I COMPLETELY FROZE, stuck on Carson’s bed. Carson stood just as still as I sat.
“Crap!” Ginger cried.
Zara’s eyes flitted from the door to the closet to the second-story window, calculating.
“Crap,” Ginger repeated.
“Shh,” Callie said. “Carson, go down and take him to the garage for drinks.”
Robotically, he followed her directions, and Callie turned to us. “Now, we’re leaving out the back while they’re out there.”
Zara raised an eyebrow. “Out back? Why can’t we just use the front door?”
Callie pointed out Carson’s front window where we had a clear view of Beckett’s Mercedes in the street. From the other window, we could see Callie’s room. Jeez, was this house conspiring against us?
My heart pounded with each second that passed, afraid of being caught. “What do we do once we get outside?”
“Follow me. There’s a path to the gate between our yards, then we’ll go in through the back door,” Callie said.
Carson’s and Beckett’s voices sounded so close. “I’m freaking out,” I whispered.
Callie shoved my shoulder. “Go.” At the sound of the garage door closing, I high-tailed it out of there, thundering down the stairs and past the kitchen onto the patio. I didn’t stop running until we’d crossed Callie’s sloping yard and were safely inside the ground level of their home.
My chest heaved from exertion, barely taking in the room we’d entered through.
The guys sitting in front of the TV, video game controllers in their hands, noticed though.
“What’re you doing?” a guy who looked like an older, buffer version of Callie asked.
The five of us looked at each other; even Zara’s dark cheeks were red. Between the embarrassment and exertion, we’d probably be flushed until homecoming.
“Um,” I managed, then mentally kicked myself. Was that the only word I knew? “We, um—” There it was again.
“These are my friends,” Callie said, blushing just as hard.
Something told me it had to do with the hottie sitting by her brother.
Because…um…wow.
“And we’re going upstairs,” she said, stiffly walking toward the stairs.
Ginger pushed off the sliding glass door and followed Callie. The rest of us walked behind them, all the way up the stairs until we got to Callie’s room. She opened up a mini fridge and started handing out drinks and sugar cookies. Thank God because my throat was parched. I guzzled down the orange soda until the ache went away.
Ginger was busy with her electronics, setting up two laptops and several speakers. From one screen, we could see a general view of Carson’s room from one of his bookshelves, and on the other, we saw wobbling video of the stairs rising. It kind of made me dizzy, honestly.
I focused my attention on the cookie Callie had handed me. It was decorated like a hot dog. I held it up and said, “What’s the deal with the franks?”
Callie shook her head at the cookie in her hand. “My mom’s gotten super into cookie decorating.” She shuddered.
I laughed. “They’re not that bad.”
Ginger hurriedly shushed us. “They’re talking!”
The speakers crackled, and on the screen, I could see them back in Carson’s room. The TV there came into view, then switched on. A football field crossed the screen.
Ginger groaned. “Is that all guys can talk about is football?”
Carson’s voice came through the speakers. “Think the Badgers are gonna win?”
“No way,” Beckett said, coming into view of the camera. He sat on Carson’s futon, leaning back with his drink in his hand. The video wasn’t HD by any means, but it was still clear enough to see the strength in his core, the slope of the muscles in his shoulders. The ease of his smile…
I might not be Beckett’s type, but there was no doubt that he was mine.
Just ask the speeding rate of my heart or the drool dripping down my chin.
Okay, that last one might have been an exaggeration, but man, look at him.
They were quiet a while as we listened to the garbled voices of the announcers discussing the game. Which was alright, for a few minutes, but a complete quarter into the game? This was starting to get boring.
Zara groaned. “When are they getting to the good stuff? We’re not just going to pirate the football game, are we?”
“Patience,” Callie said. “Talking about feelings during a football game is like…knocking someone’s books down, then not picking them up. All the good stuff will be during halftime.”
I sighed and excused myself to go to the bathroom. Away from Callie’s room, I could only faintly hear the game. As I stepped into the bathroom down the hall, I took a deep breath and spread my arms wide, hoping some stretching would relieve this tension in my chest.
Everything hinged on what Beckett would say to Carson. Everything. My odds of getting him to fall for me. The chance of me going to my senior homecoming.
My heart.
This may have started out as a bet, but I was starting to get deeper feelings for Beckett than a simple crush. The superficial things I liked about him in the beginning were still there, but now I knew more lay beneath the surface than good looks and a generally decent personality. I’d never spoken with anyone who looked so deeply at simple things like digital photos or paintings. Who would stand up to someone like Merritt—for me. That meant something to me.
