Friday Night Alibi

  “Okay, now it’s just us.” Ugh, I can actually picture the smart grin on his face. “Did you need something? Or just wanted to hear my voice?”

  Whatever was going on in my stomach stops. And I spurt out, “Thought you should know my parents want to report you for sexual harassment. You may not want to come to the club anytime soon.”

  He chuckles. “Went running to Mommy and Daddy, huh?”

  “No!” The phone slips a little out of my hand from all the sweat that’s there. Ew. When did that happen? “I wasn’t the only one who saw your bare butt. Word gets around. And they’re pissed.”

  That stops all laughter going through his mouth. It’s quiet for a bit, just some more shuffling and his breathing.

  “So, you’re going to take me to court for mooning you?”

  “What? No.”

  “Then what’s this about?”

  He sounds so not himself. Not like I know what “himself” sounds like, but it’s different. Am I scaring him?

  I should keep up whatever it is that’s making him act like this. Revenge and all that. But it doesn’t seem to fit. This is deep stuff. I’d rather do something that’ll humiliate him, not ruin his life. Who knows how old he is. I mean, he looks like he’s twenty-something, but acts like he’s twelve. If it’s reported, that could mean major things . . . like jail, right? Yikes! I don’t want to get involved in that.

  I let out a breath. “I wouldn’t worry about my parents. Chances are they’ve forgotten all about it even though I talked with them twenty seconds ago.” And that’s not a lie. New gossip will go around wiping the memory of this one totally clean. “The club wants me to identify you, but I won’t be pushing any harassment case or whatever.”

  “All right . . . then why are you calling me?”

  “To warn you about showing up at the club again.”

  “Why?”

  “Huh?”

  “Why do you care?”

  Good question. “I don’t.”

  “Hmm.”

  Okay, think Kelli. For once during this conversation, think! I’m totally giving him the wrong impression. What is the right impression?

  I reach my hand around to play with my hair, but it’s not there. And just like that, a shot of brilliance enters my head. This phone call is all a part of my master plan to get back at him! Yes, I am a genius.

  “Actually, Moron, I don’t want you to get in trouble. It was pretty funny.” Okay, laying on the fibbing. But I got an A in drama class.

  He laughs. “Yeah, and that was one heck of a serve.”

  I allow myself to giggle like I never do. One of those flirty, really gagworthy girly giggles. “Thanks.” I pause and clear my throat. “So, you doing anything tomorrow?” Sooner the better, before I lose my nerve.

  “Just class.”

  I almost ask what class he’s taking, but really, why do I care about that? I think his blue moon did something funny to my head. “What time do you get out?”

  “Four. Why?”

  I clear my throat again to let the fake nerves and flirty behavior soak my voice. “I’d like to make it up to you. The whole smacking you with the ball and being really rude, it’s not like me.”

  “That’s too bad.”

  Wait a second, that’s not what he’s supposed to say.

  “What?”

  “I kind of like that girl.”

  Grrr! He’s making this difficult. I drop the persona and spit out, “Look, do you want to hang out tomorrow or not?”

  He laughs. “Yeah. Text me your address and I’ll come get you.”

  “Only if I get to pick what we’re doing.”

  “You’re not giving me a makeover are you?”

  A burst of laughter leaves my gut. I can’t help it. He’s darn close to the truth.

  “No, not a makeover.” Because—and I hate to admit it—he doesn’t really need one.

  “All right. See ya then.”

  “Bye, Moron.”

  “Later, Stinky.”

  I hit the end button and smile as I scroll through my contacts. One more call and my revenge on ego man will be all set.

  “Liza’s Massage and Spa, this is Mandi, how may I help you?”

  “Hey Mandi, it’s Kelli Pinkins.”

  “Good evening, Miss Pinkins. What can I do for you?”

  “I’d like to schedule two appointments for tomorrow afternoon.” My smile gets wider as I hold in my laughter. “My normal for me, and one . . . Special.”

  Chapter 5

  Yay for me, Brittany Frooman takes my shift at the bookstore so I can spend the afternoon getting the much needed pedicure and massage. Oh, and so I can relish in what Moron is about to suffer.

