Stealing Parker (Hundred Oaks #2)
Page 17“You stayed up late texting?” I tease. “That was very wrong of you. You should be removed as captain. You are a horrible influence on these young minds.”
He laughs, his brown hair flopping in the wind. “You’re the bad influence.”
“Me?” I blurt.
“You’re jogging with me. All the other girls want to be like you. They’re gonna be all over me now.” He jerks his head, indicating I should look behind us, and sure enough, Kate Kelly and Emily Mansfield are following, checking us out. Those girls are goody two-shoes who go to my church, and started ignoring me after Mom left. Everyone knows Kate’s had a huge crush on Corndog for a century.
“I highly doubt anyone wants to be like me,” I say, wiping sweat off my forehead.
“You slaughtered my GPA and ruined my lifelong dream of being valedictorian and—”
“Corndog!” Brian yells, waving his hand in a circle. “Pick up the pace.”
“Coach, come on!” Corndog snaps, but he starts running faster than I could ever hope to run.
I go back to jogging by myself, and when I pass Brian, he narrows his eyes and mouths, “Corndog?”
I shake my head and give him a knowing smile. I feel a shift: Brian doesn’t have all the power. Is he waiting on me to make a move?
insurance paperwork, monster burgers, and matching furniture
39 days until i turn 18
Saturday’s game is at home.
We’re playing Coffee County Central, one of the biggest schools in Middle Tennessee. They are damned good at baseball. Better than Hundred Oaks. Every year when we play them, we play for the Coffee Pot. It’s a trophy in the shape of a coffee pot. It’s stupid, really, but all these guys would go to war for that trophy. Anyhow, Brian is taking this game super seriously and keeps taking the stats book out of my hand, combing over the numbers, and handing it back.
And he doesn’t mention last night’s conversation at all. We chatted online for a few minutes before he went out with a high school friend. I prayed that “bowling with an old buddy” isn’t code for “I’m having sex with Coach Vixen tonight.”
Are you wearing a bowling shirt? I had asked.
Brian Hoffman: No. A button down. What are you wearing? :)
A bowling shirt, I lied.
Brian Hoffman: LOL
I garnered some guts and typed, I wish I could go bowling with you.
Brian Hoffman: Oh yeah?
Parker Shelton: I want to hang out with you. Alone. Together. You know?
Brian Hoffman: Like in the closet at church last week? :)
We could hang out in a nuclear reactor for all I care, I pressed Enter and pulled a deep breath.
The cursor blinked and blinked.
Brian Hoffman: You’re fun. I wish we could hang out too…
I decided to play the hard-to-get card, I guess it’ll never happen, eh?
Brian Hoffman: I don’t know about never.
Parker Shelton: It’s too bad it can’t be sooner rather than never.
Brian Hoffman: I know, I know……I have to run.
Parker Shelton: Ok, see you tomorrow at the game.
Brian Hoffman: See you.
Right as I was about to sign off, Brian wrote, Soon. We’ll hang out soon.
I did a bit of Internet sleuthing after our call. I looked up the age of consent for Tennessee. Not because I think Brian and I will have sex, but because I wanted to know how bad this is. My wanting him. Turns out the age of consent is 18, unless the partner is less than four years older.
That scared me, but nonetheless, now I find myself hoping that hanging out soon means today.
While most of the team is on the field during the top of the seventh inning, and we’re losing four to one, Brian’s leaning over onto his knee and yelling at Travis Lake to get into the game at shortstop.
I take a chance and tug on his jersey sleeve.
“What?” he asks, barely throwing me a glance.
“How was bowling?”
“Boring. It was just me and Evan.”
“Evan is boring?”
“He’s no Parker.” He smiles slightly, then claps a couple of times and hollers to Jake Sanders that he’s pitching a great inning. “Evan spent the whole time talking about how he hates changing his kid’s diapers.”
“That should be a lesson to you,” I say, barely able to contain my laughter.
“Oh?”
“Maybe you should hang out with me while you’ve got the chance.” I can’t believe how bold I am toward him.
“Focus on stats, will you?” he says, chewing his gum and smiling.
We lose the Coffee Pot five to one. After storing the coolers in the equipment shed, I head back across the field toward the bike racks. The softball team is already warming up for their game.
“How old do you think he is?” Laura asks Allie, gazing over at Brian.
“Twenty-three,” I say, skipping past. I can’t help but smile, because I know the answers to everything they want to know.
“Parker,” Brian calls, beckoning me with two fingers. I can feel Laura’s eyes burning holes in me.
I hustle up to him, summoning my cutest smile. He adjusts his cap and chomps on his gum. “Have any plans this afternoon?” he asks quietly.
“You know the park by Little Duck River?”
I nod.
“I’ll be there with Brandy at about four o’clock. She likes the water.”
“That river has water moccasins! You shouldn’t let Brandy play in there.”
“Aw, come on. My dog ain’t afraid of no snake. Snakes are scared of my dog.”
