The Starter Boyfriend

by Tina Ferraro

  “You, sir,” I said. “With me. Now.”

  He snorted a laugh, dropped his hand of cards and scissored up on his flip-flop feet. His buddies, mostly surf stoners in faded tees and dark shades, murmured real mature sounds that came out like, “whooooa” and “ooooh.”

  A short guy with a zirconium nose stud went for combination syllables and words. “You in deep doo-doo, dude,” he said, drawing that last word out and out and out.

  “Nah, Cody,” Adam rebuffed. “She’s cool.”

  A sunburned guy looked at me, then at Adam. “Hey, that’s not Saffron.”

  “Nope,” Adam said, going fishing in his side pockets of his print board shorts. “This is Courtney.”

  “Excellent,” said one of the murmurers.

  “Two babes,” added Nose Ring. “Kinky.”

  Adam tossed a couple bucks down into the circle. “I’m out. Later, dudes.”

  He and I fell into step toward the courtyard, but I waited until we’d rounded a bend before razzing him. “Hanging with the National Honor Society, I see.”

  Muscles jerked on the sides of his mouth. “They’re harmless. And the only people I can beat at poker.”

  I smiled. “You’re a real card shark, huh?”

  He reached out for one of my remaining chicken strips. I pushed the whole tray at him. The honey-mustard sauce was almost gone, anyway.

  “Let’s just say that pretty much the only profit I’d make in Vegas would be in free cocktails. And you know when it comes to drinking, my give-a-damn gets busted.” He wagged his brow. “So what’s up?”

  “Saffron sent me. She wants you in a tux Friday night.”

  He scrunched his brow. Looking kind of like one of those pug puppies. A cute one. “She tried that on me already.”

  I wondered if that had been before or after our phone call, then decided it wasn’t important. “Well, I’m supposed to talk you into it. She even offered to pay me.”

  “Pay you? Why?”

  “Because tuxes are hot, Adam.” I thought of the picture of my sizzling boyfriend in my pocket, the one I’d planned to show him in a mock attempt to close the deal, but realized I had a much better way to go. “And she’s got even hotter plans for you later.”

  I figured I should make a kissy face or nudge him or something real middle school, but suddenly, all I could do was dive back at the chicken strips. What if I looked at him and saw previews of their backseat fun playing out in his eyes?

  “Crap,” he said.

  My head jerked up. No fireworks in that face. (Although maybe in mine now?)

  “We’re just going as friends. I told her that.”

  “Yeah, friends with benefits.”

  He made a sound in the back of his throat, then pitched the empty container in a passing trash can.

  “How much,” he asked, slipping a hand in his back pocket, “is she offering to pay you?”

  “Wait,” I said, stopping to stare into his eyes. “You’re actually considering this?”

  “How much?”

  “She’ll match whatever you pay. She’s hoping you can get a parent or relative to cover it for you.”

  He puckered his lips as if in consideration.

  Making my brain rumble into gear. Phillip loved it when I brought in new rentals. Still, the real peek-behind-the-curtain truth why my pulse was suddenly taking off? I’d missed out on Adam’s usher fitting for my dad’s and Jennifer’s first wedding attempt, and of course, there wouldn’t be a fitting this time.

  Plus, I’d get to step up as his style consultant—and how much fun to plan and try different options, to find the best ways to bring out the blue in his eyes and the gold flecks in his hair? And then I’d get to see him model it, and maybe help with alterations.

  What a wickedly wonderful benefit to our friendship.

  I was pretty sure I was smiling like a lunatic when he looked over at me. Which I thought explained why he stopped short on the pavement. To tease me.

  “Say I went with this,” he said instead. “She’d pay you, and what, you and I would split the cash?”

  I brought my slip-in sneakers to a squeaky stop. “If that’s what you want.”

  “Fifty bucks each?”

  “More or less, depending on what you order.” My brain took off again. I didn’t normally work mid-week, but Phillip would have no problem with me dropping by to make a guaranteed sale. “So, you want to do this?”

  He slanted a gaze down at me, his nostrils suddenly flaring.

