Dating the Quarterback (The Bet Duet Book 2) Page 3

  Her lips quirked up oddly as she cast a sidelong glance in my direction. “I don’t know, is your word of honor something I should be impressed by? Were you, like, a knight in a former life or something?”

  I nodded, feigning seriousness. “Yes. I was one of the knights of the round table. You caught me.”

  Her lips twitched with grudging amusement. “So, I should call you…what? Lancelot?”

  I scoffed. “Oh please. I’m Sir Galahad or I’m nobody.” My mind instantly flashed back to the old British movie my mom and grandfather loved to watch and I found myself donning the worst British accent of all time as I leaned over as if letting her in on a secret. “It’s only a flesh wound!”

  She looked almost confused as she looked over at me, and then it happened. I actually got a laugh. A real one complete with a smile. “Did you just…did you just quote Monty Python to me?”

  She was gorgeous.

  Her smile transformed her from kind of pretty in a plain sort of way to luminous. It lit her eyes and made her glow… Harley might have been dressed in blacks and grays, but she was the brightest thing in this hallway by far. “Have lunch with me.”

  She blinked and it was gone. “What?”

  “Have lunch with me,” I said.

  “I—what?”

  I gave her the sort of quizzical look she kept giving me. “Is English your first language? This concept should not be so difficult.”

  “I know, I just…I don’t understand.” She honestly looked confused, and I braced myself for her to accuse me of trying to set her up for a joke again. When it didn’t happen, I tried a different tack.

  “I would like you,” I said, pointing at her, “to have lunch with me.” I pointed to myself and arched my brows. “Does that clear things up?”

  She shook her head. “Why?”

  I might have been offended if she didn’t look so very perplexed and so wary. So…vulnerable, even. I was reminded of an injured puppy just waiting to be kicked again by its cruel owner.

  One thing was clear, Harley would run if I came on too strong. Heck, she was one heartbeat away from bolting even now. She was humming with tension and shifting uncomfortably like she might take off at a run given half a chance.

  “Maybe I want to be your friend,” I said.

  She stared at me in total silence, her unblinking gaze filled with disbelief.

  “Come on,” I said. “Let’s get you to your class.”

  I started walking and she was forced to follow since I had her book, and all. When we got to her door, she didn’t say anything, just took the book from me and darted into the classroom, ignoring the people who were staring at us and whispering.

  “Lunch,” I called after her. “Think about it.”

  3

  Harley

  As far as first days went, this one was proving to be interesting.

  As someone who’d made an art out of flying under the radar, I rather excelled at eavesdropping, but I didn’t have to try hard to hear talk about Conner. He was all anyone was talking about. By the time I got to my chem class later that morning, I’d heard snippets here and there about the snotty blonde cheerleader Rosalie, and about how Conner had hit on her, making enemies out of just about everyone in this school because apparently she was some other guy’s girl.

  Did I enjoy the fact that my stepbrother had crashed and burned on his first morning at Talmore High? No, of course not.

  I loved it. I adored it. I cherished his misery like the horrible person that I was. In my defense, however, the guy was way too cocky. He always had been and likely always would be. I’d known him since the fifth grade and even back then he’d had swagger.

  I mean, really. What fifth grader had swagger?

  In an outrageous act of unfairness, he’d gotten through elementary school and junior high without a single awkward phase, let alone years of braces, frizzy hair, gangly limbs, and acne like the rest of us mere mortals.

  Anyway, all this was to say, that when I overheard people talking crap about the new guy who’d dared to hit on Rosalie—AKA the school’s notorious ice queen, AKA head cheerleader mean girl extraordinaire—I wasn’t just pleased.

  I was thrilled.

  My level of happiness almost made me forget the fact that Tristan-son-of-Thor had sought me out. That he’d asked me to have lunch with him.

  That he’d quoted Monty freakin’ Python.

