ME: don’t know but my mom keeps telling me “there’s pimento loaf in the fridge if ur hungry.” That was days ago. I’m afraid to look.
FLETCH: yeah, u should be. Don’t bring anything
ME: nothing?
FLETCH: nothing. Srsly. I got it covered
…
I’m breaking one of the first Junior League rules that I learned—don’t show up at someone’s house without bringing something. But then again, I brought Jamie. Maybe that counts. Maybe I should have warned Fletch about the additional guest, but I was too afraid he’d be scared away, and Jamie could really use some of Fletch’s Civics knowledge to help him pass this class. But it’s probably better if I don’t mention that part to Fletch.
I set one white sandal onto Fletch’s driveway, the car door only halfway open, when a herd of dogs comes running at us. Before I can even process this development, the back door flies open and Fletch is jumping in front of the dogs, commanding them to stay. The big yellow lab sits immediately, but the other two brown ones fuel their energy into pacing in a circle, knowing they aren’t supposed to jump on us.
“Holy shit,” Jamie says, stepping out of the car and assessing the property. “You ever thought about having a party out here? It would be kick-ass.”
Fletcher does a double take after hearing Jamie. But he doesn’t say anything about this extra guest.
I throw Jamie a warning look. We’re serious academics, remember? Then I smile at Fletch. “He’s kidding.”
Jamie eyes the lake out past the barn. “I’m totally not.”
“Jamie’s looking for ideas for his project,” I say. “He’s here for inspiration.”
Even I think that’s crossing the corny line, but Fletch doesn’t say a word. I look him over for the first time since arriving. He has on jeans and boots, like he’s been outside working. I know they run some sort of farm here, but I don’t know much about it. His hair is messy as usual, and he attempts to smooth it like he’d forgotten we were coming over. He’s also wearing a T-shirt that says I’m mentally correcting your grammar.
Yep, I’d say I picked a good partner.
“Not much of a party guy,” Fletch says. He pats the yellow lab on the head, whispering “good girl,” then he leads us inside. The house is pretty old, but the kitchen is immaculate—brand-new steel counters and cabinets, spotless tile floors, all the appliances sparkling. The living room is more lived in and a little closer to what my house looks like inside. Except minus anything remotely feminine. This place is a man cave, no doubt. Fletch waves a hand at the coffee table, where someone has laid out some odd-looking crackers, sliced meat, and lots of fruit. By fruit, I mean pieces of fruit randomly strewn across the table. “Help yourself.”
The big man-cave flat-screen is playing a baseball game, muted. Someone moves in the recliner facing the TV, and I spot a pair of skinny legs resting on the wood floors and some blond hair poking from the top of the chair—Cole Clooney.
I turn quickly to Fletcher, my eyes narrowed. He shoves his black-rimmed glasses back to the bridge of his nose. He’s done that move three times in questionable situations. I’d say that’s a habit to take notice of.
Jamie is busy examining the strange crackers and shoving meat in his mouth while trying to say hi to Cole. I almost elbow him to remind him to use his manners, but then I remember that we’re in a man cave and those rules might not apply. Instead, I tug the sleeve of Fletch’s T-shirt. “I forgot my bag in the car. Can you help me get it?”
“I’ll do it,” Jamie says, more out of obligation than actual willingness.
“Nope, I need Fletch to keep the muddy dogs from pawing my white dress.”
Fletch looks annoyed by my comment about his dogs, but follows me anyway. When we get to my car, I reach in the back and grab my bag, slinging it over my shoulder. I spin to face Fletch. “What are you up to?”
His eyes widen, all innocent-looking. “I’m not—”
“Yes, you are. I thought your ‘you should hang out with my cousin’ comment the other day was odd, but now it makes sense.” I tap my foot and wait for him to confess. He doesn’t, of course. “Are you so naive that you think I’m not aware of Cole’s little crush on me?”
The dogs choose that moment to exit the barn and come barreling at us. Fletch lifts a hand to stop them, but I shove it away. “It’s fine.”
The two chocolate labs are the first to get a dirt-covered paw on me, leaving several marks up my dress. But the yellow lab hangs back.