  “No,” he finally said in tone gone dry. “I just wanted to know what your price was. How cheap you’d sell me out.”

  “What?”

  Stars, like the ones on my Homecoming dress, shimmered before my eyes.

  “Don’t think I don’t get it, Courtney. You pretend to laugh at her offer. Yet you go out of your way to find me and pull me out of a card game to talk it up. Because you figure I’d go right along with it, right? I’m already about to take money from her dad, so why not suck the girl dry and get your share, too? For your college fund. Isn’t that why you work there?”

  “No!” I screeched, my head exploding and not caring if everyone on the courtyard looked my way. “No to everything. I found you, and I told you, because I thought you should know. How’s she’s trying to buy you, to own you.”

  He studied my face for the longest moment of my life. “And this is news? Didn’t I explain that at lunch the other day?” He blinked, hard. “And why did you look so happy about it? What could you have gotten from me renting a tux besides money?”

  The chicken strips started churning, like my entire mid-section had been caught in an angry vise.

  I couldn’t tell the guy who had just become my friend after a lifetime of awkwardness, the date-who-wasn’t-my-date, the crush I’d recovered from (well, kinda) that he was my idea of eye candy. That even though I’d never, ever (ever!) have feelings for him again, that I still found him undeniably if not disproportionately hot?

  I swallowed over the desert that was now my throat and went with what I did have. Right now, he felt like a friend, a real friend, someone I could trust. “Look, I’m not working at the tux shop for the money. My dad’s got the college tuition thing covered. The job,” I continued, wincing at my first-time out loud confession, “is about keeping busy, so I have excuses not to get drunk with my friends.”

  Doubt flickered, then faded from his eyes.

  “Plus,” I went on, my words a mere step past my thoughts, “I like it there. Helping people pick out tuxes and stuff. Phillip has been proud of the way I’ve been bringing in new business, and I thought it would be fun if some of that new business included you.”

  “Fun? That’s it?”

  “Well, yeah, I mean, who doesn’t like fashion?”

  He exhaled, then bit on the inside of his cheek. “I forget girls think about that stuff.” Then he made a loose fist and grazed my upper arm, all buddy-buddy. “I shouldn’t have lost it. Sorry. This whole thing—qualifying, needing sponsorship, Saffron—it’s kind of freaking me out.”

  I did a “No prob” with a wave of my hand.

  “But it’s a definite no-go on the monkey suit. Tell her that, okay? I mean, I’ll dress up. Suit and tie. I’m not a total dork. But you and I both know if I go all out for this date, it’ll be giving her the wrong message.”

  I nodded, spying my teammates at their lunch table across the way, talking and laughing with such intensity that if you didn’t know better, you wouldn’t know their collective radar was pinging in on Adam and me.

  “If she’s so dead-set on a date in a tuxedo,” he went on, a quirky grin tugging one side of his mouth. “Fix her up with that mannequin in the store window. What did you call him again?”

  “Tux,” I managed, then laughed. Although nothing was remotely funny. Not Adam bringing Tux into a real-time conversation here at school, and definitely not the image of Saffron getting her talons in my secret boyfriend, either.

  * * *
<
br />   Saffron stared at me through tinted sunglasses when I slid in across from her at the lunch table, but even the darkest lenses couldn’t have hidden her anticipation. “So? Did you ask him?”

  Flea scooted down to give me room, while Madison offered up some of her Mini Oreos.

  “Sorry, babycakes,” I said to Saffron while grabbing a couple of cookies. “Adam gave me a No Way, Jose.”

  “Seriously?”

  I figured it didn’t hurt my overall team rep to show Saffron how “hard” I’d tried, so I pulled the picture out of my back pocket. True, I’d chosen not to show it to Adam, but I could get around that. “I even had this,” I said, unfolding the photocopy paper. “To show him one of our top of the line styles.”

