Because he’s a dickweed who wants to score a goal with you.
Turning my head to face him, I narrowed my eyes at Neil. He glared right back at me. What the heck was his problem? He didn’t even know Josh, yet was quick to label him as a dickweed. As far as I was concerned, the only dickweed in this situation was sitting next to me. Josh hadn’t asked me to a kegger in someone’s basement to “score a goal” as Neil had not so eloquently put it. We would be out in public with a group of other kids, eating pizza and drinking sodas while celebrating another Panthers victory.
I wadded the scrap of paper into a ball between my fingertips and made a show of dropping it into my open backpack, flipping to a clean page to work on my English essay. Neil’s mouth popped open, then quickly shut. He stared out the window for the rest of the period and booked it out the door after the bell rang. Good riddance, because I had no desire to continue our discussion.
The subject of Josh Butler asking me out seemed dead and buried, or so I mistakenly thought.
Neil resurrected it that evening at the dinner table. Henri was at work, pulling a double shift in the nursery so she could take tomorrow off and go to the game to watch Les. As Neil, Les, and I dug into the casserole she had made for us ahead of time, the dead horse pulled a Lazarus.
“Butler and his shithead jock friends keep a notebook about the girls they mess around with,” Neil said, his tone laced with disgust. “I heard them talking about it in the locker room during PE. The idiots think no one can hear them over the noise from the showers. They call it ‘The Playbook.’ It’s hidden behind a set of encyclopedias in the school library.”
My face heated as anger swept through me. “Are you kidding me? I thought you weren’t paying attention whenever I watched Mean Girls but apparently I was wrong. You’re just jealous because I have plans tomorrow night, and you don’t.” I dropped my fork, the cheesy chicken-and-broccoli concoction no longer appealing since I’d lost my appetite.
Les pointed the tines of his fork at Neil. “Those are my friends you’re talking about. If they were up to something like what you claim, I’d know about it. And I’ve never heard a single word about some kind of dumb-ass book detailing their conquests. Josh is a good guy. I wouldn’t be okay with him asking Coco out if he was a player.”
Neil shoved his chair backward and stood. “You need to find better friends, then. The way those assholes talk about girls is disgusting. The last thing I want to hear is one of them imitating the sounds a girl I know makes when he fingers her in his car.” He snatched his plate up and stalked over to the garbage can, dumping the contents inside before sticking it in the dishwasher.
“You’re way the fuck out of line, man,” Les yelled, rising from his seat. He gripped the edge of the table so hard his knuckles turned white. “Go blow something up in Call of Duty or listen to that emo shit you call music and stay out of my face for the rest of the night.”
Neil flipped him off and stormed out of the kitchen. His shoes banged on the stairs, and the windows rattled when his bedroom door slammed shut.
“Unbelievable,” Les muttered, ladling a second helping onto his plate. “He needs to get a life and stop meddling in everyone else’s.”
I sat in shocked silence, trying to make sense of Neil’s outburst.
Guilt washed over me for accusing Neil of being jealous and boring. He didn’t deserve to be called those things. From the moment I set foot in this house two years ago, he had been nothing but kind to me. And I had turned around and gone straight for his jugular, hurling insults like knives.
Most people pegged Neil as an introvert with no social skills, based on his small circle of friends and how seldom he participated in extracurricular activities or made appearances at after-hours events. They couldn’t be more wrong about him. Neil chose his friends carefully after being rejected time and time again when someone saw the scars on his arms. And his interests leaned more toward computers and music, not sports and school dances.
The three of us holed up in our rooms and kept to ourselves the rest of the evening. I didn’t see Neil until he strolled into the bathroom while I brushed my teeth. He grabbed his toothbrush and the tube of paste, planting himself in front of the other sink. “I wouldn’t lie to you,” he said quietly. “Butler is bad news and wants to make you his next entry. Be the girl who doesn’t let him use her.”
