“Aloof?”
“Yes, stop. It’s starting to sound really weird.”
“A-loooof.” He howls it. “You’re the one who brought it up.”
“I know. I regret it. We should have gone with ‘detached.’”
“Oh, come on. Admit it. You loof the way I say ‘aloof.’ Aloof, aloof, aloof.”
“Stop.” I reach up and clamp my hand over his mouth, but I can’t help but giggle. He grabs me in a bear hug and continues mumbling the word “aloof” into my hand over and over. I squirm to get away, but I’m laughing so hard I can’t break his hold.
“Hey, there.” A voice as smooth as Häagen-Dazs interrupts our scuffle.
“Jerod.” Chris releases his grasp.
“Hi. You made it.” I step away from Chris, flustered.
“Of course I made it. You invited me.” He gives me a broad smile. “Wouldn’t miss it.” He shakes Chris’s hand. “Yo, man. Good to see you.”
Chris scowls and draws himself up to his full six-foot-three stature. Or is he six-four now? “What’s up?”
“Did I interrupt something?”
“No. In fact, Lexi’s been waiting for you. Why are you late?”
I jab Chris with an elbow. It’s not like him to be rude.
Jerod gives me puppy dog eyes. “Sorry about that. Got caught working a little past my shift.”
I shake my head. “No need to apologize.” I turn to Chris. “Jerod works at Veg Out.”
“Veg Out?” He says. “Well, that explains the onion smell.”
“Chris!” I grab Jerod’s arm. “Pay no attention to him. He’s just jealous because his job involves scraping gum off of seat bottoms.” I give Chris a what-the-heck glare as I lead Jerod off toward the kitchen to check out the drinks. We draw a few stares, but now, instead of feeling weird and self-conscious, I’m all smiles. Who would have thought? Lexi Malloy with a boy—a very cute boy with a gorgeous smile and a voice that’ll melt a girl’s heart. I slip my arm through his. “Thank you for coming out tonight. This’ll be fun.”
It will. I’m sure it will. Except that as we round the corner into the kitchen, we run smack into Jose Ramos, who happens to be in a lip lock with a girl, who happens not to be Anita Alvarez.
I have so many questions: Who is this chick? Is this just a one-time thing or are they dating? If so, for how long? And how did my research come up empty?
Of course, I can’t ask. In fact, I have to act as though I don’t even notice them. Unless …
I tap Jose on the shoulder, and he reluctantly pulls away from his date, or fling, or whatever she is. His expression is dazed. “Hey.”
“Hi, Jose.” My voice comes out unnaturally perky, and I pull Jerod forward. “This is Jerod Wilkins. He’s from Pine Bridge, and he doesn’t know many people here, so I thought I’d introduce him around. Jerod, this is Jose. We have … the same lunch period, maybe?” I’m grasping.
Jose looks at me as though I’m a freak, but he holds out his hand to Jerod. “Nice to meet you.”
I gesture toward Mystery Girl. “And who is this? Aren’t you going to introduce us?”
“Of course.” Jose puts his arm around her and pulls her forward, his face breaking into a goofy smile. “This is Maria. She just moved here from El Salvador. We’re from the same town, and we were friends when we were little. We haven’t seen each other in almost eight years.” He leans forward and whispers loudly, “She always did have a crush on me.”
“Qué?” Maria gives him a sideways glance, so he translates that last sentence for her. She laughs and rolls her eyes at us. “No. Yo soy la que le gusta a él.”
“She says it’s the other way around.”
The glint in Jose’s eye tells me she’s right, or maybe they both are. Childhood sweethearts, reunited after being separated by eight long years and almost two thousand miles. What a beautiful and wonderful story. Except for the whole I’m-getting-paid-to-break-them-up-again part.
They giggle and go back to kissing. Lovely. What the heck am I supposed to do? Technically, when Anita hired me, Jose didn’t have a girlfriend. We have a contract now, and Anita has already completed step one. Who knows what plans she may have made for her future with him? With my success rate, she’s probably already bought her prom dress, and the shoes to match. I can’t abandon her at this point, can I?
