THE NEXT DAY, I took my sweet time getting home. When I walked in the door, my entire family was in the foyer, dressed in spandex meant for biking.
“Are…are you guys going out?” I asked.
Mom put her helmet on and let the straps hang. “Yes, you should come with!”
“Totally,” Aiden said.
“Yeah, hon,” Dad agreed. “I feel like I haven’t seen you all week.”
He hadn’t, but that had more to do with his work and my avoidance of Mom than anything else.
“Please?” Mom added.
I sighed. “I’m tired. Can I stay home and rest?”
Mom frowned. “You know, I agree to you staying at your friend’s. Not all-nighters or parties.” She stepped closer. “Your eyes are bloodshot. You haven’t been drinking, have you? Or smoking?”
It took all my willpower to keep from rolling my “bloodshot” eyes. I didn’t want to add fuel to her fire, and when I glanced at Dad and Aiden, their eyes were purposefully trained on the ground. I should have known better than to look to them for backup when it came to going toe to toe with Mom. “No, Mom. No alcohol or drugs at slumber parties.” I turned toward the stairs. “I’ll come. Let me go change.”
“Meet you outside,” Mom said.
I went up to my room and put on a pair of leggings, a sweater, a heavy jacket and then a coat and headband. They might have been willing to look
like Lance Armstrong wannabes, but I had no intentions of getting compared to a sausage in too-tight casing.
When I went outside, Dad was already adding my bike to the rack and Mom and Aiden were in the car. I went and sat with Aiden in the back.
He glanced up from his phone, then tapped on the screen again. When he turned the screen toward me, the notes app had a message.
I heard Beckett skipped Waldo’s last night. Any intel on that?
When I glanced back at him, my cheeks were already red, but I shrugged.
With a silent snicker, he tapped the screen again.
The plan is working then?
With a small smile, I shrugged again.
“Dang, sis.” He extended his hand for a fist bump, which I begrudgingly returned.
Mom turned toward us. “What’s going on?” We responded in unison. “Nothing.”
She chuckled and faced forward again. “Just like when you were children.”
Dad got in the car and backed out of the drive. As he took the path toward Emerson Trails, Aiden kept his eyes glued to his phone—probably texting with Casey. That was to be expected. But my phone going off? I hadn’t expected that. Much less with a chat from Beckett.
Beckett: Hey, Cupcake.
I turned the screen toward Aiden, and his eyes bugged out of his head.
That reaction alone was worth it.
Smiling, I tapped out a response of my own.
Rory: Should I be giving you a nickname?
Beckett: You mean, in addition to sexy football god who’s taking you to Spike’s after the game Friday?
My mouth fell open, and Aiden nudged my arm. “What?” he mouthed, glancing toward my phone.
No way was he seeing that one. I turned the screen toward me and began typing out a message while Aiden tried his best to wiggle the phone out of my hand.
Dad’s eyes crinkled in the rearview mirror. “I’ll pull this car over, you two.”
“Yeah, Aiden,” I said, wrestling the phone away from him. He rolled his eyes but gave up.
That still didn’t stop the hammering of my heartbeat. I scrubbed the screen of my phone free from Aiden’s fingerprints, reading the message again.
“You owe me,” Aiden whispered.
With a sigh, I turned the screen toward him, my cheeks growing warmer by the second.
“Holy crap!” His eyebrows were halfway up his forehead, and he looked like a little kid who’d opened all of his Christmas presents early. “No way!” He grabbed my phone, staring at the message.
I smacked his arm. “Give it back!”
“Not until…” His fingers flew over the screen, clearly typing a message. “Stop!”
Mom turned toward us as Dad’s eyes tracked our movements in the mirror.
“What is going on?” she cried.
Still trying to get it back, I growled, “He took my phone.”
“Give your sister her phone back,” Mom said with a sigh. “Seriously, you think you’d have outgrown this by now.”
The picture-perfect child, Aiden widened his eyes innocently and said, “Okay, Mom.”
I snagged the phone back and stared at the screen.
Rory: I’ll be there, but my family has a rule. Every boyfriend eats dinner with the family. Be at my house for supper Thursday?
My mouth opened in horror at what my brother typed, dropping wider as I saw the responses.
Beckett: I’d love to, but that’s my dad’s day off…
Rory: Bring him too. We’ll see you then, hot pants. Beckett: I like it. 😉 See you then, Cupcake.
I could have killed Aiden, but doing so in front of my parents probably would have been counterproductive.
So, I did what any self-respecting older sister with a vendetta would do. I waited until we’d finished our bike ride, eaten supper, and Mom and Dad were in bed before cornering him in his room.
He had his homework on the desk in front of him, along with his phone, which meant he was spending ninety percent of his time texting and maybe ten percent actually studying.
“What did you do that for?” I demanded, shutting the door behind me.
He pushed himself up from his desk and laced his fingers behind his head. “Whatever do you mean?”
I narrowed my eyes. “’Hot pants’?”
“Look sis”—he leaned forward, putting his elbows on his knees—“I’ve got some intel you might be interested in.”
Suddenly, my anger fled and was replaced with curiosity. “Intel?”
He lifted his eyebrows. “There’s a rumor going around that Beckett is going to ask a girl to homecoming at Spike’s this weekend. And judging by that text…”
“It’s me,” I breathed. “But why?”
Even with all the plotting and planning and makeup and careful moves…could Beckett really like a girl like me? Disbelief outweighed hope. We were polar opposites in every way. My nerdy wallflower could only be met with his outgoing confidence. Where I’d spent afternoons tutoring, he’d been out with his friends, making the kinds of memories high schoolers did in the movies.
With his dad as an NFL agent, the world was at his feet. He could be a professional football player within a few years. If nothing else, he’d have an amazing career as a photographer, and knowing Beckett, that could take him anywhere. How did that reconcile with a frumpy future art teacher like me?
“You don’t see it, do you?” Aiden asked. “You’re a catch. And I’m not saying it because I’m your brother. You’ve worked on yourself for the last three years—tutoring, painting, being a great sister…Compared to Merritt, well, there’s no comparison.”
I smiled, but it quickly faltered. “He won’t think I came on too strong because of your messages?”
“No way,” he said. “Beckett is done playing games. And you should be too.”
The light in his eyes told me he might know more than I wanted him to. But I so wasn’t going there. The guilt in my gut over the bet with Merritt was enough for me without adding on anyone else’s judgement.
Besides, if this worked with Beckett, I’d never play games again. I wouldn’t have to.
