Daring Hearts: Fearless Fourteen Boxed Set

by Box Set

  And almost bumped into his chest, he was so close. I backed up, landing against Charlie’s flank. Brady’s hand reached out to steady my arm, his grip gentle but firm through my sweater.

  I swallowed. “For making you think I was better than I am.”

  He let go of my arm and scrubbed his face with his hands. “I went out on a limb for you.”

  I looked down at my hands, and rubbed the base of my right thumb, working at the ache that was settling in after the hard practice. “I know you did. I was bragging about those stupid ribbons. I don’t know why. I should have been at the tryouts and you would have seen that I wasn’t any good.”

  “You’re right; I should have made you try out. But that’s on me.”

  “So I guess I’m off the team.”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  I laughed. “No, but you were going to. I’ll save you the trouble. I quit. I had no business being in that arena today.”

  “That’s not true.”

  With a snort, I looked up at him. “You would have put me on the team if I’d tried out?”

  He hesitated.

  “That’s what I thought,” I said, returning to brushing Charlie. “Well you’re off the hook—like I said, I’m quitting and you won’t have to see me again until our equestrian unit in P.E.”

  “I never said you were off the team,” he said, an edge to his voice, making me turn back toward him.

  “Why?”

  “You’re not horrible, Brooklyn…Ms. Prescott,” he corrected.

  “Yes I am.”

  The corner of his mouth twisted up just a tiny bit. “Okay, you’re slightly horrible. But here’s the thing. I told the dean you were awesome and if you’re suddenly off the team, I’m screwed.”

  I’d never thought about that; how he’d put himself on the line because of my stupid bragging.

  “So now what?”

  “You stay on the team.”

  I exhaled. “I don’t know.”

  He cocked his head. “Come on, training for dressage, even if you’re not going to make the Olympic team, has to be better than doing laundry, isn’t it?”

  He had a point. But… “That’s another thing,” I said, crossing my arms, dangling the currycomb in my fingers. “Why didn’t you tell me you were the coach? I thought you were just a stable boy. You made me feel like an idiot.”

  He ran his fingers through his hair, making his biceps bulge under his polo shirt. “I apologize for that. It wasn’t my intention; I didn’t set out to deceive you.”

  “So why?” His eyes were on me and he was still standing close, too close, maybe, but I had nowhere to go since I was already backed up against a horse.

  He looked away, down the aisle of the barn before he blew out a breath and said, “All the other girls know me. They know I’m the coach and am going to the Olympics. They don’t see me: Brady. You looked at me differently.”

  I thought back to that first night, trying to remember how I’d looked at him, what I’d seen. Just a regular guy, I guess. Would I have seen him differently if I’d known he was the coach?

  Definitely.

  “Still,” I said. “You should have told me before I left here that second time. That could have been really embarrassing.”

  “What’s embarrassing is that you flirted with me to keep me from finding out about your friend making out with her boyfriend out back.”

  I did a double-take. “You knew about that?”

  He gave me a guilty grin. “I saw them outside when I came in.”

  I gave his shoulder a push. “You knew the whole time?”

  “Yeah. But I didn’t know you were in on it until you were so desperate to get me away from the office, you used your feminine wiles.”

  My face heated up. “Um, as I remember it, you flirted with me first,” I said cursing that my brain had let the word ‘first’ fall out of my mouth. But it was too late now. “You were the one talking about billiard balls in my pockets.”

  Now he was blushing. Which about made me melt into a pile of teenage hormones right there.

  “I suppose I’m guilty of that. But you can’t blame me. I thought you were here to see me, but I guess it was Charlie who had turned your head.”

  My mouth went instantly dry as I looked at him, his eyes unwavering on mine. My heart thudded in my chest and all I could think was delicious, delicious, delicious.

  “I should finish up with Charlie,” I croaked after an awkwardly long moment stretched between us.

  He pursed his lips. “We still have a problem.”

  What now?

  “If you’re going to stay on the team, you need to get better. Fast.”

