands, looking at me through those long, dark eyelashes.
I have a case of un-freaking-real hormone poisoning, one I hope to keep secret.
When Mrs. Strabinowski talked to me in the kitchen after she arrived home, it was clear the idea of Connor hooking up with me never crossed her mind. I explained that I was over because Connor offered to give me his AP Chemistry notes, and she asked if I was excited to be a junior this year in the same way one might ask a kid if they were excited to meet Wally the Green Monster at Fenway Park. Meanwhile, all I could think about was Connor and what she’d interrupted.
I can only hope everyone else is so oblivious.
The phone rings again, making me jump even as I recognize Mom’s work number on the caller ID. I snag the receiver, tell her that Josh just pulled in and that I’m sending him to the dentist. She thanks me profusely before hanging up on a, “Tell him to hurry…but to drive safely!”
I scoot down the stairs and out the garage door. Josh and Connor are laughing like grade schoolers on Field Day as I approach Josh’s side and signal for him to roll down the window.
“Whatcha want, Peyton?” he asks on a snort, unable to stop laughing at whatever it is that has them in hysterics. Neither one of them sports a telltale wet spot from squirt gun fire, so I’m guessing they weren’t eliminated.
“For you to go to your dentist appointment so Mom will leave me alone.” I match his snark with my own. “You apparently haven’t checked your phone. She texted me four times and called once, so my guess is that you have a ton of messages from her.”
He blanches, his laughter stopped cold. “Today?”
“In less than five minutes.” And it’s a ten-minute drive. “She says if you miss it, you’re paying her back the missed appointment fee.”
“Shoot,” he grumbles before looking at his watch. “Hopefully Dr. Krantz won’t mind if I’m a couple minutes late. I’ve gotta drop Connor off at his house first. We only stopped here because he needs to pick up his good cleats. He left them in our rack after our game last weekend.”
“Be right back,” Connor says, jumping out of the car and sprinting into our garage. He pulls a pair of bright yellow soccer cleats off our shoe rack at the same time I tell Josh, “Go. I’ll get Connor home. But you owe me.”
Josh looks from Connor to me. It’s not relief I see in his expression, though, or even gratitude. There’s a mischievous light in his eyes that I don’t trust.
I frown. In a low voice, I say, “Josh, whatever you—”
“I would love for you to take Connor home or wherever else he needs to go. I’ll tell Dr. Krantz you say hello.” He puts his car in reverse, waves to Connor, then backs out. A sick feeling bubbles up in my gut. Either Connor told him what happened between us or else Josh suspects. Otherwise, why the wily look?
Oh my gosh. I hope I wasn’t what they were laughing about. Should I be mortified right now? Maybe I’m wrong and something else is going on.
“Thanks for the ride. You didn’t have to do that,” Connor says from behind me. I glance toward the street, watching as Josh’s car vanishes down the hill.
“I know, but I want to.” Then I realize that he might think I’m extending an invitation. And maybe I am. I take a few steps toward my car, which is parked at the end of the driveway, but Connor doesn’t budge from the garage. Instead, he leans out cautiously, looking up and down the street.
“Looking for Joe Delano?”
He nods. “We eliminated Drew a few minutes ago. That’s what Josh and I were cracking up over. Drew was lit. You’ve never heard anyone swear so much or so creatively. Of course, the minute Drew took off, we realized he might call Joe and tell him where it all went down, so Joe could get us.” Dimples appear in each of his cheeks as he smiles. “That’s not even the funny part. We ran like mad to get back to Josh’s car, we were so worried we were going to get caught. But when we got there, Josh accidentally set off his car alarm. You should’ve seen him trying to get the doors open and the alarm turned off. Now that would’ve made a great video.”
I can picture Josh fumbling with his car remote in the middle of the street. “But no Joe?”
Connor shakes his head. “Either Drew didn’t call him or Joe didn’t get to the funeral home fast enough.”
Funeral home? I wrinkle my nose at the words, but he doesn’t offer any more explanation. Instead, he crooks his index finger at me, urging me to step back into the garage.
“You want me to pull my car up?” I can’t keep the smile out of my voice as I ask. It’s hilarious that he’s so worried about a little shot of water.
“You don’t have to.”
“If you’re hit walking to my car, I’ll never hear the end of it.”
“True.” One of his eyebrows arches. “But I’m not in a rush to get home and my guess is that Josh won’t be back for at least an hour. You think?”