I met his gaze in the mirror. He looked serious, with steady eyes and a tautly clenched jaw. I slid my toothbrush into the holder and padded back to my room without a word. It took much longer than usual to fall asleep. Neil’s warning and Les’s defense warred in my head. I didn’t know who to believe or what to think.
The next day, I asked for a library pass at the beginning of study hall. I headed straight for the reference section and set down my bag. Using one hand, I pulled out two encyclopedias at a time, checking the area behind the books for a hidden notebook or package. As I neared the end of a row of musty, hardbound editions of Funk & Wagnalls New Encyclopedia, a glint of silver caught my eye.
The metallic coil of a spiral notebook.
With a sinking feeling, I pulled it out and slid the books back on the shelf. Written across the blue cover in thick black capital letters were the words The Playbook. My stomach lurched just from the sight of it. Neil had been telling the truth. This stupid brag book did exist. But was Josh a participant in this sick, twisted game?
Only one way to find out.
I slid the notebook into my bag and went to the main desk. The librarian liked me and didn’t hesitate to write a hall pass for me to run to the bathroom. I checked the other stalls for feet–there were none since most people were in class–and locked myself into the last one. My hands shook, and my heart pounded wildly as I thumbed to the first page and began to read.
Moments later, I closed it in disgust. I marched back to the library and handed my lunch money to a student aide for change to use the copier. When the bell rang to signal the end of the period, I hustled out the double doors and ran upstairs to Neil’s locker.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, his eyes wide with alarm when I rushed up to him.
“You were right.”
“About?”
I unzipped my bag and moved my Spanish textbook forward, beckoning him closer and pointing at what sat behind it. He moved closer until we stood side-by-side, shielding the bag from kids passing by on the way to their next class. “I’ll be damned,” he muttered. “Is he in on it?”
“Yup.”
“Are you okay?” He studied me, his dark eyebrows raised in concern.
“No. I feel like Nicolas Cage’s character in National Treasure. The Declaration of Independence is in my backpack and the football team will figure out it’s gone any minute now and come after me to get it back.”
Neil chuckled. “Did anyone see you take it?”
“I don’t think so, not unless someone noticed while I was making photocopies. Seriously, I feel like I’m carrying a ticking time bomb.”
“You made copies?” The corners of his mouth tipped up in a grin. “How come, Coco?”
“For insurance purposes.”
He checked the clock mounted to the ceiling. “We need to move, or we’ll get a tardy. I want all the details of your plan after we get home. Just relax and stay calm. Even if one of them realizes it’s missing, they won’t suspect you. Don’t tell anyone else about this, not even Les.”
I already knew better. Les would take one look at Josh’s entries and go ballistic. As much as I would enjoy watching Josh get the crap beaten out of him, I didn’t want Les to get suspended or kicked off the team for fighting. “I won’t,” I said over my shoulder, heading in the direction of my next class.
Hours later, I stood outside the locker room doors after the Panthers had defeated the opposing team by a point in a nail-biter of a game. Josh swaggered out with damp hair and smiled when he saw me leaning against the brick wall.
“Hello there, beautiful. Ready to go?”
“Hey,” I said, pushing off the wall. The knots in my stomach tightened as Josh reached for my hand. My skin crawled at the very idea of him touching me. I deployed evasive maneuvers and stuffed it in my front jeans pocket and took a deep breath. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”
Confusion spread across his features. Yesterday I thought it was the most handsome face ever. Today, it repulsed me. There was nothing attractive about this guy, not when he was cruel and conniving on the inside. “Why not? I thought we had a date.”
I reached into my tote bag and watched Josh’s face as The Playbook came into view. His eyes widened for a moment before he caught himself and schooled his expression. I would have missed it had I not been paying attention. “Because I’m not some lovesick girl who wants to be your next round of bragging rights. That’s why.” I flung it at him, hitting him dead center in the chest and turned on my heel to head back to the parking lot where Henri and Neil waited for me.
Josh laughed–the cocky bastard–as I walked away. “No sweat off my back. There are plenty of other girls who’ll gladly take your place.”