But did it to him?
“Ror!” Callie yelled. “They’re talking!”
I hurriedly washed my hands and ran back to the room, getting inside just in time to hear Carson ask Beckett if he was taking anyone to homecoming.
“That’s still a month and a half away,” Beckett said.
My heart immediately fell that my name hadn’t spilled off his lips. Part of me was tempted to run away and let the girls break it to me easy, but I needed to hear this—needed to have all the information.
“Any ideas?” Carson asked, popping a tab on a new can of soda. “Maybe,” Beckett said. “You?”
Carson hesitated. “Maybe.” “Not Callie?” Beckett asked. Zara whistled.
Callie blushed.
Carson started coughing. “What? Why would you say that?” He was still coughing, so he took another drink.
Beckett’s smile was undeniable. “No reason. She’s pretty.”
Was it the wide camera angle or did I see Carson’s back stiffen? “You think she’s pretty?” Carson asked.
“Yeah, for you?”
“What does that mean?”
Beckett threw a pillow at him. “It means I don’t want to make you jealous!”
Carson flung the pillow back. “So you do think she’s pretty? Or at least her type.”
“Her type?” Beckett laughed.
“Curvaceous,” Carson said awkwardly. “You know, something to hold on to and all that.”
I would have been laughing if I weren’t so nervous for Beckett’s answer. Carson was trying so hard to say the right thing with all of us girls listening. Beckett didn’t have that privilege.
“I don’t know,” he said. “After being with Merritt, I’m ready for something different. Something real.”
“So…real boobs?”
“Ew,” Ginger said. “Is this locker room talk?” Zara shushed her.
“You’re lucky I don’t have another pillow.” Beckett chuckled. Zara frowned. “Guess we’ll never know if they’re real.”
The boys were joking, but I still sat on the edge of my seat, counting down the seconds until Beckett’s next words.
Carson leaned back, relaxing again. “So what would it take for a girl to steal the heart of Emerson Academy’s ‘dream boat’?” He made his voice all
breathy, and Beckett laughed again.
“Asking for yourself?” He chuckled. “Explains why you haven’t asked Callie out yet.”
Carson must have rolled his eyes, because Beckett continued, “I don’t want a girl who pretends to know about football so she can talk to me. I want her to have interests outside of how hot Ryde Alexander’s ass looks in his jeans or the next sale they can grab at Emerson Shoppes. I want her to be funny and sweet but not boring. And as far as curves go, I—”
The audio cut out, and black lines sizzled across the image before going completely black.
“Crap!” Ginger cried.
“What happened?” I asked. I needed to hear what he said about curves. Did he want them? But just in the way skinny people talked about curves? As in C cups instead of A cups? Or did he really mean he wanted curves— something to hold on to when he kissed a girl…or more?
Ginger frantically tapped at the screen but gave up after a few seconds. “The battery in the main connection died.” She groaned, putting her forehead on the desk and tangling her fingers in her curly hair. “Great.”
Callie got out her phone. “I’ll text Carson and let him know we’re off the air.” She sighed. “Sorry, guys.”
Jordan shrugged. “It’s not your fault they watched two hours of a game before saying anything.”
“Yeah,” Zara agreed. “But I think we got what we needed.”
“What?” I cried. “We never even heard what he said about curves!”
She shook her head as if she knew something that was right in front of me. “Of course he wants curves. Every guy wants curves. They just might not know it yet.”
I rolled my eyes. “Have you communicated that to the rest of the male population?”
Zara rolled her eyes right back. “Did you just hear Beckett? He described you word for word! You’ve got a real shot at this.”
My heart flew, soared, peaked. “You really think so?” I looked at the others for confirmation.
They each gave it.
My lips formed a smile. I couldn’t stop it anymore.
“You’ve got to ask him out,” Zara said, pointing at my phone in my hand. “Make the next move. Text him.”
“But what do I say?” I asked.
Callie shrugged. “Let’s hang out?”
“No,” Jordan said, “that’s too open-ended.”
“Don’t look at me,” Ginger said. “My parents would never even let me look at a guy.”
Zara said, “What does your gut tell you?”
My fingers hovered over my phone before carefully typing each letter.
Rory: I think I owe you a beach party. Meet me at Seaton Pier after your shift at the bakery?
Within a minute, my phone went off.
Beckett: See you then, Cupcake.