  “I didn’t say I was going to stay on the team.”

  His eyes flared. “I put my ass on the line for you. You’re staying on the team.”

  Defiant, I crossed my arms. “And if I don’t?”

  He shrugged, exasperated. “I can’t stop you from quitting, but I don’t just want you to stay so my ass is spared.”

  “Why then?” I asked, pushing away the guilt.

  “Because I think you have potential,” he said, and then looked away.

  I tapped my foot, bringing his attention back to me. “And?”

  He paused, but then looked into my eyes again, his like liquid honey. “Because I want you to.”

  My breath caught, but I faked a cough to cover it up. “Fine. I’ll stay on the team. And I’ll work hard to get better, but I won’t even be at practice this week; I have to do the laundry assignment. I don’t suppose you can get me out of that.”

  He exhaled and shook his head. “Not a chance. Can you be here in the evenings?”

  I nodded before I even thought about what that would mean.

  “Good. Be here right after dinner. I’ll have Charlie saddled and ready to go. We’ll get you there. Like I said, you have potential; you just need to work it.”

  “Thank you,” I said, genuinely grateful for his faith in me and willingness to work with me to help me improve.

  He nodded and gave Charlie a friendly stroke, slowly running his hand down the horse’s shoulder. I watched the graceful movement of his arm, mesmerized.

  He finished with a final pat. “Make sure you take a hot bath tonight.”

  For some reason, that made me blush again. “I will,” I said, returning to Charlie as he left.

  But I couldn’t help myself; I turned my head to watch Brady walk away. And as I did, my heart lurched when I realized he’d also turned, to look at me.

  Preparations

  The five days that followed Sunday’s dressage practice passed in a blur of exhaustion such as I’d never known before. I was in a constant state of physical agony as I continually punished my body: in the morning at the laundry, hefting sheets and towels in bundles that outweighed me, and then in the evening at the private practices in the arena with Brady. The only respite was during classes, where I fought to stay awake and keep out of trouble. Thankfully, English and French were a breeze, so I only really had to worry about science and then literally not falling over in P.E.

  By the time I got to Friday, all I wanted to do was fall into bed and sleep for a week, but that wasn’t on Emmie’s agenda.

  “You’re going to the dance,” she declared that afternoon in our room after last period.

  My laying face down on my bed should have been her tip off that I had other plans for the evening. “No,” I muttered into my pillow. “I’m dead. Leave me to decompose in peace.”

  She was having no part of it. “You have twenty minutes to nap, then we’re going to dinner. Then back here to get ready.”

  “No dinner,” I moaned, too tired to care about food.

  She exhaled. “Fine. But when I get back, you’re getting ready for the dance. You don’t want to miss your opportunity to see your guy, do you?”

  I didn’t. Not that Will was my guy, but still…

  “Come on, Brooklyn, Brady’s going to be waiting for you.
You can’t disappoint him by being a no-show.”

  Brady, not Will. I wasn’t surprised that Emmie would mention my coach. I’d downplayed the Will thing, since the further I got from that first day, the more I realized it had probably been nothing. If he’d been flirting at all, it was just to be friendly. And even if it had been real interest, I kept telling myself that a few minutes of joking around wasn’t the real thing. I was not a believer in instalove. So said the rational part of my brain. Although when I closed my eyes, I could still see that smirk and his ocean-blue eyes looking back at me.

  Get over it, Brooklyn, I told myself. At least three times a day.

  The Brady thing, though, well, that had gotten a bit weird. When we were in the arena, he was all business: Coach Fleming. But back in the barn? He was all Brady; flirty Brady who was starting to make my insides tremble when he got close and his voice dropped to that low murmur he used when it was just us.

  Emmie knew I had been with him every night and figured something was going on besides the hard-core training. I’d assured her nothing had happened, but she’d waved me off and said it was just a matter of time. She was probably right, though it felt weird and sordid—although he was still a high school student, he was technically off limits. All my new friends thought I was nuts. Maybe I was.

