“Yeah, I can tell,” I say dryly, since he’s in a very good mood.
Apparently it’s hard to break a heartbreaker’s heart.
CHAPTER 25
Right before Rider and I left our table at the restaurant, huge guys from his hockey team piled into the restaurant all rowdy and loud (aka: their usual). Tough-guy Griffin Piper came up to us with a huge grin on his handsome face.
“Ohh, the kindergarten couple back together again.” Griffin grinned epically at Rider, “See, I knew it would happen,” he tells Rider. Then he gives me a playful wink, “I see this guy giving you puppy dog eyes all the time.”
He pats Rider on the back, “Did I not tell you?—first love never goes away. It lasts.”
Of course Griffin would say that. He’s the toughest guy on the school’s hockey team, but he turns into a puppy-dog for his girlfriend, Ally. She was Griffin’s first and only love. Ever. The handsome tough guy seems like he would be a total heartbreaker, but his heart is completely Ally’s. It’s sweet … but he’s wrong about Rider and me.
Yes, we were each other’s first love. Definitely. But it so didn’t last. After all, right at this very moment Rider is all gaga for playing-hard-to-get Waitress Chick, Daisy.
… and he was just giving me love advice about going after my heart’s desire—you know, Drew.
So, yeah. Tough Griffin is the sweetest thing ever … but wrong.
Woefully, woefully wrong.
CHAPTER 26
On the drive home Rider tells me, “So, as you may have figured out, there is this girl I like a lot.”
He gives me a sideways peek, “But she won’t give me the time of day.”
I know he’s talking about Daisy, so it’s depressing. Still, I enjoyed my evening with him a lot. Wayyy more than I’m comfortable with. But he cheered me up when I was completely down in the dumps, so I throw him a bone. I mean, why not? If he likes Daisy, let her enjoy a little heartache. I mean, it’s not like she’s some sweet girl that doesn’t enjoy breaking hearts. I figure it’s karma.
“Look, no girl will let you near their heart if they’re smart. You’re going to have to prove to her that you’re not going to do your usual.”
He tilts his head, giving me another sideways peek, then says like he’s just taking a stab at what his “usual” is, his voice questioning and wary, “Break her heart?”
He says it as a total question.
“Of course break her heart!” I practically growl it. Then calm down, because he looks so perplexed. Maybe he doesn’t know he’s evil. Is that possible?
I sigh, “Look, you’re going to have to prove to her that you’ve changed. That she’s special to you and you’ve changed your evil ways.”
He winces. “My ‘evil’ ways?”
“Your heartbreaker ways,” I clarify.
His jaw muscles flicker back and forth for a while.
He squeezes his eyes shut, then finally says huskily, “Okay, how do I do that?—how do I show her that she can trust me?—that I’m not out to break her heart?”
I glance out the window a moment. I don’t really want to help him get Daisy. Why do all the guys like her so much? Even Heartbreaker Hanson is willing to change his heartbreaker ways for her. It seems so … well, pathetic actually.
“Give her a grand gesture—something that you haven’t done for another girl, all those girls whose hearts you’ve broken.”
He murmurs, “A grand gesture.”
“Right.” I sigh it, since it seems like he’s really actually listening to me. Like he’s really going to try it. So, at this moment I’m steaming jealous of stupid Daisy. So steaming jealous that I could just …
“Wait! Stop,” I tell him as we pass the elementary school.
I bet him excitedly, “If I beat you in hopscotch you have to do your grand-gesture tonight. Like, as soon as you drop me off.”
He tilts his head, seeming to weigh my request, but he’s smiling. “This is a trick—you always beat me at hopscotch. I really hated that game, by the way. I only played it to please you.”
“You are such a liar! You LOVED that game. You were the only boy that would play it, and all the girls loved you for it.”
He shakes his head, but with another lazy grin, “I only played it for you, Brooke.” He flickers his jaw muscles, then exhales, “But I’ll play again for you. But this time I’m actually going to try to win—because you’re not my girlfriend anymore, so your smile kind of hurts my heart a little.”