I ignored him and kept walking, smiling to myself because he had no idea about the appointment I had with the principal first thing Monday morning. Or the copies sitting on my desk at home.
There would never be another page in The Playbook.
9
Ryan
The bristles of the paintbrush swished over the weathered white vinyl siding. I wasn’t usually a fan of yellow, but this buttery shade livened up the little house and gave it a cheerful look.
“I’m out,” I called to Neil, who worked on a section at the other end of this east-facing side. “I’m going to refill and grab something to drink. Need anything while I’m down there?”
He climbed up the next rung on his ladder and wiped his brow. “Another bottle of water would be great, even though I’d kill for a beer right now. It isn’t supposed to be this hot in October.”
“Come on, you know Chicago only has two seasons,” I joked, climbing down my ladder. “Hot and cold. It’ll be thirty degrees cooler a week from now.”
“Ain’t that the truth,” he muttered, loading his brush up with more paint.
Neil and I had developed a decent friendship over the last two weeks. His laidback, easygoing demeanor meshed well with mine. We had a lot in common, including a preference for running and similar tastes in music and movies from the 80s and 90s. He never seemed to resent my presence around the house, answering the door in ratty Pac-Man pajama pants without a single care when I showed up after work to spend time with Collette. We’d shoot the shit for a few minutes before going our separate ways, mine up the stairs and his back to the den to resume whatever game he had been playing on his laptop while watching a movie on the flat screen.
I wiped my sweaty face with the bottom of my shirt and took in the scene around me. Volunteers milled all over June and Clyde Young’s front yard. Part of me still marveled at the number of people who had shown up at the crack of dawn yesterday and today to repaint the elderly couple’s house and build a sunroom off the back.
Until her retirement last month, June had owned and ran a beauty shop which had provided free head shaves and wigs to cancer patients. One of those patients had been Henrietta Wright, who had lost her hair during chemo while undergoing treatment for breast cancer.
Collette, Neil, and Les had jumped at the chance to rally as many of June’s clients as possible to spruce up the little house. Turned out she had a large group of grateful admirers who were more than willing to sacrifice half or all of their weekend to lend a hand. If anyone had earned the right to spend the rest of her days reading and knitting on a chaise lounge, it was most definitely the sweet lady who had kept her shop open past regular business hours many nights to give already distraught girls and women privacy as their hair met the metal teeth of her clippers.
Offering my time had been a no-brainer. I’d worked on painting crews during summer breaks in college. Once Collette found out I had prior experience, she put me in charge of buying the supplies and giving pointers to the rest of the brush crew.
I sidestepped a group carrying flats of flowers and bags of mulch for the new flower beds in the backyard. Everyone moved with a purpose, eager to put the finishing touches on the renovation before the homeowners returned from picking out new patio furniture.
The kids manning the refreshment table bopped around to the music blaring from a nearby radio. I grabbed two bottles of water and two chocolate chip cookies the size of my hand, chuckling at the gangly boy doing the robot. The girls giggled and egged him on. A few of them tried to join in, imitating his choppy movements.
With a sigh, I plunked down on a patch of grass and bit into a cookie. A pair of hands swooped in and covered my eyes. “Hey!” I exclaimed, tugging on a delicate wrist. “When did you get back?”
Collette plucked the remainder from my hand and sat down next to me. “A couple of minutes ago.” She flipped her long ponytail over her shoulder and took a bite. “Oh wow, this is crazy good. I sense another one…or five in my near future. There’s probably a stick of butter in each one of them that will go straight to my hips.”
“Those hips are perfect, and I wouldn’t mind at all if there were a little more to them.” I brought the other cookie to her lips. “Now open up.”
She took a huge bite and moaned, all low and throaty. I drank from my bottle, debating if I should pour the rest of it over my head in a makeshift cold shower. The woman made the simple act of eating a cookie a turn-on, and I doubted anyone would appreciate it if I walked around with a raging erection tenting my cargo shorts.