  But it was a moot point, for tonight, anyway. Brady had told me he wasn’t going to the dance. I didn’t ask why, but I had a feeling he needed to catch up on some of his own training, since he’d been working with me so much. I felt a bit guilty about that, but he kept promising me he wasn’t falling behind, so I tried to take him at his word.

  “Brooklyn!” Emmie barked.

  Rolling to my side and pulling my comforter over me, I said, “I’ll get up, I promise. I just really need a little rest first.”

  “I’ll be back in one hour,” Emmie said just before I heard the door close softly behind her.

  What felt like no more than one minute later (but was probably closer to the hour, as promised), she was back, waking me up from the sleep of the dead.

  “Brooklyn!” she said, plunking down on my bed. “Get up. It’s time to get ready.”

  I exhaled and forced myself to get out of bed and stumble toward the bathroom for a shower. Five minutes later, I was leaning against the tile, eyes closed and enjoying the soothing hot water in a near trance, when the spray turned ice cold. I screamed and opened my eyes to see my roommate standing beside the shower stall, a determined look on her face and a hand on the hot tap.

  “Let’s go!” she said.

  It appeared my roommate, the save-the-world poster child for altruism, had a take no prisoners attitude when it came to getting her roommate ready for a dance.

  I both loved and hated her for it.

  “I’m coming. I’ll be out in a few.”

  “No sleeping in the shower.”

  I shivered, turning the cold water off. “Yeah, not much chance of that happening now. I need to dry my hair and do my face.”

  She was finishing her makeup, leaning close to the mirror to do her mascara, her mouth agape as she concentrated on covering each lash. “It’ll be dark in the gym, so make sure you wear a bit more makeup than usual to be dramatic.”

  “How long do I have?”

  She glanced down at the phone on the counter. “Bus leaves for Westwood in a half-hour.”

  I cursed. That was barely enough time. I hadn’t even picked out anything to wear yet—not that I had a lot of outfits to choose from. We wore uniforms to classes and then most of the rest of my wardrobe was jeans and pajamas. I had exactly two dresses that my mother had sent me with, just in case. We hadn’t really thought about dances; who figures they need anything nice to wear at an all-girls school?

  “What are you wearing?” I asked, reaching for the towel and wrapping it around me.

  “The Fendi,” she said, as though I could identify parts of her wardrobe by designer.

  “Oh, God, that was pretentious,” she said, shaking her head. “I’m sorry. The black dress. The one with the lace on top.”

  “Hello?” Chelly called out from the door.

  “We’re in here,” Emmie called back.

  Chelly materialized in the bathroom doorway wearing a tight and curvy dress in fire-engine red, which should have looked gaudy with her red hair, but didn’t. She looked like a bombshell.

  “Wow,” I said, giving her the once over.

  “Right?” she said, her wide smile confident. I wished I had a quarter of her self-assurance. Hell, I bet any girl did—if you could bottle that stuff and sell it, you’d be an instant millionaire.

  Emmie turned away from the mirror and took in Chelly. “You look Ah-ma-zing!”

  “Thanks, girls. Brooklyn! You’re in a towel! Are you going to be ready in time?”

  “Yeah, sure,” I said. “As soon as I figure out what I’m going to wear.” It was a joke, since I had such a narrow choice.

  Emmie and Chelly exchanged a shocked look. “You don’t know what you’re wearing yet?” Chelly asked, scandalized. I suppose if I hadn’t been slaving in the laundry and working my ass off in the equestrian arena, maybe I would have put some more thought or care into tonight, but as it was, I was barely awake.

  “You should borrow my Stella McCartney,” Emmie announced. “You’ve got the body for it.”

  “No, it’s okay. I don’t need to borrow your clothes,” I was starting to feel anxious as it was; I didn’t need to worry about her très expensive wardrobe, too.

  Chelly disappeared and returned holding up a black dress with a black and white heart print on top. “This one?”

