by Sarah Sutton
The boys started to disperse, grabbing their bags and pulling their baseball mitts off. Walsh lifted his hat from his head to run a hand through his golden hair, trying to straighten his spine. He still hadn’t seen me hovering by the fence, hadn’t even glanced my way.
You’re such a stalker. Watching him without him knowing it. Watching Walsh Hunter. How has this become your life?
I winced when the coach clasped a hand on Walsh’s shoulder, trying to shake the tension from him.
“Sophia, are you even wearing any sunscreen?”
I didn’t notice that Scott came up to me at the fence, hooking his fingers through the metal rungs and leaning into it. Sweat pasted wisps of hair to his forehead, streaks of dirt smudged along his cheeks.
“Hey,” I said awkwardly, leaning back on my bike seat. “Good practice?”
“The best,” he replied with a voice drenched in sarcasm, frowning at me. “What are you doing here?”
The confrontational energy seeping from him put me on edge; I so wasn’t wanting a round two of Friday night. But this time, I wasn’t sure I’d stand there gaping like a fish. No, the shock had worn off, and he wasn’t going to talk to me like that. “What, I’m not allowed to bike past the baseball field?”
“You hate baseball,” Scott pointed out. “What, are you meeting your new boyfriend?”
Heat sparked in my ears at the word, at the way it fell like a swear word from his lips. I almost screwed everything up right then, almost jumping to deny it. Gross, no! The words were on the tip of my tongue. As if!
But Scott’s response clued me in on one thing: he was jealous. The mere idea of it was startling, almost stupid. It made me furious. What right did he have to be jealous when he dumped me in front of the entire student body?
“Yeah,” I said after a moment, forcing myself to square my shoulders. “I am here for him.”
“You two put on quite the show Friday night. No one believed you guys though. It was so obvious it was an act.”
“Come on, Scottie,” a voice chimed in. “I just think you don’t know what real emotion looks like.”
Walsh had walked around the side of the fence and came to my side, his hat still turned around backward, bag over his shoulder. He rested his hand along the back of the bike seat, arm grazing my lower back.
Scott’s eyes locked on it. “Do you have to butt in on all our conversations, Hunter?”
“Only when you’re being an idiot,” Walsh tossed back casually, unaffectedly. “Though, that’s pretty much all the time, isn’t it?”
There was a vein I’d never seen before on Scott’s forehead, and it began to throb. “Good effort, you two, but you can drop the act.”
“No act,” Walsh said, looking down at me. His hand lifted from my seat to snake around my waist. The movement rucked my t-shirt up ever so slightly, his arm brushing against the bare skin of my back. I jerked at the sensation, tensing all over. “We just hit it off.”
Even though I gripped the handlebars like my life depended on it, I forced my lips to curve into a smile. “You know what they say about chemistry.”
Without allowing myself to think about it—not for a single freaking second—I reached up and pressed my lips against the top of Walsh’s cheekbone. His skin was warm underneath my mouth, smooth, soft.
Two thoughts shot through my mind. Are my lips chapped? and Oh my gosh, I’m kissing Walsh Hunter—with my mouth.
“We should get going if we’re going to meet my parents on time,” I told Walsh, pulling away, my face no doubt on fire. The words came from my mouth so quickly—too quickly for me to censor what exactly I was saying—and I just hoped Walsh could think fast on his feet.
And of course, Walsh took my words in stride, fishing his car keys from his pocket. “I’ll move some stuff around so your bike can fit into the trunk.” He tossed a final glance towards the boy at the fence. “Later, Scottie.”
“Good luck,” Scott called back to us, even though we didn’t turn. I hopped off my bike so I could walk it alongside Walsh, and he immediately slung his arm over my shoulders much like he had Saturday night. The weight felt lighter this time, more comfortable. “With her parents, you’re going to need it.”
I gritted my teeth but refused to turn around, refused to give him that satisfaction. I could feel Scott’s eyes burning into our backs, but that only made me settle into Walsh’s embrace more. With his relaxed posture, Walsh was practically declaring she’s with me and I’m proud of it. Even if it was fake, I couldn’t deny how great that feeling was.