“Depends on how chatty Dr. Krantz feels today, but yeah, at least an hour.” I want to melt right into the garage floor at the expression on Connor’s face, but I fight to keep my demeanor serious. “That gives you plenty of time to tell me about what happened with Drew. Maybe you should come inside where it’s safe?”
“You’re offering to protect me?”
“Least I can do to thank you for sharing the chemistry yesterday.”
His mouth quirks into a one-sided smile. He walks backward, his dark eyes locked with mine, until he gets to the door leading from the garage to our mudroom. Then he reaches up on the wall to punch the button that shuts the garage door.
I walk toward him as the door descends. When I grab the knob to the mudroom door, his hand closes around mine. Slowly, deliberately, he spins me to face him.
We don’t make it into the house for another five minutes.
Chapter Ten | Peyton
“Please tell me Josh didn’t videotape it this time.” I use my index finger to draw a circle on Connor’s wrist now that he’s given me the play-by-play of Drew’s funeral home elimination. His arms are tan and corded with lean muscle, completely unlike my scarecrow limbs. “I know you’re not allowed to post them, but I could totally see him recording just for fun.”
Connor’s lying with his back flush against my family room sofa. His head rests on one of the low, rounded armrests so he’s facing the television. It’s exactly where he relaxes when he and Josh watch movies in here, only th
is time I’m lying on my back in front of him. One of his arms cushions my head while the other is draped across my stomach. He’s smiling against my right temple as I continue my exploration of his arm. It’s the warmest, safest feeling I’ve ever known, despite the fact I can’t identify what’s happening between us.
I suspect Connor doesn’t know, either, or doesn’t want to put a label on it.
The kissing part is good—curl-my-toes good—but it’s more than that. There’s a comfort level between us that’s hard to read, one that makes this moment, as we’re simply lying here talking, more intense than kissing. More intense than anything I’ve ever experienced with a guy before.
I think it’s because the first time you kiss a guy, both you and the guy know it could be a fluke. A one-time matter of kismet. A second kiss is deliberate. You know what you’re going to get. You know that you may be creating expectations. You do it anyway.
If I think about it too much, I’ll freak. It’s easier to talk about Senior Assassin.
Connor’s breath is light against my hair as he speaks. “He couldn’t have filmed the hit if he wanted to. No camera, no charge in his phone, and we had virtually no notice. Went straight to Blanchard’s from soccer. Had to crawl in the mulch in my soccer stuff.”
Connor juts out his chin to indicate his knees, which are streaked with dirt.
I trace his knuckles with a fingertip, then follow a slow line along his forearm and bicep, discovering the bumps and ridges, savoring the weight of his arm across me. By all rights, he should be sweaty and smelly, but he’s not. Only comically filthy.
“I still can’t believe Molly tricked Drew into showing up,” I say. “She asked me about it a couple days ago. Remember when you saw her talking to me in the hallway outside chemistry? I meant to mention it to you or Josh, but I got sidetracked. Sorry. It did strike me as odd that she’d want revenge, though. It’s not her style.”
“No worries.” Connor shifts so I’m more firmly against him, our bodies melding into each other. “I didn’t believe her at first either, but there was zero hesitation on her part when she arrived at the parking lot. I feel kind of bad about it.”
I give his arm a quick squeeze of reassurance. “Girls do some stupid things where guys are concerned. Remember Tessa in high school?”
A grumbling sound echoes from the back of his throat, as if this evidence only reinforces his guilt.
I twist on the sofa to study his face. Sure enough, there’s regret in his gaze. “Don’t feel bad about Molly. Using her to knock off Drew doesn’t mean you did anything wrong. She offered to help you of her own free will. She doesn’t expect you to cheat on a test for her or perform some nefarious deed in exchange. And she’s definitely not like Tessa, doing you a favor in the hope you’ll notice her and ask her out.” I reach up to his chin, as if my touch might relax the worry clenching his jaw. “What you did is no different than how anyone else plays the game.”
“I guess,” he mumbles, but he still seems troubled. I love that he’s so concerned about other people. The very fact he’s worried about taking advantage of one of his friends means he’s the type who never would.
“Let’s not talk about Molly or Senior Assassin.” We don’t have much time left and I’d rather see a smile on his face for those few minutes. “Deal?”
“Deal.”
His arms tighten around me and I move my hands to his chest so we’re completely face-to-face, nose-to-nose. We share another kiss, long and warm and sweet. I wish I could do this with him every afternoon.
He runs his hand through my hair, then spreads his fingers to let it fall back to my shoulders. “I have to say, this is a vast improvement over the times I’ve flopped on this couch holding a bowl of popcorn. Usually Josh eats everything in his bowl, then asks if he can have some of mine.”