  Cue manic laughter. Mwhahahaha!

  Okay, I have no idea if he’s even going to fall for it, but hey, it’s worth a shot. I’ve never been the prank kind of girl, but this is freaking genius. I wish I could call Sades. But knowing her, she’ll try to talk me out of it. So, nope, gotta keep it to myself.

  And the people at Liza’s Spa.

  I’m waiting by the window like a kid waiting for Santa on Christmas when Moron pulls up. He’s wearing black . . . again. Does he own any other color? Or is that just his thing? Rebel persona and all that?

  Not that I care.

  I look supercute in my pencil skirt and purple button-up blouse. Yeah, that sounds totally boring, but I rock it. Trust me.

  His mouth drops as he walks up my porch steps. I should let Carrie get it and really scare the crap out of him, but my antsy body leaps from the chair I’ve been standing on so I can get to the door before he knocks.

  “On time,” I say, swinging the door open. His hand is poised to knock and I stifle my giggle. “I’m surprised.”

  The Moron grin smacks itself on his face. “What gave you the impression I wasn’t punctual?”

  I grab my purse and swing it over my shoulder. “Oh, because you’re a pain in the butt.”

  “I must not be that bad,” he says as I shut the door and join him on the porch. “You’re the one who called me.”

  Oh, Moron is so the right name for him. His dang ego stands in the way of him finding out I’m only doing this to show him who has the upper hand in this relationship.

  Whoa, I mean . . . ugh, this isn’t a relationship. It’s an antagoni-ship? Enemi-ship? Grr . . . let’s just call it a I-hate-your-dang-tude-and-I’m-gonna-make-you-pay-for-being-a-pervert thing. Yeah, that’s what we have.

  He opens my door, which honestly, surprises the crap out of me, then parks his butt in the driver’s seat. His car smells like, really fruity. Like he has a bunch of oranges stashed between the seats.

  “You like my air freshener?” he asks, tapping the giant orange surfboard hanging from the mirror. I guess I was taking an obvious whiff.

  “Smells like oranges.”

  He starts the car. “Rays of Citrus.” His fingers go to the volume on his radio dial, quickly turning down what he was listening to when he pulled up. I catch the orchestra, though. Surprise! This guy listens to classical. I raise my eyebrow and plaster my own smirk on my face, which he shakes his head and laughs at, but other than that, we don’t say anything about his choice in music.

  “Where we headed?”

  I punch the address into the GPS on my phone, and my voice return relays the first direction.

  He laughs again, downshifts, then says, “Will I need gas?”

  His gas-o-meter or whatever that thing is called says he’s about three seconds away from empty, but the spa isn’t far.

  “GPS says it’s about ten miles. Think you can make it?”

  He clacks his tongue. “Yup, we’ll be fine. May have to hit a station on the way back.”

  I stifle a grin. If I’m with him when we head back, I may have to pump the gas for him.

  “Turn left.”

  The voice on my GPS makes him laugh again. “Yes, ma’am!” he salutes as he follows the robotic tone. Then he sets his hand back on the sh
ifter, tapping his long fingers. It’s making those ligaments in his forearm do a crazy dance and I follow the movement with my eyes, up into the sleeve of his black T-shirt. He’s kind of bony. Alex could probably wrap a fist around that forearm, but I guess that’s not saying much, since Alex has freakishly huge hands.

  “Water polo, remember?”

  My eyes snap to his face. “Wha . . . ?”

  He brings his “biceps” up to his mouth and kisses it. For real? I thought only bikers did that.

  “I saw you checking out the guns.” Irritating wink. “I play water polo.”

  I roll my eyes and look out the window. “Must be why they’re so small. Not exactly a heavy-lifting sport.”

  “Neither is tennis.”

  The smile in his voice is so annoying. Ooh, I can’t wait till I can wipe that attitude clean out.

  “Turn right.”

  He laughs again.

  “What’s so funny?”

  His fingers go back to the shifter, tapping a rhythm I’m sure is only in his head. “The GPS voice. It sounds familiar.”

  Idiot. “That’s because it’s mine, Moron.”

