Page 51 of Rock Bottom Girl
There, leaning against one of the bleacher supports all James Dean-y, was Jake freaking Weston.
My heart gave a little pitter-pat somersault in my chest.
“Hey, Jake,” I said lamely. I was in a committed relationship. I shouldn’t be having a physical reaction to the very non-Travis guy before me.
He was wearing a leather jacket and jeans. A flannel shirt was tied around his waist. And he had a chain peeking out of his pocket. His hair was a little longer than fashionable. Like he was too cool to care about things like haircuts and grooming.
“Thought you’d be watching your boyfriend play,” he said with that sexy rebel smirk.
Jake had worked his way through an impressive portion of the female sex in our class and last year’s graduating class. Rumor had it a substitute teacher had her eye on him.
“Just needed some air,” I said. Well, that was a stupid thing to say. We were outside. There was nothing but air out here.
“You know what I think?” he asked.
I shook my head. I should have walked away, but my feet were moving toward him as if he were using some kind ofStar Trektractor beam on me. It was the facial hair, I decided. It drew me in like a platter of chocolate-covered donuts.
I’d known of him for a few years since he’d transferred to Culpepper from New Jersey in the middle of our sophomore year. We were in the same class in a very small school. But he remained an enigma in a way the guys I had gone to kindergarten with couldn’t.
He walked different. Talked different. Carried himself different.
“What do you think?” I asked, stopping a careful two feet away.
Jake pushed away from the support and took a step into my space. He was taller than me. I liked that, too.
Nervous, I took a short step back and found a metal post pressing into my back.
He advanced on me slowly like a lion prowling toward a fat, sick gazelle. Jake rested a hand above me and leaned in. “I think you’re with the wrong guy, Mars.”
Yeah, I was imagining this. I was standing in line waiting for my brown sugar water from Sue Clempet, Booster Club president who wore not one but two crosses around her neck should anyone fail to notice the first one. I was not under the bleachers, breathing in the clean, naughty scent of the class rebel while my very nice boyfriend was probably scoring another goal on the field.
I blinked. Then I worked my mouth closed when my jaw started to hurt.
“Uh. What?” I asked.
He had really pretty lips. For a guy. They quirked up in one corner, amused by my gazelleness.
“I don’t think Travis is the guy for you,” Jake said, running a thumb over my jawline.
My heart was hammering against my ribs so hard I worried they might crack and puncture a lung. That would not be cool. “What makes you say that?” I asked mechanically. I was a robot needing input.
“You’re the highlight of English class,” he said, rubbing that thumb over my lower lip. Danger! Danger! Warning bells clunked and clanged to life.
“Go on.”
He grinned, and my knees nearly buckled. This was what I was missing from Travis. This insane physical reaction. The sweaty palms. The ragged breathing. The dark pleasure of knowing I was about to make a huge, amazing mistake.
“See? That right there. You entertain me.”
Entertain like a puppet show kind of thing or a sexy exotic dancer slithering down a pole? There was an important difference.
“I entertain you?” I repeated.
“I think we’d have fun together.”
Travis talked about our future. Applying for the same colleges. Whether or not we could talk our parents into letting us go to the beach together this summer. Asking me what I wanted for Christmas.
Jake talked about fun.