“Leave it to my dear brother,” I say. “He’s worse than Buster when it comes to mooching snack food.”
“Next time I’m here watching a movie, I bet I’ll be thinking of us lying here like this and not whatever’s on the screen.” Connor’s laugh rumbles through his chest. I feel it beneath my fingertips as much as I hear it. Even so, knowing that Connor’s already thinking of how he’ll remember this afternoon gives me the bigger thrill.
Then he adds, “Won’t say that to Josh, though.”
My breath stills in my lungs. As much as I’ve questioned both my own feelings and Connor’s, the whole thing could be pointless if Josh is unhappy with it. I could never stand between them.
I choose my words carefully so I can gauge Connor’s response. “If Josh were to walk in here now, I’m not sure he’d be very happy. At the very least he’d make obnoxious retching noises. At worst…well, I don’t know.”
“It could go either way. Hard to tell.” Connor’s voice is serious now, probably because we both know Josh’s opinion could make or break whatever this is. “Josh can be rude, but I couldn’t imagine having a better friend. Not because we like the same music or television shows, or because we’ve played basketball and soccer together for years. I mean, that’s all great, but there are other guys who’d fit that description. It’s how Josh handles it. He may belch at inappropriate times, and he may occasionally talk like he’s the center of the Eastwood High School universe, but when it’s time for action, he’s the opposite. At heart, Josh is a ball passer.”
I squinch my nose. “Come again? ‘Cause that doesn’t sound good.”
“It is.” Connor shifts to create space between us. We’re still close, with one of his arms serving as my pillow while the other is loose around my side, but we can see each other’s faces better at this distance. “What I mean is that Josh is the kind of guy who’s willing to pass the ball when it’s time to score. Not because he can’t make a shot himself, but because he either sees that another person has a better shot or he thinks, ‘Hey, Connor is open, he hasn’t gotten a basket in awhile, I’m passing to him because the two points will mean more to him than they will to me.’ Not every player does that. In fact, very few players do it. They’re all after whatever they can get for themselves.”
“That isn’t how you two play in the driveway.” But now that I think about it, having watched dozens of Josh and Connor’s games for Eastwood, Josh does have a ton of assists.
Connor laughs. “Nah, when it’s the two of us, all bets are off. He’ll elbow me, I’ll elbow him, it’s all good. We know where we stand with each other. But when it matters, Josh is the most giving person I’ve ever met.”
He’s quiet for a moment, then says, “It’s more than that, though. Remember those teenagers who lived down the street from you when we were little kids? The red-haired brothers in the yellow house?”
I knew exactly who he meant. “The skateboarders. The sound of their screechy wheels on the asphalt scared Buster to death when he was a puppy, so he’d start barking whenever they got close. Once they figured out how much Buster hated the sound, they’d ride back and forth in front of the house on purpose to get him going, and then they’d bark back at him like it was the biggest joke in the world.”
“It was cruel is what it was. They used to laugh at my haircut, too.”
“That awful bowl cut!” I reach up to ruffle the front of his hair. “I forgot all about that! I didn’t know they teased you over it.”
“Well, that haircut would’ve deserved some teasing if I’d been older. But those kids were in high school and Josh and I were what, in third or fourth grade?”
“If that. Too young to choose your own haircut, at least.”
“Yeah, that was a Mrs. Strabinowski special.” He grimaces. “Anyway, despite the age difference, Josh stood up for me. He told them they were being—I remember his exact words—scuzzy suck-sucking snakes who had to pick on a younger kid to get a thrill in life and that if they were half as cool as they thought they were, they’d go find a more challenging target than his best friend.”
“He didn’t!” Josh and Connor were both pipsqueaks back
then, small in comparison to most of the kids in their grade, let alone in comparison to high schoolers. While I could imagine a pint-sized Josh calling someone a scuzzy suck-sucking snake, I couldn’t imagine him saying it to the skateboarders. I avoided them at all costs when I was little; they terrified me with their long hair, dark T-shirts, and surly attitudes.
“He did. Stood there on the sidewalk glaring at them with his fists held up like a boxer on fight night. I knew that day that he’d be my friend for life.”
I can’t help but tease Connor a little. “Well, at this point he knows all your dirty little secrets, so you couldn’t get rid of him if you wanted to.”
His bicep twitches where my head rests against his arm. “Not all my secrets.”
No, I guess not.
I should be straightforward and ask what he’s thinking, despite knowing most guys consider it a kiss of death question. But there’ll be a lot less angst in the long run if I know where Connor’s head is now.