And I wanted Scott to mull over it.
Once we were a safe distance away, Walsh glanced over at me. “That was really perfect, you know. The part about your parents especially. I think you might be better at acting than me. And that kiss—”
“Don’t get used to it,” I said immediately, lifting my chin. “It’ll never happen. Ever again.”
My words did nothing to erase his grin. “I thought we had a no kissing rule.”
“I refer to my previous statement.”
Laughing, Walsh dropped his arm, walking over to a banged-up SUV in the middle of the parking lot. He tugged on the handle of the trunk, fighting to pull the hatch open while I frowned. “What are you doing?”
“Uh, putting your bike in the back?”
I looked at the rusted bumper, the squeaking of the hatch as it swung up. The car looked so old that it shouldn’t have been on the road anymore, like it was more of a safety hazard than anything else. “That is so not your car.”
Walsh stood back and appraised the hunk of metal, rubbing his palm over the front of his Royals jersey. “Why not?”
Was he serious? When he glanced over his shoulder at me, gaze completely blank, I realized he was. “No reason. I thought you’d drive something…shinier.”
“Something more expensive, you mean,” he said on a sigh, reaching forward and laying his hand on the handlebars. “Don’t diss my baby. She’s an oldie but a goodie.”
“Not dissing just…surprised is all.”
Walsh lifted up my coral bike with ease, contorting the wheels so that it would fit inside his car. He shoved his bat bag in alongside it, dusting his hands together. “So, what are you doing here, anyway? Did you miss me that much?”
My eyes shifted to his, actually looking at him for the first time since he’d approached. There were deep circles underneath his eyes, and when he blinked, the movement was slow, unhurried. He didn’t sound tired, but he looked it, exhaustion living in his bones. The sight of him caused me to falter with a response.
“We’re dating,” I told him, feeling stupid saying it out loud, for having to remind him. “You’re supposed to see someone when you’re dating. Plus, I have an article to work on, remember? But, hey, if you want to stop this whole thing early, it’s no big deal. I can figure out something else to write about.”
“I’m thinking we could get ice cream,” Walsh said lightly, reaching up and rubbing his eye with one knuckle. He didn’t even seem to think about what I’d said before he began talking, like he’d already had this idea in his head. “I’m really craving some rocky-road.”
Even though I realized he hadn’t directly answered me, I made a face. “Rocky-road is your go-to?”
“Well, we could always get slushies,” he offered, unknowingly hitting my sweet spot. “And besides, it’s a hot day, and I could use something cool. How about you?”
I narrowed my eyes at him, totally knowing I looked like a sweaty mess. “That sounds like manipulation.”
“No, it’s called being strategic.” Walsh ducked his head to peer into my eyes. “Up to you, Sophie, but what kind of monster could decline a slushy?”
“It’s Sophia,” I corrected him automatically, trying to ignore the way my lips relaxed the longer I looked into his eyes. Dang, he did have a compelling gaze. But I was so not affected. “And you’re buying.”
* * *
I heard the deadbolt flip over a little af
ter seven o’clock that night, one earphone plugged into my ear, the other dangling next to me. The drumbeat of the song I had on repeat for the past hour was echoed by the familiar tapping of my pen on an old notebook, and I probably did more head bobbing than actual writing.
For the past hour, my nose had been stuck to these pages. I’d managed to find a notebook with a few blank lines in an old drawer and used it for plotting out my article paragraphs.
More than ever, I hated myself for throwing away my prized possession—my writer’s notebook. Mrs. Gao would’ve had a heart attack. I missed the familiar texture of it, the stickers that covered the front. It was like I’d thrown away my best friend. But it was gone, and I’d have to get used to its absence.
I always found this method of plotting fun. First, I worked on a hard-hitting headline, which ended up being The Curveball Truth Behind Bayview Baseball. It was always fun playing with the phrasing, trying to get enough of a unique, eye-catching header.
After I got the headline down, I moved onto the hook and the thesis. They had to be enticing enough to attract a person who didn’t normally read.
