His eyes are raking over my body, too. I silently give thanks for my great boobs and long reddish hair, because he obviously appreciates it. Thank you, Mother, for the wonderful genes.
I tilt my head and look him directly in the eyes, smiling warmly.
He cocks an eyebrow, obviously taken off guard.
I resist the urge to smirk in satisfaction.
I pass by and can feel his gaze trailing after me. When I turn my head to focus on walking, I run smack into a solid chest. Great. Just freaking great. Rick Stevens, of all people, probably on his way to Weston’s locker, since Rick follows Weston pretty much everywhere like a puppy dog. The books in my arms get jostled loose, falling to the floor. I don’t wait for Rick to help me—mostly because he’s such an ass—and I bend at the knees to pick them up.
Instead of being a gentleman, the swine Rick stands there and begins to feign a moaning sound, gyrating his hips and loudly groaning out, “Oh yeah, baby…give it to me,” while my face is level with his crotch.
I have a strong urge to punch him in the balls.
Here’s a million-dollar question: how does this nimrod manage to get dates?
Rick has this bad-boy persona that has girls falling all over themselves to get close to him. In my opinion (and trust me on this one), he looks like Kevin’s brother Buzz from Home Alone—you know, the chubby brother with the buzz haircut? Yeah. When you think Rick Stevens, think Buzz.
If the guy wasn’t a hockey player, he could kiss his free ticket to, well…you know…goodbye.
At River Glen High School, hockey players far surpass everybody as royalty.
They are treated like teenage gods.
“Oh, come on.” Rick laughs. It seems like he’s laughing at himself, but he’s actually laughing at me. I know exactly what he’s thinking—that I’m a prude. My face has got to be bright red, because I can feel it burning.
I look over at Weston.
He’s watching the exchange intently, his mouth in a hard line, but saying nothing.
Interesting.
I shift to get around Rick, but he blocks my path like the hockey defenseman that he is. “So listen, I was thinking. You. Me. Friday night.” He is pointing back and forth in between our bodies.
“Rick, look, I’m really flattered—”
“Of course you are,” he interrupts me.
“—but I’m not going out with you Friday. Or, um, ever.” I actually whisper this last part because to be honest, I’m a little scared. Rick is an intimidating guy. Tall, maybe five foot eleven. Big and a tad chubby. Buzz haircut with sideburns, and more of a sneer than a smile. Under his right eye is a fading bruise, and there’s a cut on the bridge of his nose. I busy myself by rearranging the books restacked in my arms, and nod at him curtly.
End of discussion.
At least I wish it was. He clearly isn’t going to take no for an answer.
“Friday doesn’t work? What better offer could you possibly have?”
Gee, thanks, asshole.
“I’m not going out with you. Sorry.”
“I don’t think I heard you correctly. Did—wait, are you turning me down?” Rick is practically shouting this last part. His eyebrows are pinching together slightly, confused, and yes, he’s angry. I clutch my books tighter and look over at Weston, who has his eyes narrowed at Rick’s back. What the hell is his problem? Is he pissed that I just rejected his best friend? Whatever the reason for the scowl, I can’t look at him. I’m too embarrassed.
Humiliated, even.
Scared too. I can feel the tears prickling behind my eyes.
“I’m sorry,” I repeat, walking away before I start to cry. My heart is beating so fast—so fast—for so many reasons:
1. How often do I get asked on a date by a wildly popular guy at school? Um, hardly ever. Okay, more like never. The last time I checked, my last date was in the school marching band and he didn’t play a sport. Still, an asshole is an asshole, and I’m not dating one, no matter how popular he is.
2. I’ve never actually told someone to their face that I wasn’t interested in dating them. It’s mostly via text, or Jenna does the rejecting for me. I hope I never have to do it again. It’s a horrible feeling.
3. I’ve never turned one guy down for a date while the guy who makes my heart beat erratically watches from the sideline. That in itself could give a young girl a stroke.
Screw them both.
* * *
Weston
“I know I’ve never been on a date with her, but any time I see another guy talking to her, I wanna punch him in the face.”
– Cousin Jack (a shining example of what not to do)
I turn toward Rick just as Molly rushes off down the hallway, resisting the impulse to chase after her…even though I know it’s the right thing to do. She was clearly upset, and now I feel like a shithead for just standing there and letting Rick act like an asshole. Right now, I feel like it may as well have been me demeaning her in public, which is exactly what I think Rick was doing.