Page 30 of Playing with the Heartbreaker

Anita puts the hat back on the rack. “This is why we love you, Char. Always looking out for us. Not that I have anyone to flirt with. But I guess it’s practical to give myself a chance.”

Charlotte offers a small smile. “Just think about it, okay?” she says to me.

I try my hardest not to think about it. But the memory of our training session is seared into my mind. The way my pulse spiked when he handed me the controller. The ridiculous, childlike laugh he let out every time his avatar passed mine on the course. The way he didn’t let me win but also didn’t brag when he inevitably crushed me.

The look in his eyes right before the bell rang. His palm against mine.

A shiver goes up my spine. What would have happened if the bell hadn’t rung then, hadn’t broken whatever spell we’d both been under?

To distract myself, I hand Charlotte a gold sequined dress. Charlotte is short, but the dress looks like it will hit her mid-thigh, anyway. Way too short for me, but right up Charlotte’s alley. “There’s nothing to think about. We’re just helping each other out.” Saying it out loud helps me decide it’s true. Whatever might have happened in the classroom didn’t, and I’m going to continue on this path. We’re just acquaintances swapping soccer skills and breakfast recommendations. Speaking of, I’ve got to decide the first “secret” I’m going to share.

“If that’s what you need to tell yourself,” Anita says.

“Alright, it’s my turn to be the center of attention.” Charlotte laughs. She holds out the leotard and the gold dress. “Now, which of these outfits says, ‘girlfriend material?’”

* * *

“Five cars in an hour.” I sit, defeated, in the grass of the empty school parking lot on Saturday morning as Charlotte’s mom pulls her sparkling cherry red SUV onto the road. We can always count on Mrs. McKinnon to support a school cause. Like mother, like daughter. At least in their case.

“It’s still early,” Bailey says, but unease tinges her voice.

“It’s a disaster. We can’t buy new uniforms for the tournament with—” I flip through the thin stack of bills— “twenty-five dollars and eight cents. What are we going to do?”

Teagan places her hand across her forehead and squints into the distance. “There’s someone.”

“They probably aren’t coming for us.” I don’t even look up. What’s the point?

“No, they definitely are. It’s a truck. He’s pulling in now.”

I stay seated with my head buried in my folded arms, resting on my knees. The sun beats down on my bare shoulders. A citrusy scent, more orange than the lemon from the soap, wafts into my nose. The back of my neck prickles with Big Moment energy. Maybe a rich donor has appeared to buy our uniforms.

The air shifts to accommodate someone bending down next to me.

“What are you doing down here?” he murmurs into my ear. Adrenaline traces a path through my aching muscles.

“Wallowing,” I respond, careful to keep my voice even. Great. Of all people to bear witness to this travesty, Rhoads Simpson is the last person I’d choose. A light pressure on my elbow makes me lift my head. I look into Rhoads’s face.

“What for?”

“Did you not see the lack of—?” I stop. Glance around. A line of cars stretches the length of the parking lot. “Where did all of these people come from?”

Rhoads shrugs. “Seems the only other place to get a car wash is closed today. And a bunch of people did some serious off-roading last night.” He smiles crookedly. A secret plays behind his brown eyes. He offers me his hand, and I take it, standing.

In my mind’s eye, I remember the way he was dressed at Stuff ‘n’ Things. His uniform, not a suit. There’s only one place in town where teenagers would willingly wear that outfit. Sam’s Suds, the local car wash. I give myself a mental face-palm for not putting the two together sooner.

I brush the grass off my shorts, expression suspicious. “And I don’t imagine you know anything about that.”

“Me? Nope.” He rocks on his heels, his hands behind his back. “Not a thing.”

“Wait. Won’t your manager be mad that you’ve stolen his customers?”

“Nah. My uncle’s a pretty charitable guy. My aunt was a soccer player back when they were dating. He’s sentimental.” Rhoads winks.

I make a concentrated effort not to look at Teagan, though my friend is boring holes into the back of my head. Rhoads jogs back to the line of cars and directs them toward Bailey, who sprays the first one off with a hose.

When the last of the cars has driven away, its paint freshly dried and waxed, my shoulders finally relax.

“That was probably the best car wash we’ve had ever,” Ji-woo says, drying her hands on a striped beach towel.