I blink at him. “What are you talking about?”
He laughs softly, “It always made you so happy to beat me. I loved your smile.”
A jet of warmth shoots through me.
He seems to know the effect he’s having on my melting heart, he says softly, “I used to love to make you smile.”
I clear my throat and have to look away from his warm eyes. I’d only come up with the wager because I wanted him to get together with Daisy NOW and put me out of my suddenly longing agony—since (pathetically) I was starting to get all gushy again for the handsome heartbreaker that put me on the shaky vulnerable path I’ve been on ever since he dumped me. The path that let me know: you shouldn’t give your heart to a boy … he’ll break it like a toy.
And then move on to another girl.
I shove back my shoulders and finally dare to look at him again. In fact, I look him right in the eye and try to sound challenging (and in total control of my heart), “I’m going to kick your butt at hopscotch, then you’re going to drag your sorry kicked butt off to do a grand-gesture—okay?”
He nods, then says softly, “Okay.”
Then he adds with a teasing smile, “But if I win you’re going to erase what’s written on the bathroom wall about me.”
I shake my head, trying not to smile. I raise my eyebrows, “It’s permanent.”
“Nothing is permanent, Brooke.”
“Tell me about it,” I grumble under my breath.
He stills, then shoots me a quizzical look. His jaw muscles flicker as he stares at me, his gorgeous eyes so glued on me, my heart is turning into a puddle. Finally he murmurs, “This grand-gesture—how big does it have to be?”
“Epic,” I tell him.
“Yeah, I’m beginning to see that.” He runs a hand over his face. “Brooke, why are you so willing to forgive the quarterback—but not me? I never cheated on a girlfriend—ever. But he cheated on his, right? With you?”
My heart slams against my chest. “How—how do you know that?”
The note on my bedroom mirror flashes through my brain like a neon sign, ‘That boy has a girlfriend, naughty, naughty.’
Rider smiles ruefully. “I don’t. But you sure look guilty every time I say it.”
I grunt. “Okay, no more talking—it’s time for butt kicking.”
He grins amusedly, “Let the games begin.”
CHAPTER 27
What a night!!
When it was over, Rider walked me to my front door (!!!) and stared into my eyes, and said to me huskily, “I had fun, Brooke.”
It was almost too much for me to take. More than my mushy heart could bear. Because it had been fun. So fun. Playing hopscotch with him, then having an epic swing-jumping match with him from the elementary school’s swing-set. It was just like I had my kindergarten boyfriend back. My heart had soared.
As we stood at my front door, staring into each other’s eyes, Rider woke me from my dreamy reverie. He gently placed the rock I had used for my hopscotch marker in my hand, shocking me.
“Something to remember me by,” he said huskily and smiled. “I swiped it.”
Then he showed me his marker, a piece of a broken comb that we’d found on the playground. “Memorabilia of my big win—score!” he murmured with an adorable smile.
It was sooo adorable that it made my heart pound wayyy too hard. I had to look away. (And dunk my head in a bucket of ice-water.)
Feeling shy, I stared down at my rock. This thing to remember
him by. “Every time I see it, I’ll think of you—definitely,” I said teasingly. “’Cause it’s just like your heart,” I smiled, “—a hard, cold rock.”
“Ouch.” He winced in mock-pain, then he muttered playfully, “Talk about a cold heart—man, Brooke. You’re cold. You’re the heartbreaker—and you play a mean hopscotch. The only reason I won is because my heart was so light from total innocence—yours? Not so much.” His eyes twinkled.
For a moment we dreamily stared into each other’s eyes again. When I noticed, I turned red.
He winked, “Don’t forget to erase the bathroom walls.”
“Yeah, yeah,” I mumbled playfully, wanting to invite him inside, so bad, but I got the feeling he was going to go off and do his grand-gesture anyways—despite that in the end, after three (3!!) rounds, he was indeed crowned the victor of our kindergarten matches.