  Emmie nodded. “Yeah, it will look amazing on you, Brooklyn. Just try it on. But hurry up, we have eighteen minutes!”

  On the Way to the Dance

  The bus ride to Westwood was surreal. After two weeks of stewing in estrogen, save a few male teachers, the Rosewood girls were crazy excited to be going to the dance where they would experience, as Chelly put it, the Westwood Buffet. The buzz on the bus was palpable and I could only describe it as something like a shark feeding frenzy, where the sharks wore designer dresses and a lot of makeup and were very, very hungry.

  I’d only met a few of the guys: Will, Evan and I guess Brady counted, too, since he was a student, along with Dave, who I hadn’t yet met, but had heard enough about to know was pretty much perfection on a stick, but to hear the girls talk, all Westwood boys were great catches.

  Money, looks, smarts—just like Rosewood girls had it all, Westwood boys did, too. Plus testosterone and muscles—Westwood prided itself on having an excellent athletics program and boasted the highest number of Olympic podium finishes per capita of any school in the U.S.

  “Why so quiet?” Chelly asked from the seat in front of me. She was sitting sideways so she could talk to all of us as we sat together on the short ride to the Westwood campus.

  I shrugged, “Tired I guess.” And I was, but that wasn’t why I was quiet. I was terrified.

  Sure, I had been to dances before and even some big non-school ones back in London. I had some okay moves on the floor, but that’s not what I was worried about: this was different. This was my first dance as the new and improved Brooklyn, who was going to try to embrace the fact that she was the new girl and get herself noticed.

  I had to admit, if ever I was prepped to be noticed, this was it. The designer dress, which Emmie had practically forced onto my body, did look exceptional on me. And my makeup somehow came together with only one rushed mascara wand to the eyeball. My strappy pumps, though being higher than what I was used to, completed the outfit and made my legs look great, despite them causing new discomfort in my already aching calves. But I’d power through. This was the dance, the one that was going to set the tone for the entire year.

  “I can’t wait to see Dave,” Emmie said, bouncing in her seat a little beside Chelly, making her move up and down, too.

  “You just saw him last night when you set up the gym for t
he dance,” I said, remembering how she’d returned the night before with googly eyes and plumped lips that I knew were from making out and not some cosmetic lip enhancer.

  She gave me a sheepish look, as though she was remembering, too. “Well yeah, but they’ll be wearing jackets and ties tonight. They all look so sexy when they’re dressed up.”

  “Bring it!” Chelly said. “I can’t wait.”

  We all laughed, which eased my nerves a bit. Though I realized I wasn’t the only quiet one. “So, is there anyone you have your eye on?” I asked Kaylee. She was sitting beside me in a subdued, but very pretty navy dress accented by a small diamond pendant. Although I didn’t know many of the boys, she’d had two years to get to know them and single out at least one.

  She shook her head and opened her mouth to say something, but Celia interrupted before she got the chance.

  “She had a thing for Phillip Carson last year, but then he started dating Harmony Wilson. They’re both seniors this year.”

  “They’re not still together,” Chelly broke in. “They broke up during the summer.”

  Kaylee’s eyes lit up as she looked at Chelly. “Really?”

  Chelly nodded. “Yep. Harmony hooked up with a guy back home. She’s doing the long distance thing—I heard her talking about it in Algebra.”

  “Will you dance with him?” I asked.

  Kaylee shrugged. “I don’t think so.”

  “Yes she will,” Celia said. “We’ll make it happen. Kaylee, don’t think about…”

  Kaylee cut her off with a look. I wondered what that was about, but Celia shook her head when I looked at her.

  “He’s friends with Dave,” Emmie said. “I’ll talk to him.”

  “How are you going to talk and make out at the same time?” Chelly asked, her face deadpan.

  Emmie playfully smacked her, but didn’t bother answering, turning to me. “I can’t wait for you to meet Dave,” she said. “You’re going to love him. Well, not love him, love him, but you’ll get along great when you do the liaison thing together.”