Lame but true.
There’s hardly anyone in the library and we find a smaller table to ourselves, the two of us settling in across from each other, me dropping my backpack at my feet while she sets hers on top of the table.
“Do you have homework?” she asks me.
I slowly shake my head and lean back, sprawling my legs out much like I did earlier in Hardison’s classroom. “Nah. Do you?”
“I do. English. I have to write a short paragraph,” she says as she unzips her backpack and pulls out a notebook.
“That sucks. It’s the first day. It should be a crime for teachers to give kids homework on the first day of school,” I protest.
“I agree, but I had a summer reading assignment.” She pulls out a battered paperback of To Kill a Mockingbird. “And now we have to write an intro paragraph for the essay we’ll eventually be assigned.”
“Damn, I’m glad I’m in regular English. Meyer doesn’t give us summer reading assignments,” I mutter, sitting up straight once more and resting my arms on top of the table. Addie’s arm is resting on the table too, and it would be so easy to reach out and touch her. Draw my finger down the length of her forearm, see if goosebumps would rise.
“You have practice after school, right?” she asks after she sets the book on the table.
“Always.” I nod. “You do too, right?”
“I do. We have our first game next week. At home.”
“What day?”
“Tuesday.”
“We’ll be there,” I say firmly, mentally reminding myself to tell the guys on the team we need to show up.
Her smile is faint. “I appreciate that, but you don’t have to go. I’m sure you’re tired after being at school all day and then two hours of practice.”
“It’s no problem. I don’t mind, and neither do the guys,” I reassure her.
“Well, thank you.” Her smile is faint. “My team loves it when you guys show up.”
“That’s why we’re there. We all gotta support each other.” Well, I’m supporting her. I don’t know what everyone else’s motive is.
“Why aren’t you in P.E. right now?” Addie asks.
“How do you know I usually have P.E. seventh period? Keeping tabs, Adds?” I raise my brows, teasing her.
She blushes prettily, her cheeks the faintest pink. “I remember when you had to switch into my history class last year because they added that conditioning class for the team seventh period. Not because I’m stalking you.” She reaches across the table and jabs her finger against my forearm, just like I was tempted to do to her only a few minutes ago.
I wish she’d touch me longer, though I take it as a good sign she wants to touch me at all.
“Admin changed it up. Something to do with the schedule and how they couldn’t accommodate the entire football team having their conditioning class during seventh period anymore. We’re conditioning in the early morning, before school starts—only the upperclassmen. They call it a zero period.” It’s only for thirty minutes, just enough to get the blood pumping, and it’s held on Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday, so it’s not too bad.
“Lifting weights and all that?”
“I need to bulk up,” I tell her.
Her gaze drops to my shoulders. My chest. Her eyes linger there, as if she likes what she sees. “Aren’t you bulky enough?”
That she notices makes me want to flex, but I withhold the urge. “Never. My goal is always to crush my opponents.”
“You’ve been doing okay with that for a while.” She reaches out and touches me again, her fingers drifting across my forearm before they slide up, lightly tapping against my biceps. Faint goosebumps break out, and I wonder if she noticed. “You’re pretty strong, Callahan.”
“Glad you noticed, Douglas,” I tease her, though my voice is rough. Disappointment crashes over me when she drops her hand.
But damn, she just willingly touched me. Again. I feel like we’re middle schoolers who don’t know how to flirt, but this is kind of a big deal. Or maybe I just feel the need to grab onto every seemingly meaningful moment between us and clutch it tightly.
Fuck, I’m ridiculous.
“Hey. What are you guys doing back here?”
We both look up at the sharp male voice to find…
Shit. Liam standing at the head of our table, glaring at both of us.
Glaring at me.
NINE
ADDIE
I smile up at Liam to hide the annoyance I feel at him just showing up out of nowhere. I liked being alone with Beck in the back of the library, tucked away. Just the two of us having a conversation.
Fine, we were flirting. And it was so easy with Beck. Not awkward and weird like it feels with Liam.
I don’t know what possessed me to reach out and touch him.
Twice.
But I have zero regrets. The boy is firm and muscular and it is an absolute pleasure to test all that firmness and his muscles. His bicep was rock hard.
Rock. Hard.
I don’t think there’s an ounce of fat on the guy, and my fingers literally itch to touch him again.
Everywhere.
“We’re both aides for Hardison,” Beck says to Liam, his voice casual. Easygoing, like nothing bothers him.
But I noticed the flash of irritation in his eyes when Liam spoke—and I’m sure the accusatory tone of his voice didn’t help matters. I also see the way Beck holds himself, his shoulders tense, his entire body stiff.
HIs body language is telling me he might feel threatened by Liam, but I thought they were friends. In fact, I know they are. Are they possibly angry at each other for some reason? Liam is currently glaring at Beck like he might want to blow his head off, which sounds incredibly dramatic, but I don’t think I’m too far off the mark.
These two clearly have beef.
“Isn’t that convenient,” Liam practically snaps before turning all of his attention on me. “I was going to ask you when we went to dinner later tonight, but—want to wear my jersey tomorrow?”
I gape at him, shocked at the whiplash change of subject, how he just flat-out asked me in front of Beck with no finesse whatsoever. Actually, Liam sounds pissed. “Um…”
“It’s not even a real game tomorrow,” Beck adds, my gaze going to him to see he’s slowly shaking his head. “It’s a fuckin’ scrimmage, Thatcher.”
The boys stare at each other as if they’re in a standoff and they’re waiting to see who draws their gun first. The air practically ripples with tension.
It’s the weirdest thing.
“What do you say, Addison?” Liam directs his attention to me, a smile on his face, but I can tell it’s a little forced. He’s still mad.
And I can practically feel the anger rolling off Beck in palpable waves.
“Sure,” I say weakly, ignoring Beck when he swivels his head my way. I can feel his gaze on me and it makes me nervous. “I’d love to.”
“Good. I’ll bring my jersey tomorrow and give it to you before school starts. Maybe we could meet for breakfast first,” Liam says, sending a smug smile in Beck’s direction.