“Are you okay, Lexi? You don’t look so good.” Jerod takes my soda and refills it. “Want to step outside? It’s actually pretty warm out there, for March.”
I nod. Maybe some fresh air will help. I need to clear my mind and forget about whispering. Tonight is about Jerod and me and having fun. Besides, if we go outside, maybe Chris will start to wonder where we went.
Nice, Lexi. I scold myself. I’m being both unfair and ridiculous. Unfair because Jerod doesn’t deserve that, and ridiculous because Chris more than likely couldn’t care less where I am. He has a whole room full of friends to keep him occupied.
“Actually …” I set my Sprite down and take Jerod’s hands in mine. “I think maybe I should go home.”
“What?”
“I’m sorry. I know you came all the way out here, but inviting you to this party was a bad idea.”
“Um. Okay.” Jerod’s expression wavers between confused and hurt, and I give myself a mental kick.
“I don’t mean because of you. I mean because of the party. It sucks. I mean, it’s an okay party, but it sucks as a first date.”
“So this is a date?”
My face grows warm. “Maybe.”
“Maybe’s good enough for me. I’m calling it a date. And since you said ‘first date,’ I’m going to assume there will be at least one more.”
I laugh.
“Will there?”
I don’t know what to say, so I pass it off. “Ball’s in your court for that one.”
“Well, in that case, what are you doing next Satur—”
“Yo, dude. I know you.” A stumbling, slurring Briggsy interrupts us. He has two girls fawning over him, but he ignores them and gives Jerod and me each a huge hug. “You’re that guy from the restaurant.”
“You mean Veg Out?”
“No, that Tex-Mex place in Virginia Beach. You were there.”
“Oh, right.” Jerod holds out his hand. “Jerod Wilkins.”
Briggs ignores his hand and gives him another hug. “Roland Briggs, but you can call me Briggsy. That’s what all my friends call me, and if you’re a friend of Lexi’s, you’re a friend of mine.” He lets go of Jerod and reaches over to hug me again.
I roll my eyes at Jerod and mouth, sorry.
He shrugs and pulls Briggsy off of me. “Hey, man, how about you sit down for a while? Want me to get you some water or something?”
“Nah, I don’t need no water. I just need my friends. Lexi, you’re my friend, right?” Briggs latches back onto me.
Oh, man. I’ve never seen him drunk before. Dude can be annoying when he’s sober, but this is ridiculous. “Yeah, Briggsy. We’re friends.”
“Good friends?”
“Yep. Good friends.”
“What about Abi? Are you and Abi friends?”
I glance around. The two girls with Briggsy are watching us. “Sure, Briggsy.” I roll my eyes at them as if to say, I’m humoring him. Abi and I are not that close. Really.
“Why doesn’t Abi like me?” He straightens up, his face serious, his words slightly less slurred.
“How do you know she doesn’t like you? Maybe she does.”
“Nah. She broke up with me. And when I try to talk to her, she blows me off. I gave her a hug just now, and she pushed me away.”
I glance at his groupies. Maybe it had something to do with them? Or the fact that he’s wasted?
“Briggsy, I don’t think you’re in a condition to talk about this right now. Let’s talk Monday, okay?”
Briggs gives me another hug, and this time practically knocks me over. �
�You’re the best, Lexi. I love you, man. I mean, woman. You know what I mean.”
Jerod pulls him off of me again. “We were just about to head out, bro. You going to be okay? Do you have a ride home?”
“Oh, yeah. Massey’s here somewhere. He’s driving me home.” Briggs leans over and whispers something in Jerod’s ear, then pulls away. “Don’t tell her I told you. It’s a secret.” Briggsy laughs and stumbles off, and the girls follow in his wake.
Jerod shakes his head. “Dude’s a trip.”
“What did he say to you? What was the secret?”
“No idea.” Jerod puts his arm around my waist and leads me toward the door. “He wasn’t making any sense. Sounded like he was saying something about a ‘boyfriend whisperer.’”
“I’d like a motion to call this meeting to order.”
Abi purses her lips and gives me her best head-tilt. “For real? And if I make the motion, who will second it?”