“Okay, I guess I’ll finally stop lingering,” he said. “Since I see your mom keep peeking at me from the window. I guess I’ve changed a lot. She used to offer me cookies, but now it looks like she wants to call the police.”
“Well, you’re a hockey player—scary stuff.”
He grinned, “No, what’s scary is mermaid band-girls that hold boys’ hearts in their hands—yet write mean poems about them on bathroom walls.”
My heart jolted.
I blinked at his choice of words. Well, one word in particular—“mermaid.” I used to be on the school’s swim team last year. Was that what he was referring to? Probably not. I mean, I doubted he even knew about it.
Yet he softly said, “Good night, Mermaid,” as he left.
I floated into my house in dreamy confusion, kind of lost in a cloud from his warm stare all night and his sweet attention all night too (though he kept sweeping his attention to Daisy the whole time we were in the restaurant—sadness!). Still, his intentions toward me at the cemetery had obviously been out of kindness—so yeah. I was confused.
The heartbreaker seemed to have a heart after all.
Sigh.
Too bad he was all into Daisy. (Talk about superficial! Laurie had nothing up on that girl in that department.) (And Rider was stupid.)
I opened my notebook to grumble about it in my journal. But …
Not long after Rider left, I was still in a dreamy stupor when the doorbell rang. However, when I answered the door, my head lost all its dreaminess, because I came face-to-face with cold hard reality—Band-boy, Ethan.
My pulse jolted seeing him, since I hadn’t even realized he knew where I lived. Plus, it was weird that he would show up at my house. I mean, he didn’t even text me first or anything. Weird … right?
Well, I felt weird.
(Maybe because I’d had a creeper note taped to my mirror recently.)
“Ethan … hi,” I attempted a smile, trying to act natural, but I was unnerved. To the max.
“Hi.” He didn’t sound very happy. “Brooke, can we talk?”
“Sure,” I said cautiously, thoughts of the creeper note still flashing through my panicked brain. Thank goodness mom was home tonight. She was sitting in the den watching some game-show where she kept calling out the answers before the contestants. That was comforting. (Mom home.) I swallowed, “Come in.”
“No,” he said. “I’d rather you came out here.”
I hesitated, but finally obliged. After all, I could understand, I guess. He probably didn’t want to have to meet my family and stuff. I hear guys are like that. (Though Tony hadn’t been like that … but well, Laurie had thought my boyfriend Tony was a loser.) (Maybe only losers want to meet parents?)
“What’s up?” I asked.
He jutted his chin. “Portia Norton asked me to the dance.”
“She did?” I smiled, relieved beyond belief.
He nodded, kind of glaring. “Yeah, but I didn’t give her an answer. I told her I might already have a date, but that I would get back to her.” He gave me a challenging look, sort of … harsh. “I really want to go with you Brooke, but you didn’t exactly say you would go with me. Are you or not?”
He didn’t sound mad exactly, he sounded frustrated, and I felt bad. And yeah, I didn’t tell him I would go with him. I didn’t give him an answer at all. When he asked me at school today, I’d been taken off-guard. It was right after Drew had asked me, and I thought maybe I should just go with him—Ethan, that is. To help get my mind off Drew, but then I kept remembering that people were getting the wrong idea about me and Ethan—and maybe Ethan was too. So … I wasn’t quite sure how to go about clarifying the situation to him—not at that moment. But now seemed like the time to do it.
I took a deep breath.
Then another.
I bit my lip, trying to weigh my words, then started slowly, “I was planning on saying yes to you, but probably you should go with Portia. I’m kind of, uh, preoccupied with a guy right now. It won’t work out with him—at all—but I don’t want to lead you on, or anything.”
“You like someone else?”
He sounded hurt. My heart squeezed. I felt horrible. I guess he liked me more than I suspected. Way more. Since his eyes looked so pained. A tremor of sadness washed through my body.
I bit my lip, feeling beyond uncomfortable. I had no idea how to handle such a situation, since I had never been in one before—having to turn a guy down. Well, until recently. Now guys were … changing. Everything was changing.