“Oh, is that it?” I laugh.
From beside his truck, Corndog calls out from across the parking lot, “You need a ride home, Parker?” He jingles his keys.
“I’ve got my bike, but thanks!” I smile and wave.
Corndog nods slowly. He looks a bit sad. “Have a good night then!”
“Someone’s got a crush on Parker,” Brian says in a sing-song tone only I can hear.
“Shut up, you.” I’m tempted to slap his arm playfully, but Laura and Allie are here and I’m sure they’re looking this way. Do they suspect anything? Do they know I want Brian bad?
One thing’s for sure: any problem can be solved with a big slobbery dog named Brandy.
The sun is low and the sky is a dark blue when I lock my bike, shove my hands in my jacket pockets, and skip toward the stream.
I stroll along the creek, admiring the tall green reeds sticking out of the water. Rocks and mud line the banks. I keep an eye out for frogs and turtles and lizards and snakes—I’d like to see them. I toss a few stones in the water.
A dog barks, and I lift my head to find Brian coming my way, being pulled by a big black lab. I glance around quickly to make sure we’re alone, then rush toward them.
He’s wearing flip flops, worn jeans, and a faded Titans sweatshirt. No cap—his black wavy hair hangs loose. I want to weave my fingers into it.
“Hey,” I say to Brian. I get down on one knee, feeling mud soak through my jeans, and start scratching Brandy’s ears and kissing her face. “You are gorgeous,” I tell the dog. I hug her neck and pat her back and she barks and paws at me and wags her tail. “You are the sweetest.”
“Thanks,” Brian says, smiling down at me, the leash wrapped tightly around his fist.
“I was talking to Brandy. Duh.”
Brian squats and rubs Brandy’s neck while staring at my face. “This is much better than hanging out in a janitor’s closet.”
“I’m fine with hanging out wherever.” I look in his eyes.
“Want to walk?”
“Sure,” I say, bouncing to my feet. Brandy jumps, and her paws get muddy prints on my pink shirt.
“Brandy, behave, girl!” Brian exclaims, securing her leash. His eyes run over the dirt on my clothes. “Sorry…”
I wave a hand. “Can I hold her leash?” He hands it to me. Brandy jumps up again, to try to lick my face and I say, “Good dog.”
Brandy hauls me down to the water and starts drinking. Then she hops in and splashes around the rocks. “Brandy, be careful! There are snakes in there.”
Brian appears beside me and plays with my shirt sleeve. My heart beats like crazy. I have to control my breathing.
“You’re hilarious, you know that?” he asks.
“I am Elaine.”
He lifts his eyebrows, so I go on to tell him about how I play Elaine for Drew, Corndog, and Sam sometimes, and that makes Brian laugh so hard.
“So you go sit at Jiffy Burger and talk about nothing?” he asks, grinning like a madman.
“Don’t make fun of me!”
“I’m not, it’s funny. I totally would’ve done that in high school.”
“When you weren’t in detention or suspended, you mean.”
“You got me.”
We wander by the creek, and Brian picks up sticks and rocks to lob into the water. The air is perfect—cool, with a dash of spring. For a while we don’t talk. We listen to the wind and Brandy’s barking and slobbering. Soon we’re under a bridge. The concrete supports are covered by colorful graffiti like “I’m an audio pirate!” and “Crips” and “AW + TG.”
Brandy tugs on her leash, pulling me forward.
“I think that’s enough, Brand,” Brian says, taking her leash back. His fingers graze my skin before he squats down to whisper to his dog.
Aside from nudging me or playing with my shirt and other meek attempts at flirting, he hasn’t made a move. Do I have to wear the pants? I peek down at his face—pensive, as he pets her black coat.
I thrust my hand toward him. He looks at it, then at my eyes before taking it and standing. I lace my fingers with his. The wind gently threads through his black hair.
“Parker…I don’t want you to get the wrong idea—”
“What idea?”
He looks at our hands again, then strokes mine with a thumb. It feels so good I moan softly like I did that day in class. Only this time, I’m a hell of a lot more embarrassed.
“What idea?” I press.
“This.” He holds up our entwined hands. “It’s not a good idea.”
He’s right, it’s wrong, and I should care, but I don’t. And I tell him as much. His eyes grow wide. I keep moving closer to him, and he doesn’t run or jump into the river or anything, so I squeeze his hand tighter. Brandy jerks her leash, trying to pull Brian away from me. His gaze never leaves mine as he says, “Brandy, come on, girl. Sit.”
The dog collapses at his feet, and Brian secures the leash around his hand as I put my hands on his hips. He shudders. With his free hand, he touches my hair and laughs softly at my tangles. The thumping of my heart threatens to drown out Brandy’s panting and the sound of water lapping over rocks.
I get up on tiptoes and stroke his stubble. I glance at his lips, then at his eyes. He’s focusing on my mouth. He digs fingers into my hip. Now or never.