  The skin on his forehead crinkles and he gives me a look like I’ve got snot dripping from my nose. “Oh.”

  Should I ask? Nah, we’re almost there. Just one more turn, and that’s to the parking garage. I yank out my wallet and grab a couple of bucks.

  “I pull in there?” He nods toward the covered parking.

  “Yes. I’ve got some cash, don’t worry.”

  He puts the car in park and crosses his arms, giving me a look I haven’t seen before from him. Which isn’t surprising, since I’ve only seen him twice ever, and he was so smug I couldn’t see anything else. But now he’s looking me over, eyebrows nit together, and his nose scrunched to one side of his face.

  “Is this a date?”

  “What?!” My mouth shoots off to set the record straight. “No. I want to start over as friends, you know? Like I said on the phone. Not a date.”

  His smirk is back.

  “Okay, then.” He takes the money from my hand and pulls into the garage, handing the bills to the attendant as we pass.

  Oh, I get it! The whole man-ego thing. How sweet . . . kind of. I mean, when I do go on dates, some guys let me pay because I have the money. I don’t mind because it’s just leftover change from whatever cash Mom and Dad throw at me for the weekend while they disappear. This is only two bucks, and he still was willing to say, “No way are you paying if this is a date!” Yeah, that’s kind of sweet, but also kind of cavemanish.

  And whoa. I just thought the word “sweet” with Moron? Maybe Sades is doing some weird voodoo on me. Better make sure she’s not stashing any Kelli dolls around her room.

  He parks the car and I get out before he feels like he has to open my door for me again. This is not a date. It’s payback.

  “So, where are we?” he says, swinging his arm around my shoulders and breathing in my ear. Oh gag me.

  “I thought I’d treat you to a relaxing afternoon,” I say, oozing fake sweetness as I slip from under his arm. “Ever been to a spa before?”

  He stops dead in his tracks, stifling that irritating smile. His arms fold across his chest, and yes, this time I check out the “guns.” Or lack thereof. “I’m not getting my nails painted.”

  I shake my head. “Nope.”

  “Or taking a mud bath.”

  “Wouldn’t do that.” I smile.

  “And no way will I be getting one of those facial booger-looking masks.”

  Rolling my eyes, I grab his wrist and tug him toward the elevator. “Chill out. I got you the Special. Includes a nice long massage.”

  I am the master at lying by omission. And my answer brightens his demeanor.

  “Massage, huh?” He rubs his stubbly chin. “Do I get to choose my masseuse?”

  “If you want.”

  His grin widens, but it’s not that cocky grin. It’s the dude-I’m-gonna-love-this grin. Score! He has no idea.

  We get to the counter, Allie greeting me with her usual Southern accent.

  “Miss Pinkins. So great to see you, honey. You here for your usual?”

  I adjust my purse on my shoulder and put the perfect smile on. “Yes, and this is my . . . friend, Chase. He’s in need of the Special.”

  She cocks an eyebrow and eyes Moron who’s looking at all the pictures on the walls of half-naked girls getting massages.

  “He plays water polo,” I say quickly and understanding flashes behind her eyes.

  “Of course. If you’ll sign in . . .”

  I scribble both our names down on the clipboard she hands me.

  She looks over the info, calls back to one of the masseuses, and gives me a Southern smile. Moron finally stops ogling the pictures and slides next to me.

  “Mr. Moroney, if you’ll go with Sandy,” she says, pointing to the petite brunette coming from the room on the right, “she’ll get you taken care of.”

  He shocks the snot out of me by placing a kiss on my forehead before strutting across the room. I make a show of wiping off the germs his lips left.

  “Miss Pinkins?”

  I smile and put a few bills on the counter. “Do you mind if I just get the pedicure today?” Bribery usually works instead of paying the cancellation fee.

  Allie cocks her head. “Oh? You sure? You’ll be out sooner than your friend.”

  Pushing the bills toward her I say, “Oh yeah, I’m sure.”

  ***

  One hour and fifteen minutes later, I sit in the lobby of the spa, stifling major giggles every time I hear the cries of pain and curse words floating through the door Moron disappeared behind.