“Yeah, kind of,” I answered about the me liking someone else question, then I quickly added, “—but I like you too. Its just kind of that I think of you more as a friend.”
“Oh, not a friend!” he moaned with pain, but I could tell he was kind of kidding too. Sort of. “Anything but a friend!”
“A really good friend,” I said. “So go to the dance with Portia and we can go on being friends, okay?”
“Yeah, I guess,” he moped.
“I mean it Ethan. I don’t have that many friends these days. I need you to be my friend.”
“Well, okay, we’ll be the best of friends—but I would rather we were more than that.”
“Maybe someday we will be,” I murmured. “Who knows?”
“Can I at least kiss you?” he asked with a nervous laugh. “We’ve never kissed before.” He raised his eyebrows, “You have no idea what you’re missing.”
Heat and cringing rushed through me.
I mean, come on. It was a weird request, right? Right?! Maybe other girls went around kissing guys all the time, but the only boy I had ever kissed before was Tony—and Drew (in my sleep). It so didn’t seem like an appropriate thing to do—kiss a boy that I didn’t even want to. But then again, I couldn’t kiss the boy I wanted to kiss. Maybe Ethan had a point. I mean, I really (literally) didn’t know what I was missing … and who knows, maybe (though I truly doubted it) Ethan’s kiss would knock my socks off and make me forget all about Drew. That would be wonderful. So, with great reluctance, I hesitantly consented.
Ethan grinned, “Cool.”
He put his arms around me and kissed me wayyy more intensely than I expected. I had thought it would be a quick peck, not a fervent groping full of desire. Yelping and jerking, I tried my hardest to pull away from him, but he pinned me against the wall, thrusting his persistent tongue around in my mouth, making me sick.
I fought harder and harder, trying frantically to get the creep that I had only moments before called my friend away from me. He was really starting to scare me. The harder I tried to get away, the more force he used to hold me in place.
Finally, I used my knee to kick him exactly where I was aiming for. As he doubled over in pain, I ran into my house.
… then pretended nothing had happened.
Why?
Don’t ask me that.
Because I don’t know.
I just went up to my room and curled up in a tight ball on my bed. I was so shocked by what just happened that I could barely breathe.
I laid frozen there a long, long while—shaking. I was shocked and hor
rified. It seemed pretty obvious Ethan was the creeper that left me that note on my mirror.
Suddenly, I jumped out of my bed and grabbed my phone, because I needed to warn Portia.
With shaking fingers, I quickly texted her, “Stay away from Ethan. The guy is a predator.”
Portia texted me back immediately, “I think he’s cute. I asked him to the dance today.”
“I know, but you shouldn’t go with him Portia.”
She quickly texted back: “You should mind your own business.”
I squeezed my eyes shut, then quickly typed, “Portia, he attacked me.”
“Really? Cuz that’s not what he texted me—right after he left your house, by the way. He said you guys were kissing and then you freaked out and over-reacted and attacked HIM. Like, seriously hurt him.”
“Wow. Portia, come on. Who are you going to believe?”
“Well, let me put it this way—when he comes over tonight I’M going to attack him—with my tongue.”
I rubbed my face with the palms of my hands. Rubbed and rubbed. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
“Like I said—mind your own business, freak.”
Groan.
I shoved my phone away and went back to my balled up position.
Still shaking.
Ethan was a total creeper.
Maybe it was just kissing—but I still felt attacked.
CHAPTER 28
Mom woke me with a concerned expression on her face.
“There’s a Mrs. Philips on the phone wanting to speak to you about her son—Ethan?”
My mom had no idea who Ethan was. I had never mentioned him before, and she was unaware that he had paid me a visit earlier tonight.
I looked at the clock as Mom handed me the phone. It was a little after twelve. Groggily, I wondered what the lady could possibly want so late at night—from me.
Mrs. Philips apologized for calling so late, adding: “I was hoping that you could help me find my son.”
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