Date Me (22 page)

“That’s a dance team girl trick,” Logan says, grinning straight at me.

“Yeah, I remember hearing that,” I say in a noncommittal way. Mostly I say it that way because Aiden is staring at me.

Nick pats Aiden on the back and says, “And last year the cheerleaders were on a fruit rollup kick, remember that, Aiden?”

Aiden gives him a little smile back and repeats my words. “Yeah, I remember hearing that.”

“Hearing that? More like
lived that,”
Nick says with a mischievous grin.

So cheerleaders are Aiden’s thing.

Jake says, “What about mints? Altoids. Red hots.”

“All this blow job talk is making me incredibly horny,” Dawson whispers, snuggling up to me.

“You’re always incredibly horny,” I tease.

He runs his hand down my thigh. Then up my thigh and inching closer to going under my leather skirt.

I grab his hand. Hold it firmly in a respectable spot. He looks at me, grins, and laughs.

“What’s so funny?” Riley asks him.

“Nothing, we just need to go study, so we’re gonna head out . . . ”

Riley interrupts. “You don’t need to make up a lame ass excuse. I think we all know.”

“Oh, well, okay.”

I just wave.

I’m feeling a bit sleazy leaving with Dawson early, knowing they all know what we’re going to do.

But in my head, I tell myself we’ll just talk, kiss some.

Yes, it’s our anniversary, of sorts, but that doesn’t mean we have to.

We already did it earlier today.

We’re not.

We’re definitely not.

When we get to his car, he pushes me up against the door and gives me a hot kiss.

“I’ll never forget how excited I was when you showed up at the Hamptons, in that bikini. I felt so lucky and happy. And that night. God, that night was amazing. Really. Of course that was probably pretty obvious. Like, how much I wanted you. And then it was so good. Every time is
so
good. It’s been the best month of my life.”

I slink away from him and get in the car, so he doesn’t attack me right here.

But what he said totally makes me melt, so I lean over, unzip his pants, and slide my hand inside while he drives to the lake.

Wednesday, October 5th

The people that you love.

Lunch

I offered to go help Dawson work on his cheer, but he doesn’t want me to see it until Friday. So I sit down between Riley and Ace, who has stopped sitting at Whitney’s table and started sitting here with Annie.

Annie shoves a tabloid magazine in front of my face. “Look at this! Abby is having an affair with her bodyguard. The hot one that was with her on Saturday.”

I read the headline.

Abby and the Hot Bodyguard’s Secret Affair.

Underneath that is a large photo of Mom and Ryan. Mom’s head is down and Ryan’s hand is on her back, guiding her. It’s not unusual for Ryan to do that when there are a lot of people around. He’s trained to keep her close. To shield her if necessary. Off to the side is a photo of Tommy. He’s wearing a ball cap and sunglasses and his head is down. The photo is not a new one. He’s wearing a shirt that I know he gave to charity over a year ago. The little headline above it says,
Friends Say Tommy Distraught Over Affair.

“You shouldn’t believe everything you read in these kinds of magazines,” I tell Annie.

But even though I know it’s not true, I’m worried.

I leave lunch, get to French early, and text Mom.

Me: Saw what the tabloids are saying. Are you doing okay?

Mom: Of course, we are. Our publicist was going to release a statement that it’s false, but sometimes when you do that people assume you’re trying to cover it up.

Me: So it’s better to not say anything? Does it upset you?

Mom: Of course, it’s upsetting when people say stuff about you that’s not true. But it’s part of the business. Don’t worry about the tabloids. Remember, the only people you should care about what they think, are the people you love.

Me: That’s good advice. I love you, Mom. I have to go. The bell just rang.

Mom: We all love you too.

Aiden sits down behind me. He’s dressed for Western Day in a way that reminds me of my grandpa. He’s got on a soft cotton western shirt with pearl snap buttons, Rag & Bone jeans, and a pair of brown leather cowboy boots. The boots are scuffed and well-worn. I can picture him riding a horse around their vineyard, wearing the boots, stopping to have a glass of wine.

“Guess what?” he says.

“You like my boots?” I say, holding up my feet to show off my faded red boots.

“I do like your boots. They look cute with the lace dress.”

“Thank you. I noticed your boots are worn. They your favorite pair?”

“Actually, they are. I wear them nonstop when I’m back home. But that’s not what I was going to tell you.”

“What were you going to tell me?”

“I’m going to be competing against your boyfriend for Mr. Eastbrooke.”

“Really?”

“Yep. Got picked by the soccer team.”

“You’ll probably make a good looking girl. You and Peyton look a lot alike. So are you going to dance for everyone? Finally show them how good you are?”

He shakes his head. “No. Guys never dance. They all do a cheer.”

“And I thought you weren’t like all the other guys?” I tease.

“I told you. No one has ever seen me dance like that. Everyone would think it’s weird.”

“I wouldn’t think it was weird. I’d think it was awesome. Besides, the only people you should care what they think are the people that you love.”

“And those people will be seeing me do a cheer.”

I think about the cheerleader comment from last night. About how Nick said “lived it.” How cheerleaders must be his thing.

The dream girl must be a cheerleader.

That’s probably the real reason he wants to a cheer. So he can ask her to teach him.

“Whatever. I’m just saying, you dance like you can, you’ll win.”

“Have you ever seen a Mr. Eastbrooke competition?”

“No.”

“Then you don’t know if I’d win or not. And you promised you wouldn’t tell anyone about how I can dance.”

I shrug my shoulder. “You’re secret is safe with me. But you break out the dance moves you have and your competition does a stupid cheer, you’ll win. Common sense tells me that.”

He rolls his eyes. “It’s not the dance that wins, it’s how you look.”

“Okay. Good luck.”

Thursday, October 6th

A little skimpy.

1:30pm.

I don’t attend very many classes today. No one does, really. We all get out of class for different reasons. Some get called back to their dorms by their dorm advisors to make their rooms spotless for the alumni tours. Others are finishing up the floats for the parade. Others get out of class to take pictures for the yearbook. Most of the band goes off to practice marching.

Today is officially Sports Day, so I’m wearing Dawson’s football jersey, a red sequined skirt, and tall white athletic socks with stripes of red sequins at the top.

I take Dawson to the drama department to find him a wig and do a test drive on his makeup for Mr. Eastbrooke.

“Here, try this,” I say, putting a pirate hat on his head.

He does a Captain Morgan pose then grabs me. “Ahoy, my little matey. Want me to show you my
sword
?”

I kiss his neck and then giggle. “Stop that. We need to be serious about this if you want to win.”

He grabs a teeny little costume off a rack. “You should put this on, be my little cowgirl.”

“You’ll actually get to see me in that costume in the play. I’m a cheerleader for a professional football team.”

He narrows his eyes at me.

“Don’t be mad. It’s a little skimpy, but it’s a short scene.”

“I’ll make you a deal. Borrow it and wear it for me in my room, and I won’t give you shit about the play.”

“Hmmm. Deal.”

I rummage through a cabinet and pull out a long blonde wig and a shorter brunette one. “Which way do you want to go, blonde or brunette?”

He puts the blonde wig on his head. “Blondes have more fun. You’re fun.”

I look at the blonde wig on him. “Um, they maybe do, but I don’t think you’re very convincing as a blonde. Is the goal for you to look pretty or funny?”

“Pretty. Do you want to see my cheer?”

He leaves the blonde wig on and starts a cheer. “Be Aggressive. B-E Aggressive. B-E-A-G-G-R-E-S-S-I-V-E. BE AGGRESSIVE.” He uses a high-pitched voice that sounds hysterical coming from such a buff guy. “Gooooo Cougarssss!”

I can’t help but laugh.

“You totally butchered that cheer.”

“Yeah, I need a little more work on the motions. I can remember football plays, but these stupid arm motions are just confusing.”

“Do you want me to help you? I know that cheer.”

“Maybe you can come teach me in my room. I’d probably learn it better if we were naked.”

“If you were naked, there wouldn’t be any cheering going on.”

“You cheer me on sometimes.
Go, Dawes!”

I smack his shoulder. “Shut up. You should hear yourself.” I grab the blonde wig off his head, motion for him to sit down, and put on the darker one.

I swivel the chair around so that he can see himself in the mirror. “See, you look more convincing with dark hair. Wait until I do your makeup.”

He looks at himself. “I look like my mother.”

I use a sponge to put a little foundation over the dark stubble on his checks. “You’re going to have to shave for sure,” I tell him as I add some blush and a little bit of bronzer.

I’m getting ready to add some eye shadow next. “Close your eyes. I want you to be surprised at how you look.”

“Maybe you should blindfold me,” he says, grabbing me and pulling me onto his lap facing him.

“That might be fun too.” I wrap my arms around his neck and give him a deep kiss.

Which turns into a deeper kiss.

Which turns into a full-blown make out session.

“It’s really hot that I’m kissing you while you’re wearing my team jersey. I wish that’s all you had on.”

“Mhhmm,” I say as he moves my hair off my shoulder and attacks my neck. “You talked me into it.”

We rush to his dorm room, lock his door, and I quickly remove everything but the jersey.

He sits in his desk chair and pulls me onto his lap.

We’re in the middle of our fun, when there’s a knock on his door. A voice calls out, “Dawson, honey, it’s Mom. Are you in there?”

“Shit,” Dawson whispers.

I jump off him as he quickly pulls on his pants.

I grab my skirt off the floor and put it back on, but I can’t find my dance briefs. Fortunately they are not black and lacy.

“Just a second, Mom,” he yells out. I grab my purse, run into his bathroom, and spread my makeup out.

But then I look at him walking toward the door, his shorts sticking out in a way that I doubt his mother wants to see.

“Dawson!” I point at his shorts and toss him a towel to hold in front of himself.

“Hey, Mom” he says at the door. “Come in. Keatyn and I were just trying some makeup for the Mr. Eastbrooke contest.”

I lean my head out of the bathroom. “Hi, Mr. and Mrs. Johnson.”

I walk out and get air kisses from his mom. Then I grab the dark wig off the bed and, of course, there are my briefs — which I ignore— and put it on Dawson’s head. “What do you think of your son as a girl? I haven’t done his eyes or lipstick yet. Would you like to help?”

“Oh, I’d love that!” she squeals. “I got to dress your father up for Mr. Eastbrooke about a million years ago. Of course we weren’t dating back then.”

Dawson’s dad sits down on the very chair Dawson was just sitting in. I notice him eyeing my briefs lying on the bed. A big grin forms on his face.

I walk over, grab them, and toss them to Dawson. “Don’t forget you were going to see if you can fit into these. If not, I’ll see if I can find a bigger pair.”

He catches them and tries to put them on over his shorts. It’s not working so well.

“No, silly. They’re never going to fit like that. There’s too much fabric.” I turn to his mom. “What did you make him wear under his skirt?”

“He was on the swim team, so he wore one of those little Speedos.”

“Oh, that would work much better.” I take the briefs out of his hand and shove them into my purse. “That way you won’t stretch mine all out.”

I glance at the clock. “It’s almost three. I have to get to the dance locker room and get ready for the parade.” I turn to his mom and say, “If I leave my makeup, could you finish his eyes and then take a picture of it?”

“Of course, dear,” she replies.

Dawson gives me an evil eye. I know he doesn’t want to stay here with his parents. I give him a quick kiss on the cheek and tell him I’ll see him later.

A blowout.

3:30pm

The parade is a blast. We perform a dance routine at four different spots on the route, but mostly I just ride on the float and throw bubblegum and Blow Pops into the crowd.

Our float’s theme is
Homecoming: It’s Gonna Be A Blowout.

Get it? Bubblegum. Blowout. Beating the other team.

Of course, as the dance team suspected, the guys all loved this year’s theme and are hoping to get more than bubble gum if they win.

Peyton tried to tell the alumni dancers that she didn’t think it was a good theme, but they loved it and wouldn’t listen.

They loved the play on words between the blow and the bubblegum.

When Peyton said,
But a blowout?
The alumni in charge said
, Yes, dear, we’re a well-educated bunch. Everyone will know that we are referring to beating the other team badly, not getting our hair done.