  Allie is giving me the same stifled grin I’m sure is on my face and shakes her head as she organizes files, takes phone calls, and clacks away on her laptop.

  “Ay!”

  That does it. I bend over, cracking up. The magazine I’m reading plummets to the floor as I wipe tears from my eyes. Another curse word rings through the door.

  My phone vibrating takes me out of my absurd amusement, and I flick it open to the text.

  You busy tomorrow?

  Alex. Wonder what he wants. (That was totally sarcastic, by the way.)

  Wrk @ noon. Get off @ 7. Meet me aftr?

  “Eeek!”

  Laughing again.

  Sounds good. C U then.

  Well, looks like I’ll have to be an alibi for him again on Friday. Geez, his parents must think I’m swooning over their little boy, exchanging long meaningful glances of love before we skip off to the University together. Ah, if they only knew . . .

  The cries and cursing has stopped, and Allie waves me over to the desk. She’s still holding back laughter.

  “That’ll be two-twenty-five for yours, hun. And five-fifty for the massage and body wax for your friend.”

  Small price to pay for a well-worth-it prank. I slide the shiny black card across the countertop. Just as Allie hands it back to me, the door to the right swings open and Chase stands in the doorway, feet spread apart, back hunched over like he just got off a horse.

  He doesn’t say a word. Just nods, pursing his lips as he gives me a thumbs up and waddles out the door.

  I toss “Thank you.” over my shoulder to Allie and chase after him. He’s holding the passenger door open for me, using the frame as a support.

  “Um, no thanks,” I say, putting my hand up. “I’ll call a cab.”

  “Don’t trust me, Stinky?” He smirks through his strained voice. I let out a chuckle.

  “Of course not.”

  Shrugging, he shuts the door. “Yeah, I wouldn’t trust me either right now. Anything I do will just be careless and stupid.” He tries to swagger over to me, but it’s still a majorly hilarious waddle. His lips get to my ear and his breath tickles my neck as he says, “Better to let this soak for a while, think it through.”

  I shake my head. He’s so full of it. Like that’s going to intimida
te me.

  He pulls back, but not enough. His breath is now floating over my forehead. “I like this game you’ve started. All this tension, I’m betting this’ll end well for me.”

  Putting a hand on his chest, I push him back so he’s not in my bubble. “Really? How’s that?”

  “Because you want me.” Annoying grin. “And once we get past all the bizarre flirting, you’ll be asking me for a kiss.” Bigger grin. “Begging me for it.”

  My mouth pops open and I wish I had something really smart to say. But I come up completely blank. He steps back, waddling to his car.

  “Nicely played in there.” He winks and opens his door. “I’ll be waiting for that kiss.”

  Even after being stripped of all his body hair, he manages to leave me thinking I lost this battle.

  Ooh. What a dick!

  I watch him drive out of the garage before I pull out my phone to call a cab. I’m no dick kisser. He’ll be waiting forever for that kiss.

  Chapter 6

  “Hundred for the night. You’re lucky I don’t have anyone else scheduled.”

  Alex laughs as he plops down on the swing next to me and starts pumping his legs. “So, what will we be doing this Friday?”

  “Well,” I say, matching his swinging stride and mentally going over all the packets I have in my room, “we could have another movie night. Or take a tour at that new body place.”

  “Body Worlds?”

  I nod, now trying to get higher on the swing, but his legs are just too darn long and strong.

  “Yeah, that sounds good. No one will ever think to go there to confirm it, since it’s so busy.”

  “And it’s full of nasty body parts.” I drop my voice. “I hear there’s a sliced penis in there.”

  He stops swinging, dragging his feet across the wood chips underneath us. “Thanks for that. Now I have even more to fear about something happening to . . . that area of my body.”

  I jump out of my swing, landing on my feet, but then curling up to burst out laughing. He starts laughing with me and pretty soon, we’re both wiping tears from our eyes.

  “Well, it sounds like a deal,” I say through my leftover giggles. “I need payment by Thursday though or I’m giving it to someone else.”

  He stands from his swing, and wraps me into another hug. Uh, yeah, still awkward. What did I ever do to deserve the touchy-feely crap?