Page 9

CHAPTER 9

CHRISTINE

S etting my book down, I stretch my arms over my head and then tip my head from one side to the other. I’ve been lost in this story for hours now, and if I don’t get up and move around, I’m going to leave an ass-shaped indentation in this chair my mom and Bert bought me while they were in Virginia. It’s extremely comfortable and makes it even easier to lose track of time while enjoying a good book. They also purchased a desk and computer chair for me to use when school starts. I’ll be spending innumerable hours there starting in a few weeks.

“I’m sorry, E.Z., but I need to move now.” He’s been in my lap for as long as I’ve been reading, and as much as I hate to dislodge him, the time has come. I shift him to the chair beside me and give him a quick scratch behind his ears before I stand.

I hear a ding alerting me to a text message. I rise from the deep chair and get my phone from the nightstand.

Griffin: Can you please come down and help me with something?

Whoa. I wasn’t expecting to see a message from him. Before Bert left, he made sure the two of us exchanged numbers in case my car breaks down or any other emergency arises.

Me: Be right there.

I send the text and then toss my phone on the bed before making my way downstairs. I find Griffin in the kitchen, where it looks like a natural disaster has occurred. His counters are covered with various things, leaving hardly an inch of free space.

I halt in the middle of the room. “Yikes. What happened here?”

“I’m having a New Year’s Eve party tonight and was trying to prepare some food. I got overwhelmed by all this stuff, and I don’t know where to begin.”

“What dishes are you planning to make?”

“Mostly appetizers. I bought stuff to make meatballs, and there are a lot of cold cuts.”

“Don’t panic. I’ll help you get it all taken care of.” It’s in situations like this that my organizational skills come in handy. “Let me check out all your supplies and figure out what needs to be done first.” I look over the groceries spread about his counters. “You got ground beef. Do you know how to make meatballs?”

He shakes his head. “No, but how hard can it be?”

“It’s not difficult at all. I’ll get you started making those while I come up with a plan of attack.”

He snickers.

“What’s funny about that?”

“Nothing, really. Hearing the word ‘attack’ come out of such a tiny person amused me.”

I roll my eyes. “Not everything comes down to physical strength. I’ll take my brain over brawn any day.”

“How do you figure?”

“Well, you called me to help you because even with all those big muscles”—I wave my hand at the mess—“all of this is overwhelming. And I’m going to organize this disaster and turn it into what you were hoping for.”

He leans back against the island and nods. “Okay, I’ll give you that. Where do we start?”

“Do you have large mixing bowls?”

“Yep.” He turns, opening an upper cabinet. He pulls one out, setting it on the counter.

I grab all the supplies we’ll need and carry them over to the island. I start adding ingredients to the bowl, and when I’m finished I ask, “Are your hands clean?”

“Yeah.”

“Then get over here and start mixing this.”

“Let me grab a spoon.”

“Nope. Don’t need one. Put your hands in here and mix it all.”

He shrugs. “If you say so.”

“What do you usually do when you want meatballs?”

He removes his sweatshirt, leaving him in a fitted t-shirt. “I usually buy a bag of frozen ones or order takeout from an Italian restaurant I like.” He sinks his hands into the bowl and begins working at mixing all the ingredients.

“Now you’ll know how to do this yourself.”

He smirks. “I will, but I’ll probably still get takeout. At least during football season.”

“That’s understandable with the long days of training. How do you handle the daily fatigue your body must feel?”

“I’m used to it. I don’t remember what it’s like to not have some sort of ache or pain. Even during the off season I hit the gym hard, so there’s always some sort of discomfort. But I like it because it means I’m pushing myself to be better.”

I wrinkle my nose, and he notices.

“What?”

“I hate sore muscles.”

“A lot of people do. But our bodies are made to move.”

“I move. It’s just at a slow and steady pace. I’m like a tortoise.”

He laughs. “I’m sure once school starts for you, you’ll be walking all over campus. That’s movement.”

“I will.”

“Are you looking forward to your classes starting?”

A smile curves my lips at the thought. “I am. I love learning like you love training. It’s part of who I am. No matter how old I get, I never want to stop filling my brain with knowledge.”

“You’re such a nerd.” He winks at me.

Damn . He made that look so sexy. Is there a gene that some men have that makes them predisposed to being “cool”? I should google that.

“I think this is all mixed. What now?” he asks, his hands raised over the bowl.

“You’re going to roll the meatballs and put them on here.” I set a large cookie sheet down in front of him. “Make them all the same size.”

“Sounds easy enough.”

While he’s busy with that, I find a platter and start rolling the deli meats like my mom always does for parties. The whole process goes quickly, and I move on to slicing rolls.

“I’m all done,” he announces as he places the bowl in the sink and washes his hands.

“Good. You can go now.”

“Huh?” He pauses in the middle of drying his hands.

“I’ll take care of the rest.”

“No. I want to help.”

“Okay. Cut up the vegetables.”

He doesn’t know it but he just passed a test. If he left when I told him to, I’d know he was selfish. But he didn’t. And now I have another reason to like him.

I’m hiding in my room to avoid all the people Griffin invited over. I hear music and the occasional shout of voices, but I have no idea how many people are here. He told me a small get together, but I have a feeling our definitions of what that entails differ. He also extended an invitation to me, but I passed. I’m not big on parties no matter the size. And being in a room full of strangers makes me want to crawl out of my skin. I’d much rather be up here alone and reading.

