Page 52 of Rock Bottom Girl

Like I was one of those girls who would let him into her jeans and then cheerfully wave him off when the fun was over.

“I’m not really a fun kind of girl,” I said stiffly.

“Hmm.” He dipped his head in close. I could feel his breath on my cheek while my own caught in my chest. “I think I’m going to kiss you.”

The hell you are, sir!

“Okay.” Damn it! Betrayed by my mouth. I should have pushed him away. Kicked him in the kneecap. Called him a dirty temptation.

Instead, I stood perfectly still while he pressed his lips to mine.

They weren’t Travis’s lips. They didn’t move like his, didn’t taste like his. And, good Lord, when his tongue swept into my mouth, I knew without a doubt that this irresponsible, heady rush of lust was what I was looking for.

He kissed me thoroughly and didn’t pull back until the crowd on the bleachers exploded over some play on the field. Jake looked at me and smirked.

“Think about it,” he said with a wink. And then he turned and walked away, leaving me trembling against the metal support.

It was then that I noticed Amie Jo glaring at me. Her hands were on her hips, pom-poms sprouting from them.

I was a dead woman.

23

Marley

Ididn’t dare turn on my vibrator when I got home. Not in my bedroom with my parents and that Airbnb guy from Seattle just down the hall. So I’d settled for a quick dance with the shower head before going to bed and dreaming about dry humping Jake in the high school parking lot. I’d need six showers a day at this rate.

I passed out cold on my bed, the lousy game a distant memory replaced by some very pleasant flashbacks to Jake’s mouth.

The next morning, I walked into school and came to a full stop when a boy with dark curly hair and a magenta face walked past me. Holy shit. I’d forgotten about the tomato-ing. Pranking deserving victims was one of my reasons for living. But a well-executed kiss from a U.S. history teacher had me forgetting about my diabolical plot and its success.

“Cicero!” a voice snapped.

I had to bite six holes in my lip to keep from laughing. Coach Vince stormed toward me. Half of his face was his usually brawny tan. The other half looked like it had suffered an unfortunate fruit punch explosion.

“What can I do for you, Coach?” I asked innocently.

Morgan E. and Angela stopped a short distance away.

“I want to know what you know about this,” he said, gesturing at his own face.

“Well, we only met that one time. I’ve gotta say you really didn’t make a good first impression. But keep at it. I’m sure you can do better.”

He snarled at me, but any fearful effect was ruined by the red stain. “If I find out you or your team of losers had anything to do with this, I will make your life a living hell. Do you hear me?”

His volume was high enough that I was pretty sure everyone in a hundred-yard radius heard him. The students in the hallway were gawking at us. Teachers were poking their heads out of the classrooms.

“My advice, Coach Vince, is to get your finger out of my face and lower your voice. My team and I were at an away game yesterday. My guess is I’m not the only one in this town who thinks you got exactly what you deserved.”

“Ooooooh!”

Morgan E. and Angela stepped up to flank me, their arms crossed over their chests like sassy teenage bodyguards who were not amused.

Our audience was thrilled.

“Uh, Coach?”

Vince turned, and I caught sight of Milton Hostetter… or his brother. His face had been spared for the most part, but that pretty blond hair was now a lovely shade of pink. Oh, Lord. Amie Jo was going to kill me.