I laugh at the paw prints and then reach a hand out to pet the yellow lab. “Look at you, you’re the good one, aren’t you?” I bend down and sit on the gravel driveway with the dogs, then look up at Fletch. “He or she?”
“They’re all girls,” he says, then pats the yellow lab on the head. “She’s mine. Vixen.”
“Vixen?”
He nods and then points to the other two. “Prancer and Dancer. They were born on Christmas Eve.”
I turn my attention back to Vixen, my hands now rubbing under her ears. She licks my cheek and wags her tail. “She’s so happy. Are you sure she’s your dog?”
Fletcher kicks a rock in my direction, but there’s a tiny hint of amusement on his face. “She’s not happy. She’s fierce. Vixen! Attack!” he commands, snapping his fingers.
The other two dogs sprint toward the mailbox and start barking at nothing—there’s nothing around here—but Vixen stays put and continues licking my cheek and sniffing my neck.
I’ve forgotten why we even came out here. My dog addiction took over. “I’ve always wanted a dog, but my dad’s allergic. Cats, too.” I look into Vixen’s brown eyes. “You would come with me if I invited you, right? You can sleep in my bed and lay on a pile of clean laundry if you want.” The other day, Jamie’s mom screamed at their dog, Alpha, for sitting on clean laundry. I wanted to strangle her after that. The way his little head hung down when he trotted away, it was heartbreaking.
“Maybe if you make her a glittery invitation…”
Fletch has his thumbs jammed into his pockets, and he’s leaning against my car. For a quiet, nerdy type, he has an ease about him. He’s comfortable in his own skin. This is probably my biggest issue with Cole. It was the same thing with the sophomore I dated briefly last fall. Call me horrible, but when a guy talks to me—especially when he kisses me—I want him to be in control, I want him to be sure of himself. I’m over the boys.
But speaking of Cole…
“So, Cole…” I pull myself back on my feet and dust off as well as I can. “It’s not gonna happen. If that’s the only reason you agreed to be my partner, then I think you should change your RSVP to no.”
Fletcher stares at my dress and then shoves his glasses again. Hmmm…
“Is that the only reason you agreed?” I press. Of course I figured he had some ulterior motive, but I assumed he either wanted me to shut up and saying yes might make that happen, or he thought maybe all the partnerships were figured out since he’d left class early that day.
The way he diverts his gaze and scratches his head, I already know the answer. “Does it really matter? I’ll do the project. It’s no big deal. Just go in there and talk to him for a few minutes.”
“I’ll talk to him, and you’ll do the project?” I’m trying not to ball my hands into fists, but seriously? What the hell?
“I’m not saying you have to lie to him or anything,” Fletch explains. “You’re into helping people and all that shit, right? The kid needs practice talking to girls. Just help him out. And don’t worry about the project. I got it covered.”
I blow the loose hair off my face and then draw in a slow, deep breath. Don’t yell, Haley. Or swear at him. Be a lady. “You know what I think? Cole’s not the only one who needs lessons in how to talk to girls.”
Vixen must be one of those dogs who sense when humans are upset, because she moves to my side immediately, rubbing her sweet, happy face against my thigh. See? I don’t need a boyfriend, I need
a dog. I reach down to pet Vixen again. “You are so sweet. Just don’t let that grouchy guy rub off on you.”
Fletcher folds his arms across his chest. He looks pissed. Good. “So I’m mean now? Why? Because I didn’t accept your fucking cookies? Are you really that self-involved, Haley? I’m a horrible person because the Princess of Juniper Falls gave me a gift and I didn’t want it?”
I swallow back the overflowing anger. His words are too close to the ones Tate shouted at me so many months ago. Back then, he’d been kind of right. I was scared and thought I needed him, but my words and behavior had been shallow and selfish. But I’ve come a long way since then, and I’m not about to let Fletcher Scott label me as that girl again.
“I’m gonna go in there…” I point a finger at the door. “And I’m going to talk to your cousin because you’re right, I do like helping people. But as far as the project goes, you don’t get to do it by yourself. You’re stuck with me. Consider it your punishment for being an asshole.”