A knock on my door has my head raising. A second knock has me calling out, “Come in.”

The door opens and two smiling women walk in.

“Hi. I’m Scarlett.” The tall, brunette smiles.

“And I’m Autumn.” The shorter, curvy blonde waves.

“Hi. I’m Christine.”

Scarlett nods. “We know.”

“How do you know who I am?”

“Griffin mentioned you,” Autumn answers.

Now I’m curious what he said.

“We came up here to get you,” Scarlett adds.

“Why?”

“Because we want you to join the party,” Autumn explains.

“Err… I’m not a fan of parties.”

Scarlett walks toward me, stopping in front of my chair. “You’re not alone. Autumn doesn’t love them either.”

Autumn comes forward. “I really don’t. I can’t tell you how many times Scarlett has dragged me out to a bar or a party. But I promise we’ll be right by your side the whole time.”

“You two seem like you’ve been friends for a long time,” I say.

Scarlett nods. “We met freshman year of high school, and Autumn has been stuck with me ever since.”

Autumn laughs. “Isn’t that the truth? Scarlett took my grumpy, anti-social ass under her wing, and she’s been bossing me around ever since.”

“How do you know Griffin?”

Is one of them his girlfriend? And why did my stomach sink at the thought?

“I met him through Rogan, my boyfriend,” Autumn replies, referring to the Silverbacks quarterback. “And also my job. I run the Silverbacks’ social media.”

“And I met him through Rogan when the two of them started dating. Also, Cooper is my boyfriend,” Scarlett tells me, and I recall he’s the tight end.

“You date teammates? Don’t you get tired of seeing each other?”

Autumn snorts. “We also own a house together.”

My eyes open wider as they ping back and forth between them.

“Well, once she and Rogan got together, she began staying at his house most of the time,” Scarlett says.

“Which works out well since Cooper stays at our house a lot,” Autumn defends.

“That’s true.” Scarlett nods her agreement and then glances at me. “It’s time to put your book away and join the party.”

“What? No. I can’t do that.”

“Sure you can. Stand up and come downstairs with us.” Autumn’s fingers mimic walking.

“Let’s go.” Scarlett tips her head toward the doorway. “We’re not taking no for an answer.” She tries to look stern, but her blue eyes are filled with amusement.

Slowly sliding to the edge of the seat, I stand. Autumn and Scarlett both grimace when they get a look at my ratty and stained Just a girl who loves books sweatshirt and the purple and orange plaid flannel pajama bottoms I’m wearing.

“You should change your clothes,” Scarlett suggests.

“But I like what I’m wearing. It’s comfortable.”

“I understand, but it’s a party, not a middle school sleepover. Let’s find something comfortable and suitable for being around other people,” Scarlett says, making a beeline for my closet. She opens the door and flips the light switch. I hear the hangers sliding on the rack as she checks out my clothes. I don’t have a lot of variety. She reappears with black jeans and a purple sweater that still has the tags from when my mom bought it for me, and drops them on my bed. “Get dressed.”

“Don’t bother disagreeing. She just gets bossier,” Autumn tells me.

“Can you turn around?” I’m not used to changing in front of others—not even my boyfriend in college.

“We’ll go look for shoes,” Scarlett says, tugging her friend into the closet.

I quickly change into the black jeans. After wearing pajama pants all day, these feel snug and unyielding. Finding a pair of scissors in my desk drawer, I cut the tags from the sweater before dragging it over my head. Like the jeans, it conforms to my body and makes me long for a baggy garment.

“I’m dressed,” I call out.

Autumn reappears first, shoving a pair of black Chucks at me. She whispers, “Put these on before Scarlett gets out here.”

I hurry to get them on my feet. “Thanks. These are my favorite.”

She stretches one foot toward me, showing off the same brand. “I’ve got your back.”

Scarlett steps from the closet, holding a pair of black boots. She takes one look at my feet and stops, sighing loudly. Spinning around, she disappears back inside. When she reappears, her hands are empty. “You need to fix your hair.”

Autumn elbows my arm. “See? Bossy.”

Scarlett ignores her to answer me. “Just trust me on this.”

I move into the attached bathroom and flip on the light. What I see reflected from the mirror isn’t good. Some of my hair is up in a ponytail while the rest has fallen. Tugging the elastic free, I brush through the thick strands and they fall straight to my shoulders. Opening a drawer under the sink, I grab my favorite lipgloss, slicking some on.

Scarlett steps through the open doorway. “Wow. What a difference.”

Autumn joins us. “You’re so naturally beautiful. It’s not fair.”

Me, beautiful? My mom has always thought I was but doesn’t every mother automatically think their child is? I can’t remember anyone else ever saying that to me. Not even past boyfriends.

“Thank you. But next to you two, I feel invisible.” It’s the truth. Scarlett looks like a runway model and Autumn has curves for days.

“Are you ready to meet some football players?” Scarlett asks, grinning.

“Not at all.” I wrap an arm across my stomach where nerves have come alive.

“It’ll be more fun than you think,” Autumn reassures me.

That’s a relief since I’m imagining it being worse than a dentist visit, which is my least favorite thing in the world.

Scarlett hooks her arm through mine, leading me from the bathroom. “Let’s get this party started.”

Let’s not.