  My mind was blown, and the rest of me had no idea what to make out of that odd interaction. I couldn’t understand it. Nothing about it made sense—not his interest in me, not his acting like a character out of a Jane Austen novel by offering to escort me—escort me! And definitely not his knowledge of classic British comedy.

  Nothing about Tristan was what I expected from a ridiculously handsome star quarterback and that unexpectedness was just plain terrifying. It meant I couldn’t figure him out, I couldn’t peg him or place his motives. It meant he was a wild card, and I hated wild cards almost as much as I dreaded attention from jocks.

  I took a deep breath as panic raced through my system. It was just my dumb luck that I’d managed to get the attention of the school’s most alpha male on my first day in town. I’d hoped he’d have forgotten about me over the weekend. Our interaction hadn’t been that memorable.

  For him.

  That run-in couldn’t have been that memorable for him.

  Heat crept up my neck at the memory of his bare chest. Of the way I’d openly stared. Of the way he’d teased me for openly staring. That incident shouldn’t have been all that memorable for him. But for me? I’d be replaying those embarrassing moments for the rest of my life.

  And now, as I waited for the rest of the class to file in and take their seats at lab tables around me, I had way too much time to replay what had just happened in the hallway. I found myself squinting down at my notebook as I replayed it over and over as if one more analysis of the way he’d said “think about it” would help me understand his angle.

  Clearly he was playing some sort of game here, right? I mean, there was no other alternative. I wasn’t in his league as far as looks or popularity—this was not low self-esteem talking, just the facts. So, unless he was playing a trick on me, I couldn’t figure it out.

  And yet…he hadn’t seemed like he was joking. I mean, the guy wasn’t exactly expressive. Emoting was definitely not his strong suit. But I hadn’t seen malice or cruelty in his eyes. No laughter at my expense or sidelong looks while he shared a laugh with friends.

  So maybe I’d read it all wrong. Maybe he’d been nice to me…out of pity.

  Gross. That thought made me want to hurl all over again. I’d already spent the better part of this morning puking my guts out—thanks to my mom, who died when I was little, I’d inherited a nervous stomach. That was what my dad called it. Nervous stomach—a nice way of saying my body couldn’t handle new experiences. Or anything stressful, really.

  I’d reached a nice place at my old school. After being the butt of jokes and mocked openly in junior high, I’d become pretty much invisible in high school. And I was cool with that. Invisible was good. At least, it was better than being noticed because of my ugly hair or my clothes or my body or my glasses or…well, the list was endless.

  That’s all I wanted at this school, to find that same level of anonymity. Was that so much to ask?

  I looked around me and noticed that the stares had stopped now that Tristan wasn’t paying attention to me. Good. That was the way I liked it. I knew the stares we’d gotten were because everyone was likely wondering what on earth Tristan was doing with me? The nerdy new girl.

  Friends. He’d said he wanted to be friends.

  I scoffed as I opened the textbook, peering over at the book in front of the girl next to me to see what chapter she’d opened to. Book open, I took one more look around me and froze when I saw a gorgeous brunette staring back at me with an inscrutable expression.

  She was wearing a cheerleader uniform like the girls ar
ound her—a pretty redhead and a stunning blonde. Combined they looked like a Pantene commercial. All gorgeous hair, perfect skin, and don’t-hate-me-because-I’m-beautiful vibes.

  Her stare only lasted a heartbeat and then she was turning back to her friends, laughing over something the redhead had said. A curly-haired girl in front of them turned around and—that’s when it happened.

  The highlight of my day.

  When I heard them mention the hot new guy, well…I couldn’t not listen, now could I? And when I realized that the gorgeous blonde was the one-and-only Rosalie that Conner had his sights set on?

  It was practically my duty as a stepsister to listen in on every word.

  Ducking my head, I listened intently, although some of it was already old news for me. They talked about how he’d pissed off the entire football team by hitting on Rosalie—that I already knew. About the rumors that he was a drug dealer or some other crazy nonsense. I mean, sure, the guy could use a haircut and a pair of jeans that didn’t have holes, but at our old school he’d been considered a rock star, of sorts. Or at least, the high school equivalent of one.