Fletch’s mouth falls open in surprise, but I don’t wait for him to come up with some asshole reply. With my bag on my shoulder again, I fling the back door open and stomp inside.
Chapter Seven
–Fletcher–
Haley’s sitting on my couch, her back perfectly straight, her face calm and relaxed—not like someone covered in dirt who called me an asshole fifteen minutes ago. Jamie’s sprawled out beside her, piling the last of my smoked turkey breast into his mouth. Cole is pretending to watch the baseball game, but really, he’s sneaking glances at Haley’s legs.
When she sat on the driveway with my dogs, her short dress drifted up high enough for me to see a flash of pink panties. And I hadn’t looked away. So yeah, maybe I am an asshole.
“Cole?” Haley says.
My pen slips from my hand. She really is going to talk to him.
Cole spins the recliner so he’s facing us, his cheeks already bright red. I refrain from rolling my eyes, but Jamie doesn’t. He even shakes his head. And I honestly have no idea what Jamie is even doing here. Is he Haley’s bodyguard? Are they dating? It doesn’t seem like they are.
“While we’re both here,” Haley says to Cole, “can I ask you a few questions for the Otter blog? I’m doing a guest post in July.”
“Me?” Cole’s voice cracks.
Haley keeps her head ducked, writing something in her notebook, and then she looks up again, plastering on a smile. “Yep, you. We have almost no interviews with underclassmen.”
When Cole doesn’t initiate further conversation, Haley continues as if he had. “What position do you play, again?”
Jamie and I are both watching this exchange the way you’d stare at a car accident—horrified yet curious.
“Uh…forward,” Cole manages to say with his eyes down, picking at the skin around his thumbnail.
Haley, on the other hand, is looking right at him. “Eye contact, Cole. It’s essential in an interview.” She smiles broader when he actually looks at her. “Think about when you’re in the NHL and SportsCenter wants to talk to you…this is all training for that.”
Jamie stifles a laugh.
“So…a forward does what, exactly?” The way Haley locks eyes with him, I’m right there, mesmerized. She’s got some weird power of persuasion. “Can you give a game scenario or recap a play from state, maybe?”
Cole drops his head again, exhaling. State is a huge sore spot for him. In the final game, he plowed into Tanley and knocked him unconscious, forcing him out of the game. Which forced us to put in a cold goalie, not nearly as good as Tanley, and then we lost.
“Or sections,” Haley adds, probably realizing her mistake. “Eye contact, Cole.”
And to my surprise, my little cousin dives into an in-depth explanation of the third period of the game that took us to state. I tune him out and turn to Jamie. “So…who’s your partner for the Constitution project?”
“Don’t know yet.” He snatches up a banana and then tosses his feet on the coffee table. “Markson said me and Haley weren’t allowed to work together, so she’s hooking me up with someone.”
“Markson’s hooking you up with a partner?”
Jamie points at the blonde beside him. “No, Stevenson is playing matchmaker. She’s working on a few leads. She got you, so I know she’ll come through for me. You know this shit, right? Aren’t you doing college stuff already?”
Haley glances at us when Jamie says that. I clear my throat. “Um yeah…I’ve been taking some gen eds.”
“Really?” Haley asks. “Since when?”
“Freshman year,” Cole answers for me and then recoils when I glare at him.
“I haven’t even looked over the assignment yet. Have you guys?” I lay the handout in front of me and pretend to read it.
“I have,” Haley announces; she’s proud of this fact. “I really love option number five. I have a bunch of ideas. I was thinking we could dress like Thomas Jefferson and his wife—I’m pretty good with a sewing machine—and then we can stage a conversation about signing the Constitution, and since we’re supposed to use theatrics to put our own twist on it, Thomas can offer the pen to his wife. He’ll let her sign instead of him, and that will be symbolic of women’s voting rights to come in the future.”
I stare at her in disbelief. “You’re kidding, right?”
Haley’s neck flushes. She yanks out the messy bun on top of her head and lets her hair fall down to cover it. Her gaze falls back to the worksheet, her thumbnail in her mouth. “Yeah, that’s probably stupid. I have some other ideas—”
“I think it sounds cool,” Cole says, even though I look over at him like he’s nuts. Nuts for Haley is more accurate.
