I’m about to formally introduce Grey, but he’s already taken a step inside, charm going full force toward my very receptive mother. “Mrs. Rodinsky, my name is Grey Worthington, and it’s completely my fault that Liv joined the team.”
“Oh, it is, is it?” Mom cocks a downy brow, amused grin still plastered across her face.
“Yes. It is. And I can explain.”
Mom waves him off. “I know my daughter takes an opportunity when she sees it.” Mom reaches out and pats him on the shoulder, and… oh my God. I watch her hand flex, fingers squeezing. AndI’mthe one who seizes opportunity?
Grey flushes some more, my cheeks burn, and I’m now 100 percent sure my mom just saw us kissing. Our embarrassment is so palpable, we’re about to register on the Richter scale. I seriously want to melt into the floor. But then Mom decides she hasn’t claimed every opportunity this little conversation has given her. “But I do want you to tell me exactly how Liv’s predicament is your fault. At dinner, tomorrow night?”
Oh. God. The last boy invited to Sunday dinner was Jake. He survived the Rodinsky family full-court press of scrutiny, but he didn’t do anything wrong. Not that I thinkGrey did, but Dad sure does. If Danielle and Heather side with Dad and not Mom, he’s toast.
“Mom, I’m grounded. No friends over,” I say, hoping to save Grey from Dad’s likely interrogation.
“You didn’t invite him, I did. And you’ll come, won’t you, Grey?”
“Of course, Mrs. Rodinsky.”
Mom beams at him and takes the opportunity to press her palm to his chest, which I can tell you is nice and firm andjeez, she is seriously doing this to mess with me. “Call me Ellen. See you at six. Thanks for popping by.”
“Sure thing, Ellen.”
As Grey steps safely onto the stoop, I pull the door in close to my butt and lean out toward him, shielding us from view of Mom, who is totally eavesdropping.
“Your mother is lovely,” he says, and I can tell he means it.
“She is. My whole family is.” I clutch his forearm, hoping he can feel the warning in the press of my fingers. Theyarelovely, but they’re also going to eat him alive if he’s not prepared. My grip does the trick and Grey catches my eye. “Bring a helmet,” I whisper.
“And obstruct your dad’s view of my face while I explain what a fantastic football player you are? Nah.” Grey winks. “See ya tomorrow, Rodinsky.”
Hands in his pockets, Grey heads down the driveway and I haul myself back inside, feeling warm and fuzzy yetcompletely anxious all the same. I feel like I need to run it all off—maybe Mom’ll be cool with that. Is it acceptable to jog while grounded?
When I shut the door, Mom is right there, waiting, as expected, wicked smirk lighting her papery skin.
“Well, heiscute.”
Cute and totally toast.
20
I’M ON EDGE THE REST OF THE WEEKEND, RUNNINGscenarios in my mind for everything that could go wrong at family dinner on Sunday night. Luckily, Mom seems to think letting me out for a jog is okay under the terms of my grounding—mostly because Dad has disappeared, the case he’s on sucking him away from us every waking hour.
Without my phone, I’m musicless, and so I’m left with my thoughts and my nerves for a six-mile run Saturday afternoon and again on Sunday morning. On Sunday morning, I turn the corner back to our house to see Danielle and Heather, leaving for a run of their own, all sparkly and sweat-free. I wave, sweat sizzling into my eyes.
I’ve managed to avoid Danielle for most of the weekend,and maybe she let that happen, so pissed at me for lying that she didn’t even want to see my face. Might as well cut to the chase before the pair of them literally run away from me. I catch Danielle’s arm before they pass.
“I’m so sorry for lying. I—I don’t know why I did, but I’m sorry.”
Danielle squints back at me, smile incredulous. “You lied because you knew I’d freak about football just as much as Mom and Dad.”
“Okay,” I admit. “That’s true.”
My sister flips her hand around so she’s gripping me as much as I’m holding on to her. “But that doesn’t mean I’m not totally impressed.”
My eyes widen. “You’rewhat?”
“I’m totally impressed. Coach Kitt wanted you to prove you could be a good teammate. And what did you do? You joined the most brutal, boy-centric sport possible and then you crushed it.”
“We saw a video,” Heather pipes in. “Ryan shot it from the stands Friday night.” She’s grinning—and so is Danielle. “My brother played football for a decade before starting in high school and he could never throw a spiral like that.”