  But apparently that alternative grungy bad boy look didn’t go over so well at the oh-so-preppy Talmore High.

  Was it bad to admit that I was beaming? My face hurt from all the grinning I did as I dipped my head and pretended to read my textbook. I almost groaned with disappointment when the teacher came in and the conversation ended.

  But not before I’d heard Rosalie tell her minions that she had no interest in Conner. None. Nada. The girl talked about him with sheer disdain that made it clear how she’d earned the ice queen nickname.

  Le sigh.

  Happy days for this girl over here. Sure, it was sour grapes or whatever, but if Conner could get taken down a peg or two, maybe being forced to be his stepsister and live together for the next two years wouldn’t be as unbearable as I’d feared.

  This new turn of events was enough to make my stomach stop its churning over the fact that Tristan had taken some sort of interest in me for unknown reasons.

  Now that my mood had improved, I could see how I’d probably just overreacted. Yeah, I’d definitely overreacted.

  I mean, the guy had probably spotted me in the hallway, remembered the stupid way I’d acted on Friday, and thought it would be funny to tease the new girl a bit by making her think she’d have lunch with the king of the jocks. Hardy har har.

  Not a big deal, though. I mean, he’d had his laugh and if I just did what I did best and kept my head down, he’d forget all about me.

  Heck, he probably already had.

  My optimism was so very premature.

  If I’d thought one morning of being the butt of the joke was enough to make a dent in Conner’s giant oversized ego, I was wrong.

  Dead wrong.

  Conner was leaning back in his seat in the cafeteria like he was the king of the world. Like he owned this school, just like he’d owned our last school. It didn’t seem to faze him that the only people he was currently posing for were me and some oddball named Lars who Conner had apparently befriended.

  “…all I did was tease a cheerleader a little,” Conner said with that irritating little smirk of his that said this was all part of his plan. That he had no doubt whatsoever that everyone would fall at his feet in adoration.

  I didn’t know which was more annoying—the fact that he didn’t seem to care that he wasn’t beloved or that he was so sure that he would be soon enough.

  Seriously, this guy’s ego knew no bounds.

  An age-old anger had my hands clenching into fists beneath the table. He was so freakin’ confident, and so incredibly naïve. The guy had never been the new kid before. He had no idea how hard it was for normal people to fit in. He’d never even thought about the fact that this was a new school with a new popular crowd that played by its own set of rules.

  Talking to him for a few minutes over lunch that first day, it was clear I already knew so much more about this school than he did because I didn’t make assumptions, I listened and learned and did my research. “She’s not just a cheerleader,” I said. “She’s the ice queen.”

  I sort of hissed it because I didn’t want anyone to overhear me talking about Rosalie. The girl kind of scared me, and her friends were even scarier. They were exactly the type of people whose attention I so did not want.

  But did Conner care? Nope. He laughed.

  He laughed.

  “That’s ridiculous,” he said.

  “That’s what they call her,” I said.

  Lars leapt to my defense. “It’s true.”

  I cast Lars a sidelong look. I didn’t know why Conner was sitting with this guy, but I was not a fan. He was…weird. I mean, he didn’t seem psycho or anything, but he seemed way too entertained by Conner’s first-day troubles. Sure, maybe I was a hypocrite for thinking that, but I had reason to enjoy Conner’s misery.

  “Whatever. I’m not intimidated by her,” Conner said.

  “Oh, that’s right, I forgot.” I kept my voice low and even to hide my disgust at his calm confidence. “You can have any girl you want.”

  Lars nearly choked on his sandwich. “Is that true?”

  I was dimly aware of Conner responding, explaining how he was God’s gift to women, no doubt. I didn’t catch their exchange because for a second I was stunned stupid.

  Tristan was looking at me.

