Page 11 of Playing with the Heartbreaker

More like house cat.

By the time I get to the gate to congratulate the team, the crowd has thinned. A few of the guys still hold court with adoring fans, parents, friends, and admirers alike. Rhoads stands off to one side, his gym bag slung over one shoulder.

Katie Song approaches him before I’m halfway there. Her hand reaches out and rests on Rhoads’s forearm as she leans in to congratulate him. The streetlights reflect off her glossy pink lips.

Rhoads beams at her with his full-wattage smile, and even though it’s not aimed at me, my knees wobble.

Are they an item now? Surely that would have made its way through the gossip mill already.

Katie giggles and tucks a piece of shiny black hair behind her ear before she says goodbye, joining her friends on their way to the parking lot.

I swallow hard and head over. I’m just here to say good job. So why did the sight of them talking rattle me so much?

“You made it,” Rhoads says, that crooked smile now shining at me.

“Just barely. Work let out late.”

“What’s in your hair?” My breath hitches as he reaches over and plucks something from my waves, turning it over in his palm. A silver 60.

The tingles are back, chasing each other down my spine, whispering about important moments. I ignore them. “Confetti. Apparently, I didn’t get it all. Thanks.” I sigh heavily. “I borrowed money from my mom to fix my car, and I have to work some of her events to repay her. Tonight was Dodd Everett’s sixtieth birthday.”

“Hey, no need to explain anything to me.” He pockets the confetti, then holds his hands up. “I completely understand. You ditched me for an older man. I’m just surprised how much older.”

I punch him playfully on the shoulder. “I refuse to dignify that with a response.”

“Well, I’m glad you at least made it for the end.”

“Maybe next time I’ll aim for a whole half.” I’m deflecting. I know I am. But I also know Rhoads’s type. The flirting comes easily, but then feelings get involved and hearts get broken. Not this time. I’m on my guard. He was literally flirting with Katie ten seconds ago.

“So, I wanted to ask you—” Rhoads starts.

“Simpson!” Dillon calls, as he approaches and slaps Rhoads on the back. “Heck of a shot, man. Team is celebrating at Peggy’s. You in?”

Rhoads glances at me. He looks as if he’s about to say something, maybe finish his sentence from before, but decides not to. Instead, he shrugs, then picks up his bag. “Yeah. I’m in.”

“I’ll see you in class.” Well, if that isn’t the lamest thing ever to say.

“I’ll be there.” He leans forward just a bit and drops his voice. “Maybe you can teach me how to count to twelve.”

Four

RHOADS

AFrench fry smacks me on the nose.

I glare at Dillon, who just smiles and shoves a handful of gloriously crispy potatoes into his mouth.

“What was that for?” I rub the smudge of grease off with a napkin.

“You’re sulking.”

“I am not.”

He points a fry at me. “You are.”

I groan.

“Why didn’t you just ask her to come with us?” Dillon leans back against the bright red vinyl booth. “Peggy’s was the perfect opening.”