Basically, I needed to attract a Walsh Hunter. With ‘baseball’ in the headline, I doubted I’d have much trouble.
Once I thought of Walsh’s name, my train of thought snagged on earlier this afternoon. We’d gone to a small little ice cream place by the bay, where I could order a slushy and Walsh could order his rocky-road. Strangely enough, I had a nice time. But that could’ve been from the fact that Walsh didn’t talk much, what with trying to keep his ice cream from dripping down his hand. Still, it was…nice.
Weird.
Mom’s signature sigh sounded as she walked down the hallway, a harsh exhalation that hinted at a long day. From the corner of my eye, I saw her figure drift into the kitchen.
We were soundless partners in this house. Despite that, I still strained with the one ear free of music, listening to the sound of the fridge opening.
“Of course!” Mom shouted from the kitchen.
I reached up and pulled the other earphone from my ear. My mouth shouldn’t have opened, but it did. “What’s wrong?”
Mom came back through the open kitchen, stepping into view. She still wore her workout clothes, sneakers loosely tied. Her hands were on her hips, her signature your father is irritating me stance. And, sure enough— “Your father ate my portion of dinner that I’ve been saving. And it was leftover spaghetti. I love spaghetti!” She threw her hands into the air. “Now, I have to cook, and it wasn’t my night to. Ugh!”
Of course she immediately blamed Dad. Did she ask me if I’d eaten her spaghetti? No. I mean, I hadn’t eaten it, but still.
Mom turned back into the kitchen and started slamming cupboards loudly, huffing under her breath. Open and shut, open and shut. A symphony of anger.
“I can make you something,” I said slowly.
Mom jumped at the chance, as if she’d been waiting for my offer. She pulled off her headband. “Oh, Sophia, that’d be great! Maybe some sandwiches? I’m going to go take a hot bath, wipe off the grime from the studio. Come get me when it’s done.”
With that, she turned on her heel and disappeared toward her bedroom.
I sat still on the couch, looking at the words I’d written down, but now they hardly made sense. What had I been expecting? Her to offer to help out? That we’d have a mother-daughter bonding moment over stolen spaghetti? Of course that wouldn’t be the case.
That would’ve required Mom to actually wake up and remember she had a daughter.
Slamming my notebook closed, I pulled the blanket off of my legs, wishing I’d never opened my mouth.
Chapter Seven
Most kids had summer jobs at their uncle’s farm or served at the downtown burger joint. I’d tried the whole waitress thing once, last summer at Mary’s Place in Greenville, the next town over. It went really well, up until I dumped a tray full of greasy French fries on this ancient man with more lines on his face than I could count.
The funny thing was that he didn’t even realize I’d dropped them onto his lap until I scrambled, face flaming, to pick them up before they burned him. He then threatened to call the police on the “groping waitress.”
My job there didn’t last long.
To compensate for my failure, I walked dogs.
Two feisty, blood-thirsty dachshunds currently tried to pull my arms from my torso, weaving in and out and wrapping the leashes together. The plastic retractable leashes that Mrs. Vasquez owned were broken, so the lead didn’t retract, leaving just knots of tether to trip over.
“Come here, pretty puppies,” I cooed to them, hoping my tone sounded soothing enough to calm their craziness. “Hold still—ow!”
A laugh bubbled through my frustration, and I looked up to glare at Walsh, who seemed to enjoy the view of me struggling. He had his hands in his sea-foam green shorts pockets, utterly relaxed.
Yeah, sea-foam green. I didn’t know they made such monstrosities. “I know you said you didn’t need help—”
“If you helped me, it wouldn’t be fair.” I blew a stray hair from my face, trying to pull dachshund number one, Dina, away from her sister, Tina. Dina took a sharp left and nearly pulled my arm from its socket; Tina didn’t like Dina’s proximity and bit at her collar. “Even though these are hellhounds, I can manage.”
“I don’t mind, really,” he insisted for the tenth time, trying to grab a leash.
I tugged the dogs away. “No, Walsh, I mean it. My job, my responsibility.”
