Page 62 of Playing with the Heartbreaker

“You can say his name. He’s not Beetlejuice or Bloody Mary.” I bite into the Pop-Tart Anita gifted me out of pity and sigh with pleasure. Chocolate.

“Just making sure. We’ve been banned from saying the G-word since you know when. It’s a hard habit to break,” Anita says.

“It’s fine. I mean, I think what I really needed was closure. And I got it.”

“Well, he’ll only be around until May, when he graduates.” Charlotte sips her cranberry juice and wipes pink gloss off the rim.

“I don’t think he’ll be a problem anymore.”

“So, then, what’s stopping you from giving it a go with Rhoads?” Anita sweeps the crumbs from her Pop-Tart onto the silver cellophane wrapper.

My mind unhelpfully cuts together a highlight reel of Graham and me meeting in study hall, getting ice cream on our first date, and driving in the Jeep. Like Graham mentioned at Dionne’s, we had a lot of good times together. And then the reel comes to a screeching halt with a freeze-frame of me seeing him lip-locked with someone else.

I clear my throat. “We’ve been over this a million times. He’s a flirt. He’s not looking for a relationship. And I still need his help. I can’t go making things weird.”

I want to kiss him so badly. But what happens if he thinks it’s bad or he loses interest? I’ve made a lot of progress on the soccer pitch since we started training together, and I don’t want to regress. Not with the post-season hanging in the balance.

Whatever attraction I feel to Rhoads, I can’t let it distract me from my goal. I fell for a charming boy in the past. But I’m older and wiser now. I won’t make the same mistake again.

Twenty-Eight

CHLOE

Rhoads passes me the ball. “Again.”

I trap it with my left foot and wipe sweat off my forehead with the bottom of my T-shirt. We’ve been out here for nearly an hour running drills, so even though a chill lingers in the air, I’m hot. “I thought that one was good.”

“Good won’t get you to the semi-finals, Baker.” He sinks into his ready position. For the fiftieth time during our free period training session, I look at his lips. Think about what might have happened if my mom hadn’t turned on the porch light at that exact moment. If Charlotte had arrived two minutes later.

And then I mentally slap myself back into reality. You’ve got to have short-term memory, Baker. On and off the field.

Whatever almost happened, didn’t. And I need to believe what I keep telling my friends—that this time we’re spending together is just for soccer reasons.

Luckily for me, my mom’s rules don’t apply to time during school. She can’t exactly ban me from using my free period to practice.

“You’re going to wish you hadn’t said that.” I shoot him a smirk that matches his. I pass the ball back to him and start the drill.

We’re working on winning the ball from the defensive side and staging a counterattack. Douglas Heights, the team we’re playing next, is notorious for playing a flat back four, which can leave them vulnerable to the counter. Especially for teams like Cardinal Ridge, with super-fast forwards who can get on the end of a well-placed through ball.

Rhoads comes at me, and I analyze his positioning. I get side-by-side with him and see my chance when he takes too large of a touch. Instead of poking the ball away, I lean my shoulder against his and step in front of him.

I’m about to pull the ball back and head in the other direction when his chest presses against my back. I have control of the ball, but he’s crowding me, trying to force a mistake.

“Whatcha gonna do now?” he breathes low next to my ear.

I ignore the thumping in my heart, hoping he can’t feel it through my back. Just like I told him before, I’m not going to let him charm me out of this win.

Not today, Simpson.

“What’s the best fall spice?” I ask, dropping my own voice into the lower register. I do a scissor move, heel the ball backward between Rhoads’s legs, and sprint around him, laughing. “Nutmeg!”

“Oh, come on!” He groans as he chases me, but I’m too far ahead now. I dribble to the far end of our mini field and pass the ball between the orange cones marking my goal.

“And, I believe, that is how it’s done.”

Rhoads jogs to retrieve the ball. “Alright, alright. You got me on that one. Water break?”

I nod. “Last one there has to pick up all the equipment!” I sprint to where we left our stuff. It’s not really a fair competition since I’m already closer, but I just laugh the whole way.