My thorough examination of every dip and curve of her gorgeous body had sent my hormones into constant overdrive. I walked around in various states of arousal from the second I got up to the time I went to bed. Sleep didn’t provide much relief because I often had erotic dreams that woke me up in a hot and bothered state. To say she had me strung tighter than a bow would be the understatement of the year. An X-rated montage of sexytime highlights starring a doe-eyed brunette with a killer rack and a perfect ass ran on a loop in my head. And now I could add the damn cookiegasm noise to the reel as a sound effect.
“Les and his crew had everything under control, so I paid the bill and took a cab back here. They’re going to load the truck and pick up the order at Lou Malnati’s. I sent June and Clyde out to an early dinner to buy more time before the big reveal. The limo driver will call with a heads-up when they’re ready to leave.”
“I’d better get back to work, then.” I stood and grabbed her hand, pulling her up. “I’ll see you in a bit, preferably with a slice of deep-dish pepperoni in each hand.”
“Gluttony is one of the seven deadly sins,” she teased, grinning widely.
“I’ll get the priest from the cleanup crew to bless my next bottle of water and chase my meal with it as a precaution.” I pecked her on the lips and palmed the water bottle I’d grabbed for Neil.
I found him perched on the bottom rung of his ladder messing around on his cell phone. His entire half was finished, as well as a portion of mine. “Holy crap, I wasn’t even gone that long, and you’re done?”
“What can I say? When you’re good, you’re good.” He caught the bottle of water I tossed to him and unscrewed the cap, quickly gulping down half the contents. “I did as much of yours as I could reach without pulling a Griswold. Not sure how long I’d be able to hang on to the gutter before my hands cramped up.”
I laughed and poured more paint into my bucket. “You’d never hear the end of it.”
It didn’t take long to finish what remained of my section. As I dabbed at some patchy spots to even them out, someone shouted to announce the food was ready. My stomach growled on cue as I picked up my gear and headed to drop it off at one of the turn-in stations.
Several pickup trucks sat in the driveway, their tailgates down as Les and some other men unloaded pieces of wicker patio furni
ture. “Here, let me give you guys a hand,” I said, positioning myself on the empty side of a large rectangular table two older men struggled to carry. We walked it around the side of the house and up the steps, placing it in the middle of the wooden floor.
I looked around, admiring the new space. It really was the perfect spot to relax on a sunny day. Maybe someday I’d have a house with a similar setup to kick back in with a cold beer after a long day at work. Damn if that didn’t paint an appealing picture in my mind.
Les eased an armchair through the doorway and set it down at the opposite end of the table. “Collette got a call from the driver. The Youngs just left the restaurant and should be here in twenty minutes. We need to hustle.”
Unlike his “brother,” Les hadn’t warmed up to me much. He didn’t barge in when I was at Collette’s house anymore, but his guard remained intact. I got a lot of wary looks from him. It seemed like he expected me to do something shitty at any given moment. It made me wonder if someone had messed with Collette in the past. The very thought of some bastard mistreating her made my blood boil, so I took his protectiveness with a grain. He’d loosen up once he realized I was here to stay and only had good intentions.
Ignoring my stomach’s protests, I followed him back to the trucks and grabbed another chair. People set down their food and joined the effort, carrying assorted pieces and accessories. A pigtailed little girl no higher than my kneecaps toddled along with her arms wrapped around a floral-printed throw pillow. It truly was a group effort as everyone pitched in to prepare for the homeowners’ arrival.
Every seat cushion was in place, and each candle inside the lanterns had been lit by the time the black stretch limo rolled up to the curb. The room looked photoshoot-ready for an article in a home improvement or interior design magazine.
June and Clyde exited the limo to a hero’s welcome. People clapped and cheered as the couple walked up the driveway. June covered her mouth with a hand, her eyes brimming with tears while looking at her newly transformed house. What was once grimy and faded after decades of exposure was now clean and vibrant. I could only imagine how bowled over she must have felt seeing the completed job for the first time.
More than Money (Found in Chicago Book 1) Page 7