“But—”
“Mine.”
He continued to reach, but his hand bypassed the dog leashes. His fingers caught ahold of the strand of hair that’d been bothering me, tucking it underneath my headband. I didn’t want to even think about the sweat he must’ve felt at my hairline.
Walsh’s eyes met mine, tone teasing. “You’re welcome.”
“My hero,” I quipped, trying to be lighthearted. “This must be the perfect place for you, Walsh. Among your own kind.”
“You know, I wondered why I felt so comfortable.”
I finally managed to get Tina’s teeth from Dina’s collar, but their leashes still tangled together. They’d manage to wrap themselves around Walsh’s ankle, but he didn’t seem to notice. In fact, he seemed well at ease in this moment, in this company.
As much as I struggled to understand it, I had to admit that I felt much of the same.
This wasn’t a park I frequented often since it wasn’t really a dog park, but Walsh had suggested the route. Asking him to come walk dogs with me was a foreign compulsion, one that I had no idea where it’d come from. Maybe it was because I wanted to see if he’d know anything for my article, or maybe I just wanted to get out of the house and wanted company.
We’ll go with the former.
“Smile,” Walsh said, and I realized he’d pulled his cell phone out, aiming the camera at me.
“What?” I immediately looked down at the dogs, averting my face. “No. I’m gross and sweaty.”
“No, you’re glowing.” He pulled his cell phone down and peered at the screen. “I’m going to caption it ‘Puppies aren’t the only thing I love.’”
Uh, wait, wait. “You’re going to post it?” I did not sign up to be plastered on Walsh’s social media page. Especially looking like an armpit. “You’re not seriously doing that. You’re not posting that.”
He glanced up from his phone, gaze innocent. “How else are people going to know we’re dating?”
“Fake dating,” I corrected, grabbing onto the words and launching them at him. “And no one needs to know. We’re only carrying this on for a month before we’re breaking up.”
Or fake breaking up. Or real breaking up our fake relationship. Ugh. So confusing.
I found Walsh smiling. “A month is a long time, Sophie. And if no one needs to know, why did you invite me to come with you this morning?”
“Because I’m just dying to hang out with you,�
� I said as sarcastically as possible, trying to hide the truth.
Quite honestly, I’d been surprised Walsh even agreed to come out with me today. Scott never went with me; he said he wasn’t really an animal person. Having company felt strange, but not unwelcome. Crazy as it sounded, spending time like this with Walsh was easy.
Someone alert the media: Sophia Wallace could stand next to Walsh Hunter without exploding into annoyed comments or angry eye rolls. Go figure.
I squeaked as the leashes constricted against my wrists, clenching tighter even though I fought to separate the two. Dina’s own legs tangled with it, tripping her as she tried to avoid her sister’s teeth. “Okay, you know what? I changed my mind. Take Tina. She’s evil.”
“Oh, sure, give me the mean one,” he sighed dramatically. “I see how you are.”
Us spending time together, alone, still had my brain in a blender because never in a million years would I have seen this coming. Like I’d been plunged into an alternate universe. On Friday, I’d been nothing but annoyed with him. Patting my shoulder in the hallway, misusing my name, butting in at the party. And maybe that had something to do with Scott. Scott always hated him, rolled his eyes at the mere mention of Walsh’s name—it must’ve rubbed off on me at some point.
But here we were, mere days later, doing our first outing as a couple.
Fake couple.
Gosh, have to remember that fake part.
“I was just thinking of your article, you know.” Walsh took a step away from me to pull Tina back, reaching down to scratch her head. “You’re going to write about the baseball team, like you said, so I’m trying to rack my brain for any amazing tidbits of information.”
“Uh-huh.” I didn’t tell him that my article was actually going pretty well without his tidbits. But he was right—sooner or later, I was going to need him to spill his juicy little secrets.
Before I had a chance to say anything else, Walsh reached over and took my sweaty hand in his—am I destined to constantly be sweaty around him for the rest of our time together? The gesture casual but determined. He tugged me closer, nearly causing me to trip over Dina.