  Pouting, she took it from my hand. I crunched the cookies, waiting for her to veer off into expletives or some kind of tantrum, and was surprised when she did nothing more than sigh and put the paper back on the table. I wasn’t sure if she’d done the math and realized that Adam + tuxedo = total long shot, or if it was the audience of our teammates that kept her from a grieving-widow-at-a-wake or how-dare-he-refuse-me scene.

  Most likely she merely got upstaged by Randy, whose long shadow fell upon us, turning all our heads and shushing all our voices.

  “Courtney,” he said, looking down at me. “Can we talk?”

  I could practically hear the fluttery eyelashes all around me, flying back against brows. With the same kind of excitement as when it was bases-loaded, and we were at the top of our line-up.

  Flea jumped up to let me out, which I maneuvered without much trouble, having used up all my clumsiness and awkwardness on Adam. Besides, I was torn between being proud of Randy for saying my name with such confidence, and wondering if he was here as the relater of news, as well.

  Did he get back with Jacy? Was he here to break our date? (Did I care?)

  I moved in beside him, and we fell into step toward the main classroom building. But before he could get a word out, courtyard security Betty Anne lumbered past from the opposite direction, her usual no-nonsense nod or squint replaced by a full-on smile of approval. Either she was friends with his mom, or Jacy really was a piece of work.

  He nodded, then slanted a look down at me, his small eyes like half-crescents. “We never did talk specifics about Homecoming. I need to be there early, so I’m thinking six-thirty. Where do I pick you up?”

  His phone appeared in his hand, and he typed in the address I rattled off.

  “Now, for the corsage, what color is your dress?”

  Aha, a mission from his mom. “Sky blue,” I told him, and for some crazy reason, what came to my mind was not the dress, but Adam’s eyes. “I’ll get you a boutonnière, of course,” I added, then reminded myself that I still needed to find a pair of shoes. (And to never, ever think about Adam’s eyes ever again.)

  He nodded. “Last thing, I just want to make sure you’re coming to the game.”

  I looked his way, my thoughts knocking around.

  “The homecoming game?”

  “Oh, of course!” I said, realizing that in his world the Friday night homecoming football game was not only the game of the week, but pretty much of the season.

  “Okay, then.”

  Wait, what?

  “You can sit with your friends and everything,” he said, nodding at a group in passing. “But afterwards, the beach bonfire? It would be good if with you went with me. Since you’re my official homecoming date and everything.”

  I knew about the school-sponsored, rah-rah S.B. High event. Dads built a tower of driftwood in a beach fire pit that they set ablaze while moms served a late-night meal. Rumor had it that after the wood was burned and the parents went home, the cups in people’s hands were the only thing redder than the embers.

  “Perfect,” I lied and pushed a smile his way. Only to see him doing a hey-there-you point at some guy, which quickly turned into a private chuckle and then stopping in the doorway for some complicated handshake.

  After an impossibly long moment where I tried out various casual, I’m-totally-part-of-what’s-going-on-here poses, I had to admit that I wasn’t. Closer to the truth? He was done with me. Only unlike at the party, he hadn’t the decency to admit it. He might even have forgotten I was here.

  I gave a little wave and turned away, in case anyone was watching. While biting back some too-familiar anger at his rejection ploy, and a sardonic smile.

  Seriously, dealing with Randy Schiff was nothing. Thanks to my mother, I had already played this kind of defense in the big leagues.

  Chapter 10

  Moving up the classroom building steps, a bubble-gum scent closed in on me. I spied a blonde with dark eyes, dark roots and an even darker expression.

  “You, Courtney Walsh,” she spat, icing me with a glare, “are a moron!”

  My muscles tensed, while my brain went round-and-round with who, what, when, how, huh? It brought to mind a board game I’d loved as a kid called “Guess Who?” where players asked questions to figure out their opponent’s identity. While I hadn’t had the box out in so long it was possible I’d last played with my mom, the collective knowledge from all those hours came rushing back to tell me I was in the presence of Randy’s ex—the one who’d been threatening girls to stay away from him.

  The mere fact my mother had come to mind again only made this situation rosier.

  “Jacy Papadopoulos,” I said, and paused to see if she’d correct me.