She has a point. “Fine. Never mind the formalities. Let’s jump into the agenda.”
It’s our first official meeting of the staff of Boyfriend Whisperer Enterprises. I’d never called one before because … well, because texts, phone calls, and hastily arranged consultations in the janitor’s closet had always sufficed. This afternoon, though, I’ve reserved a private study room in the back recesses of the Sterling Community Library. Today we have some important business to discuss.
“Agenda item number one: Security.” I peer up at Abi. “Anything to report?”
Abi rolls her eyes. She is so not into corporate protocol. Maybe I should have brought doughnuts.
“Actually, yes,” she says. “I talked to Ari, and he explained a bunch of stuff I didn’t understand, but for the most part, you’re safe.” Abi’s brother majors in computer science at George Mason, with a concentration in hacking, or at least that’s the joke he likes to tell.
“For the most part? Please elaborate.”
“It’s complicated.” Abi picks up her agenda and absently waves it around. “The website is totally safe, meaning no one can trace it if you used a private registration, which I assume you did.”
“Of course.”
“And the email is mostly safe, unless …”
“Unless?”
“It seems if someone really, truly, seriously wanted to track down who owns your Boyfriend Whisperer email account, they could do it.”
I lean forward in my seat. “How so?”
“If they got the IP address and then matched it to all the IP addresses of everyone’s home email in the school, they could eventually find your match.”
“You mean match it up with my Gmail IP address?”
“Right. But to do that, they’d have to know your Gmail address in the first place. Not too many people know it, do they? You hardly ever use it.”
I groan. “No one except my entire team. Coach insists on communicating with us through email. Very annoying.”
“Ugh. That is annoying. But at least no one on your team has a grudge against you—or rather, against the Boyfriend Whisperer—do they? They wouldn’t have any reason to try to track you down.”
“Carmella.”
“The one with the purple hair? What have we ever done to her?”
“Nothing, but her sister’s on the volleyball team.”
“Oh.” Abi grimaces. “Well, it seems like a long shot, doesn’t it? That anyone would go to all that trouble? I don’t think you have to worry.”
I’m not so sure, so I make a note in my tablet to scope out Carmella later. “Let’s move on. Next on the agenda: Anita Alvarez and her BFTB, Jose Ramos.”
Abi says nothing, but her lips form a tight, thin line.
Here we go. I take a deep breath. “Go ahead. Say it.”
“Say what?”
“You want out.”
Abi’s metal chair screeches against the floor as she stands. She paces back and forth from one end of the tiny room to the other. “I knew this was going to happen sooner or later. Love isn’t something you can plan, like a cheer or a bulk purchase on Accessories.com, or a … a picnic. Sometimes love just happens.” Her eyes mist over. “Or doesn’t.”
Oh, jeez. Dealing with Briggs at that party the other night couldn’t have been easy on her. I sigh and motion for her to sit back down. “Abi, I understand what you’re saying, but it’s our duty to make love happen. That’s our guarantee to our clients. It’s not always easy, but if it were easy, we’d be out of our jobs.”
“So … what? We ignore the fact that Jose already has a girlfriend? Did you meet her? She’s adorable.”
“She’s not a girlfriend. She’s a girl who’s a friend.”
“Who makes out with him.”
“Come on. She wasn’t even in the picture when Anita submitted her application.”
“Because she lived in a whole ’nother country. Now she’s here, in the United States, making out with him!”
I avoid Abi’s glare. Part of me knows she’s right. Maria seems very sweet, and for all I know, she and Jose are soul mates, meant to be together for all eternity. On the other hand, what can it hurt to give Anita a chance? She deserves a shot. If Jose is supposed to be with Maria, well, surely their relationship could overcome that bump in the road. What’s a little love triangle among soul mates?
“I’m not letting Anita down,” I say finally. “The poor girl has already started putting herself out there for him—making brownies, watching old movies, showing up randomly at his Debate Team practice. That couldn’t have been easy for her. If you want to walk away from the case, go ahead, but I’m in.”
