Adorkable

by Cookie O'Gorman

“What is it with that movie?” When I looked back, Becks was shaking his head, looking after Trent with a frown. “I don’t get it.”

  I patted his shoulder. “That’s okay. I don’t hold that against you.”

  “Sal, I know you’ve got a thing for that Kilmer guy, but that movie sucked. That’s why nobody’s seen it.”

  “It did not,” I argued, snatching my hand back. “And people haven’t seen it because that’s the definition of a cult classic. Val was freaking awesome as Doc Holliday, and the lines in the movie were amazing.”

  “But he’s old,” Becks complained.

  “He’s a great actor.”

  “Yeah, but he’s like three times your age.”

  I shrugged. Val was Val.

  “What is it with you and old guys?” He grinned. “First that Lucius guy, then Kilmer? I’m kind of seeing a pattern here, Sal.”

  My cheeks filled with heat. I knew I should’ve never told him about my Lucius crush. “It’s not their age.”

  “Then what?” he asked.

  I threw off my embarrassment and lifted my chin. “Maybe I just have a thing for guys with accents. Nobody does a sexy Southern drawl like Val.”

  “So it’s the voice, huh?” Becks raised his eyebrows then grinned. In a pitch perfect imitation of Doc himself, he said, “I’m your Huckleberry.”

  I gaped at him.

  “How was that?” When I didn’t say anything, he titled his head. “Sal, you okay? It wasn’t that bad was it?”

  I was at a loss. He couldn’t have known. It was one of the few things I’d never told anyone, not even him. My voice had disappeared the moment he spoke the words. It was my favorite line of the entire movie, and he’d done it so well, too well. Even though it wasn’t used romantically in the movie, the sentiment had always sounded like a promise to my ears. I’m your Huckleberry. I’m the one you’re looking for. I. Am. For. You. I’d always dreamed of someone saying it to me. If I hadn’t been in love before, those words coming from his lips would’ve done me in.

  “Sal?”

  Forcing a laugh, heart in my throat, I said, “Perfect. That was…yeah, perfect.”

  “Glad you approve.”

  I was afraid if I stuck around he’d see just how much I approved. The glint in his eye said he already did. “I need a drink. You want one?”

  I didn’t wait for an answer.

  Making a beeline for the snack table, I grabbed a water bottle and drank. Becks had outshined every other guy I’d met, and now he’d even beaten Val at his own game. It was a sad truth, but Doc Holliday had nothing on him. Now whenever I watched the movie, it’d be Becks’s voice I heard, not Kilmer’s. I took another swig of water.

  When Pisszilla snuck up behind me, I nearly choked.

  “Did he tell you yet?” I whirled to face her, eyes tearing. “We need that story, Spitz. If we can get the dirt first, it’ll put our paper on the map.”

  “What?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Becks, where’s he going to college? You’re his girlfriend, so he must’ve told you, right?”

  I shook my head. “No, I asked, but he refused to say.”

  “Well, make him tell you.”

  “How?”

  “Good God, Spitz, are you slow or something?” She poked me in the chest with one of her sharp talons. “Use your feminine wiles to get it out of him.”

  I blinked. “Feminine what?”

  “Tell him you won’t have sex with him unless he tells you.”

  “We don’t…I mean, Becks and I have never…,” I sputtered.

  “Well now, that doesn’t sound fair.” Ash reached between us and grabbed a bottle of his own. Looking at my face, he added, “Spitz isn’t the kind of girl to hold something like that over a guy’s head.”

  “There’s nothing to hold,” I said through gritted teeth.

  “In that case—” He turned to our evil editor. “—Priscilla, I think you’re going to have to come up with a new plan. Sounds like she and Becks have yet to do the deed.”

  Cheeks hot, I glared at them both. “That’s none of your business.”

  “I don’t care how you do it,” Priscilla sneered. “Just get the info. I want it before anyone else, got it?”

  She flipped her blond mane over her shoulder and strutted away, heels clicking sharply against the hardwood floor.

  “Sounds like she really wants that story,” Ash said.

  I looked at him. “Well, I do, too. Becks just won’t tell me.”

  “Hasn’t told any of us on the team either. I think Crenshaw might be pulling for Penn.”

  “Hmm,” I said, noncommittally.

  “Know where you’re going to school?”

  “No, not yet. You?”

  Ash smiled. “I’ve still got another year to think it over.”

  “Oh yeah, I forgot,” I said, grinning. “You’re still a junior. