The Queen B* Strikes Back (7 page)

“Nobody at Eastline gives a damn about my test scores as long as I keep winning games.”

“That’s very arrogant of you to think that.”

“It’s the truth.”

He placed his hand on my arm, and I turned to look at him. The earnest expression in his dark eyes belied the egotism of his earlier words. “
I
care about my shortcomings, and I want to do better. I know I can do better, but I need your help.”

How did he do it? Just when I thought I was safely pissed off at him again, he found a way to get past my defenses and make me care about him.

“You’re going to need some serious help,” I said, pointing to the mess on the screen. He may not care about test scores, but this would definitely embarrass him if it went public.

“Then let’s start working on it.”

“Nope.” I closed the laptop. “That shit isn’t even salvageable.”

Most people would’ve backed away from my criticism, but not Brett. A huge grin lit up his face. “Now that’s the Lexi I know.”

I narrowed my eyes at him, and he laughed.

“Sorry,
Alexis
.”

“I hate that nickname.”

“I know.” He playfully tugged my hair.

“Jesus, are you back in kindergarten?” I rose from my chair before he tried to tickle me again. If he did, helping him with his essay would be the last thing on my mind.

This called for old-school measures, starting with a pen and notebook. Thankfully, I had plenty up in my bedroom. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

I didn’t wait for a reply before bounding up the stairs. I easily located a thin journal and a pen from my stack of spares and turned around to find Brett standing in the doorway.

My mouth dried up so quickly, I couldn’t even tell him to get out. Instead, I stood there, journal in my hand, my mouth hanging open.

He ambled in. “So this is your room?”

“No, it’s Taylor’s,” I managed to shoot back with a healthy dose of sarcasm that belied the frantic beat of my heart.

Get him out before all hell breaks loose
, my mind ordered, but my feet remained fixed to the floor.

“It’s too neat to be Taylor’s room.” My closet door was open, and he peeked inside. “Is that all the clothes you own?”

I rushed over to slam the door, suddenly embarrassed by my meager wardrobe. “It’s enough to meet my needs.”

“It’s just odd for a girl.” He brushed past me to read the titles in my bookcase.

“I’d rather spend my money on books than stuff I’d only wear one or two times.”

“Is that why you have twenty times more books than shoes?”

“Naturally.” Sweat prickled along the base of my skull, and I searched for something in my stark room to prove I wasn’t a completely unfeminine nerd. My furniture was all plain and simple. My floor was free of any clothes, dirty or clean. My dresser was bare, and everything on my desk was neatly packed away in little organizers. But there was one super-feminine thing I could find. “But I did splurge on the high thread count sheets.”

Uh-oh. Big mistake. He glanced at my bed, then at me, and all I could see was a string of naughty thoughts. And I couldn’t be certain if they were from my imagination or his. But I was certain we were both looking at the bed and thinking the same thing.

He came closer, his dark eyes full of mischief.

I braced for him to suggest we test out the mattress, but he leaned in by my ear and murmured, “You made your bed.”

“So?”

“Most teenagers don’t freely make their beds. If my mom didn’t force me to make mine up every morning, it would be a tangled mess of sheets.”

All I heard was
tangled sheets
, and my thoughts immediately went in the wrong direction. But I couldn’t let him know that. The power would shift back to him. “Why do you annoy me like you do?”

“Why do you resist?” He closed the space between us, so close that I could feel his breath on my lips.

It was yesterday all over again. He was invading my space, testing me, seeing if I would fall under his spell and give into him. And this time, we didn’t have to worry about little sisters or parents interrupting us. But he was also holding back, waiting for me to make the first move, allowing me to be the one who crumbled first.

It reminded me of my dad’s favorite quote from Oscar Wilde.
Everything in the world is about sex but sex. Sex is about power.

But the tension between us blurred that line. The longing gazes. The quick breaths. The heat from his skin, even though he wasn’t touching me. This wasn’t just about sex. This was about power I couldn’t afford to yield.

And yet, like an idiot, I leaned forward, lowering my eyelids, waiting for that exhilarating sensation of his lips on mine.

It never came.

Instead, Brett placed his finger over my mouth as though he were trying to shush me.

I snapped my eyes open.

“I thought you wanted to be just friends,” he said in an amused tone, wagging his finger as though I were an errant child.

It was enough to jerk my anger back to the surface. I placed my hands in the center of his chest and pushed him away. “You asshole.”

“It was your choice.” He stepped aside and allowed me to pass. “I’m just trying to abide by your wishes, even if it means reminding you of them. The last thing I want is for you to accuse me of trying to force myself on you.”

With every step, I reminded myself why we couldn’t be together. Our classmates would never let us live it down. Brett’s friends would probably abandon him. He’d no longer be the Golden Boy. He’d just be that crazy guy who hung out with the Queen B*. And as much as I wanted to preserve my precious reputation, I discovered that it was more important to me that I protect
his
reputation.

Which, of course, translated to the fact I cared about him.

Which, in turn, meant that I was getting soft and setting myself up to get hurt. I’d already been betrayed by a member of the in-crowd before, and I knew Brett was close to Summer. Sanchez’s behavior at the carwash only confirmed my desire not to associate with the self-absorbed, spoiled kids who populated his inner circle.

But would the rewards be worth both the risk and the consequences?

I placed the journal on the table and opened it to the first page. “Let’s start with brainstorming.”

“Brainstorming?” he asked, taking the pen from me.

“Yes, brainstorming. Coming up with different ideas to test. Sort of like how you scan the field and try to find the most open receiver.”

“Talking football now, I see.” He cracked his knuckles and sat down in the chair. “And just so you know, those plays are designed so I know which receiver is my target before the ball is snapped.”

“You mean there’s nothing spontaneous about football?”

“As if you know anything about spontaneity.”

“Actually, I do, or did you forget what happened in the girls’ locker room last week?”

He snapped his gaze to me, and I silently rejoiced at the heat in his eyes and the tense lines of his face. The pen in his hand threatened to snap under his white-knuckled grip. He wanted me as much as I wanted him, even after I’d publicly pushed him away at the carwash.

He swallowed hard and replied in a voice that was too calm, “But to answer your question, yes, there are times that plays fall apart and I’m forced to think on my feet and turn nothing into something.”

“Then apply the same principles to your essay.” I tapped the blank page. “I saw how good you were at coming up with lists for our class project. Now do the same thing here. Try to come up with five to ten ideas for each topic, and we’ll pick the strongest ones from there.”

“Sure.” He stared at the blank page, his face a perfect mask of concentration.

I pulled out my laptop to work on this week’s blog post and had barely opened a new doc on my screen when a loud bang interrupted me.

Brett had slapped shut the journal. He stood and stuffed his things into his backpack, leaving the journal behind on the table. “I just realized that I need to be somewhere.”

Where the hell did
that
come from? My confusion manifested itself in my voice. “Oh?”

He visually raked me over and wiped away the sweat along his brow. “Yeah, I need to go.”

I couldn’t tell if his frustration stemmed from the assignment I’d given him or my presence, but I decided now was not the time to tease him. “How about we go over those ideas tomorrow after class?”

He shook his head and slung the backpack over his shoulder. “I have to watch the twins for my mom while she goes to a doctor’s appointment.”

“Wednesday? I have to be somewhere that night, but I can squeeze you—”

“Can’t. I have plans that night, too, so I need to do my homework before football practice.”

“Thursday then?”

He stopped and shifted his weight. “You know, maybe this wasn’t the best idea. I—”

“No, stop right there.” I grabbed the journal and crossed the distance between us. If ever there was a time for me to be cruel to be kind, it was now, and I didn’t hold back one inch of my royal bitchiness. “You need help, and I’m going to make sure you kick that essay’s ass.”

His mouth twitched as though he wasn’t sure if he wanted to laugh or smile. “Is that a promise?”

“Do I look like the type of girl who’s going to run away?”

“Depends on the situation,” he replied.

I focused on keeping my gaze locked with his, even though I wanted to look away when he reminded me of how I’d been too much of a coward to consider going out with him on more than one occasion.

I pressed the journal into his hand, allowing my fingers to cover his. It wasn’t pulse-racing or sexy, but the contact still warmed the center of my chest. “You can do this.”

“Do you think so?” he asked, his voice carrying a raw edge.

“I
know
so. Unlike Sanchez, you actually have something between your ears.”

He cracked a smile and finally took the journal from me. “You know, Sanchez is smarter than he looks. He just prefers to use his mind for things other than school.”

“Like getting under girls’ skirts and picking on freshmen?”

“Well, that, but he’s also quick on the improv. When a play falls apart, he’s usually the first receiver to find a way to get open. It’s why I’m always looking for him downfield, even when he’s not my intended target. My stats wouldn’t be half as impressive if it wasn’t for him and his quick thinking.”

“I can’t believe you’re defending him.” And yet, I wouldn’t expect less from Brett. He truly was a good guy in every sense of the word.

He shrugged and tucked the journal into his backpack. “So, Thursday?”

“Sure. But seeing as how the SATs are less than two weeks away, I expect to not only see some kickass ideas but also some expansion on them.”

“Expansion?” His eyes widened a bit, and panic tightened his voice.

“Yes, as in a few points you’d use to illustrate your argument in the essay.”

He nodded, even though he still didn’t appear to be at ease with the idea. “I’ll give it a try.”

He started for the front door, but stopped and added, “Thanks, Alexis.”

“You’re welcome.”

As I watched him leave, I wished that I could give him the confidence he needed to do this.

Yeah, I was in over my head with Brett, but at the moment, I didn’t mind. I just needed to keep telling myself that I’d rather have him as a friend than not at all.

Too bad I couldn’t completely silence that little voice that whined for more.

Chapter Six

Taylor didn’t bother to knock before barging into my room later that night while I was reading in bed. But then, that was nothing new.

I set my book aside and braced for whatever mundane thing she considered a crisis. Usually, it was something like an eyeliner mishap or some girl wearing an outfit better than hers, but my little sister was unusually quiet as she stood at the foot of my bed with her arms crossed and her mouth twisted in an uncharacteristic thoughtful expression.

After half a minute, she said, “Lexi, if I asked you a question, would you be honest with me?”

Taylor was the only person who could call me “Lexi” and not get reamed for it. But her intrusion tonight set me on edge. My stomach dropped, and my guard went up. “Who are you, and what have you done with my sister?”

“I’m being serious here.”

“So am I. You’re never serious.” But I sat a little straighter and waited for her to reveal the true purpose of coming to me.

“Was Brett Pederson over here today?”

I now understood how criminals felt when they were trapped in an interrogation room. That all too familiar wave of nausea enveloped me again, and I fought to keep from squirming under her direct stare. It had little to do with her actual question and more to do with Brett’s visit. What
was
his motive? He definitely needed help with his writing, judging by his attempt at an essay, but the fact my sister knew he was here made me wonder if he was setting me up. “What makes you think that?”