Jamie tosses a few grapes into his mouth. “Hey, can you sew me a costume, too?”
Haley tucks her hair behind her ears and shakes her head. Her pen is tapping against the coffee table. “No, it’s stupid. What were you thinking we should do, Fletch?”
If my dad or Grandpa Scott were in the room right now, they would both smack me on the head for “making a woman feel unheard,” as Dad has told me so many times never to do. And my parents may not be together, but my dad still has it going on with the ladies. And he’s pushing fifty.
“It’s not that I don’t like your idea,” I say, putting on my best face. “But I’m not really into live-action performance.”
A laugh bursts out from Cole, but he quickly turns it into a cough. I swear that kid is going down if he doesn’t cut that shit out.
Some of the life and energy returns to Haley’s face, and I’m surprised by how relieved that makes me feel. She sits up straight again. “That’s okay, I get it. Let’s do something else.” She hands the sheet to Cole. “What do you think?”
“Well…I’m not like…you know, in the class,” Cole stutters.
Haley sends her direct eye contact his way again. “I asked you a question, Cole. Answer it. Or politely decline. I’m aware that you’re not in the class.”
If those words weren’t dripping with patience and sweetness, with Haley’s pretty birdlike voice, they’d be mean as hell. Maybe that’s a tip for future me. I can say whatever I want to her, I just need to use the right tone.
“Okay, right.” Cole nods and takes his time reading the paper.
Jamie tosses an apple at me to get my attention. I catch it before it smashes against my glasses. When I look up, he mouths: this is fucked up.
I snort back a laugh and then internally freak out because I just shared a joke with Jamie Isaacs. I’m not ever in the general vicinity of Jamie’s jokes. Before I get all twisted up about this, I make small talk with him—another first. “So, have you gotten any info about Minnesota State? When do they start workouts?”
Jamie sighs. “Last week. But I gotta pass this damn class or lose my spot. But me and Leo are keeping in shape.”
“Really?” I take a bite of the apple. “What kind of workouts are you doing?”
“We scored some ice time,”
he says, “and we’re doing cardio every night, weights at the gym…that kind of shit.”
“I’m doing weights in the morning. Trying to catch up with Red.”
Jamie laughs and then quickly smooths out his expression. “No offense, dude. But Red’s a monster. Besides, he’s predictable. The guy can’t turn worth shit. All you gotta do is check him while he’s turnin’—” Jamie stops abruptly and stares at me. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”
I shrug and try my best poker face. But inside I’m dying for Monday-morning practice so I can test this theory.
“Don’t fucking downplay it,” Jamie accuses. “You want a better spot next season, you sure as hell need to be able to say it.” He drops his feet to the floor and leans forward. “Is that what you want?”
I debate shrugging again. I like my quiet existence where my goals are locked inside my head and not there for anyone to see. But for some reason, I tell him. “Yeah, I guess that’s what I want.”
“You guess?” His eyebrows rise, then he leans back against the couch again. “If you decide you’re sure, then come to the rink Sunday night. Around nine. Me and Leo have the place to ourselves.”
Wait, is he gonna let me train with them? I start to ask, but Jamie cuts me off, nodding toward Cole and shaking his head. Okay, so this is a secret. I can handle that.
“…Cheerleading is going great, Cole. Thanks for asking,” I hear Haley say. “We’re working with a really great choreographer for our new competition routine.”
An hour later, we’ve decided on a PowerPoint presentation but haven’t really gotten anywhere toward completing the assignment, but it’s nearly time for me to head to work and Haley has plans. I leave Cole in the living room and walk both of them out. Jamie, who’s not as fond of the dogs, gets right into Haley’s Honda Civic, but she stops to pet all three.
Feeling like we left things unfinished earlier, I bite the bullet and apologize. “I’m sorry for tricking you into coming here.”
Haley stands up and faces me, her dress covered in dusty dirt. She’s braided her hair into a long, intricate braid over the last hour—the girl does not stop moving—and she grips the end of the braid, twisting it around her finger. “I just thought you wanted to work with me. I guess that was my fault for making an assumption. I mean, why would you?”