  Her eyes flared, but she didn’t correct me. “I saw you. Just now, walking off on him.” She kept up with me on the stairs, knee for knee. “Like he was nothing, like he was nobody. Like he wasn’t Randy Schiff.”

  I opened my mouth in a well-recognized: oh, puh-lease! Either she had one of those conditions where she couldn’t read social cues, or I was pretty darned good at covering my feelings.

  She held my gaze and did a slow, disgusted tongue click.

  I squinted and wondered how long we could keep up this conversation without actually saying a word, when she broke ranks. “Don’t you realize how lucky you are to even get a shot with him?”

  Reaching the landing, and holding on to the hope that she was done lecturing me on how freaking fortunate I was to have a date with a guy who alternately bored and ignored me, I turned a cool cheek, intending to head to my locker. Only to feel her still at my side.

  Since holding my tongue clearly wasn’t working, I made a fast strategy change and looked her dead in the eye. “Look, Randy needed a date. You dumped him, then scared off the usual suspects with threats of death and dismemberment...” I went to plant my hand on my hip to make myself look bolder and stronger, but in a sudden movement, she grabbed my arm.

  “What are you talking about?” She squinted, then retracted her arm, probably realizing it wasn’t exactly making her non-violent point.

  No way I was going there. “I didn’t have a date,” I continued, “so he asked me. End of story.”

  “The way I heard it,” she said, lifting her chin, “his mother asked you first.”

  I shrugged.

  “Well, good luck with that woman. She puts the ‘s’ in smother!”

  I was deciding between an immature ha-ha and an aren’t-you-stupid face when Principal Hioki’s deep, authoritarian voice boomed down the hallway.

  “Get to class! Now!”

  When I glanced back Jacy’s way, she was gone. Bubble-gum scent and all.

  I rolled my eyes and blew out a sigh. Might as well try for another empty triumph.

  * * *

  I set my sights on Flea after the final bell, but she wasn’t by her locker. On a whim, I cruised down the hall toward Saffron’s—and yep, there they both were.

  Which was great because it meant I only had to relay the Jacy story once, right? But didn’t feel so great. Flea was my best friend. Why was her after-school priority to be with someone else? And Saffron, of all people?

  Saffron’s mouth dropped open when she saw me. I figured it was e
ither you-caught-me-with-your-best-friend guilt, or that maybe one of the handmade cartoons hanging inside of her locker door had to do with me. Saffron did love her artwork. But when she made a sudden lunge at me, I realized I was wrong on both counts.

  “O.M.G., Courtney, I was just telling Flea how Jacy cornered you.”

  The speed in which word of my life got around amazed me; I half-wondered if Adam got a slew of texts again.

  “Well, she hardly cornered me,” I said, my gaze bouncing between the two of them. “She basically told me how freaking lucky I was to be going with her ex, and to have fun with his horrid mother.”

  Saffron frowned. “That was it? No threats? No Real Housewives type drama?”

  I shook my head, then snuck a peak at Flea, to see if she, too, might be wondering why Saffron seemed to care so much about my life. But Flea was too busy looking at Saffron.

  “Okay,” Saffron said, “good. You and Randy are still on, and Jacy just has to deal with it.”

  I forced a smile, pretending she had my best interest in mind, that it nothing to do with her sudden incurable case of the Adam Hartnetts, and her deep fear that I might experience a relapse and become her competition.

  But as the three of us turned to head out toward the parking lot, a way worse thought struck me. One that iced my blood from head to toe. What if Saffron’s real agenda had nothing to do with Adam, and everything to do with Flea? What if she’d decided they should be besties, and she was trying to get me out of the way by sending me off to Randy and his group...permanently?

  * * *

  I was scarfing down Cheetos on the sofa later, obsessing about Flea and Saffron, when Jennifer breezed in. I felt a smile take over my face and offered the bag up to her. Instead of leaning in for an hefty handful, she stopped before me on the carpet, one hand on her hip, the other behind her back, sucked in half the room’s air and announced, “We need to talk.”

  My body went rigid, my mind taking off to its darkest corner. Not the wedding again!