Abi makes a vague harrumphing sound and taps her nails on the table. I let her stew, certain that she’s coming around to my way of thinking, but instead, she leans forward, her voice hard and low. “Is this about feeling bad for Anita or is it about your precious business?”
“What the …?” She’s never spoken to me like this before. “Maybe it’s about both. What’s wrong with wanting to run a good business?”
“Nothing, but with you, I’m never sure whether it’s about running a good business or winning some sort of imaginary game.”
“Game? What game?”
“Oh, come on, Lexi. Everything’s a competition with you. I’ll bet you could tell me right now, off the top of your head, without doing a single calculation, exactly what the Boyfriend Whisperer’s success rate is.”
Twenty-three out of twenty-four, or 95.8 percent. I purse my lips and look away.
“See. I knew it. But guess what? Those are just numbers. And behind every one of those numbers are human beings with real lives and real feelings, and for every love connection we make, we also could be breaking someone’s heart.”
“Like Maria’s.”
“And?” She gives me a meaningful stare.
I bite my lip. I did the right thing accepting Lindsay’s application. I believed that then, and I believe it now, and Abi has no right throwing it in my face. I crumple up the agenda. “Screw you. Meeting adjourned.”
Mrs. Massey answers the door with a huge bowl of guacamole dip in her right hand and a giant jar of salsa tucked under her left arm. “Hi, Lexi. The boys are all downstairs. Tacos will be ready in a minute.”
I grab the condiments from her and head toward the basement. We watch all the games at Massey’s, mainly because his mom’s idea of TV snacks is so far superior to anyone else’s—tacos, ribs, shrimp, gourmet pizzas—and all homemade. Most years, Chris, Briggs, Massey, and I watch the entire March Madness tournament together, but this year was different. We’ve all had too much going on, and of course, Lindsay is now in the picture. Tonight, though, is the championship game, so we’re together. And much to my relief, Lindsay had to stay home to study for a make-up exam.
“You’re late,” Massey says as I set the food on the bar. “It’s bad luck to be late.”
“Wake Forest is up by eight.” Briggsy’s smile tells me he’s
already counting his winnings.
“It’s the first quarter,” I say. “Eight points is nothing. Georgetown’s a second-half team.”
“Where’ve you been?” Chris scoots over so I can sit next to him on the couch. “It’s not like you to be late to a game. Not when you have money on it.”
“I know.” I avoid his eyes. “Mom cornered me on my way out the door with a lecture about my trig grade. Anyway, don’t worry. I caught most of it on the radio.”
The second part is true. The first part, not so much. I’m late because I spent half an hour trying to find something remotely cute to wear. The best I could do was a blue zip-up sweater over black tights. Not my usual look but not exactly revolutionary either. None of them seem to notice. “Nice colors, by the way.”
Chris is wearing black and gray—Georgetown colors—a real sacrifice for him since he detests the Hoyas. “I’m rooting for you. Mainly because I can’t stand the thought of Briggs gloating for the next twelve months.”
“If I win, I plan to gloat.”
“Of course. I would expect nothing less. But your gloating won’t involve constant texts with pictures of you spending the winnings.”
“Not my style,” I agree. “In fact, I plan to spend it all in one place—on a jean jacket. Already have one picked out.” I say this loud enough so Briggs can hear me. “I want to buy something I can wear over and over as a constant reminder of my superior tournament analysis.”
Briggs smirks and throws a pillow at me, but I catch it before it hits my face.
“Testing my superior reflexes?”
He tosses a chip, which does hit me, smack on the nose.
“No fair. My hands were full of pillow.”
Chris stands, pulls up his sofa cushion, and slams Briggs with it, which results in an impromptu wrestling match—all arms and legs and sneakers flying through the air—and somehow Massey ends up in the middle of it, as well.
Man, I’ve missed this so much. Tears spring to my eyes, but fortunately, the guys are too busy pummeling each other to notice. Why couldn’t we be like this all the time? Why did everything have to change this year? Stupid pheromones. I wish I could go back to thinking of Chris as a friend and just hanging out without all the drama—even if the drama is only in my head.
The Boyfriend Whisperer Page 11