  He was staring straight at me from where he sat surrounded by football goons in the middle of the cafeteria. I felt pinned in place as heat and ice flooded my system at once making me shiver.

  I hadn’t seen him when I’d walked into the cafeteria, and when Conner had waved me over I’d gone over to join him with relief. I might not have liked my stepbrother but joining him and his creepy friend was better than sitting alone on my first day. And it had given me an excuse to not even look around for Tristan. Not that he’d really wanted me to join him, anyway. Obviously. But still…

  Tristan looked away first and I let out an exhale as he turned to respond to something his friend said. With a little shake of my head I rejoined the conversation to find—surprise, surprise—Conner telling Lars that it was just a matter of time before he was running this school.

  Did he even know the rumors that were spreading about him? I was thinking of the conversations I’d overheard, the way everyone talked about Conner like he was the loser for once…

  I smirked. Okay, maybe I even scoffed.

  “You’re enjoying this,” Conner said, his tone accusatory.

  “Watching the king of my old high school finally get a dose of reality?” I shrugged. “I’m not hating it.”

  I was loving it.

  “What about you?” he asked. “I suppose you’ve had an amazing morning befriending people left and right.”

  It was the mockery in his eyes that had me growing hot with fury. He looked so smug, like such a know-it-all. Because he did know. He knew me. Or at least, he thought he did. We’d been going to school together for years so he thought he knew everything about me.

  But in all those years, he’d never really talked to me, he’d never tried to be my friend or paid any attention to what I did because I wasn’t one of the pretty people.

  Conner always thought he knew everything about everyone, but he was wrong.

  Out of the corner of my eye I spotted Rosalie and her friends enter the cafeteria. That’s when it occurred to me. His ignorance could be my bliss.

  As soon as the thought came to me it fled, along with every other thought in my head.

  Why?

  Because Tristan O’Hare was walking across the cafeteria…straight toward me.

  4

  Tristan

  She was ignoring me.

  The girl blatantly ignored me when I approached.

  Head down, she stared at her pizza like it was talking to her. I honestly didn’t know whether to be amused or offended.

  I also had no idea what I was doing right now. I c
ould feel the eyes on me. People were watching, not that I really cared. I no longer listened when they gossiped just because I gave a girl a ride home when she’d had too much to drink at a party.

  Let people say I went home with her or whatever. Let them paint me as the player or the hero…heck, they could even paint me as a villain. I had nothing to hide. I’d stopped caring about the gossip a long time ago. I wasn’t going to try and show them who I was, and I wasn’t out to prove myself to anyone.

  Ever.

  Except for maybe right now.

  I stopped beside her table, aware of the fact that the new guy was eyeing me, giving me that look that wondered if I was friend or foe. I had no idea who he was to Harley, but it was clear they knew each other. Friend? Brother?

  I took one look at him and then turned my gaze down on Harley. Or rather, the top of Harley’s head.

  What was I doing there? I didn’t even know.

  No, that wasn’t quite true. I was trying to prove to her that I’d meant it earlier. I’d wanted her to join me. I mean, if she didn’t feel comfortable around me or my friends, that was fine. She could eat with the new guy and creepy Lars, if that was what she wanted.

  It wasn’t the fact that she’d rejected my offer that had me staring down at her, but that she thought I hadn’t meant it. At best, she’d thought I was being nice or something, but at worst…

  She thought I was making fun of her.

  That stung, and I didn’t know why.

  Like I’d said, I didn’t worry about what people thought of me. I hadn’t for a long time. But then again, no one had ever looked at me like I was the bad guy before. I mean, I’d seen the movies, I knew the stereotypes, but I never thought anyone actually believed them. At least, not when it came to me.

  “Hey, Harley.”

  She didn’t look up.

  “Guess you’re not sitting with us for lunch?”

  “Guess not.” I barely heard her response since she was still refusing to look at me and her voice was little more than a mumble.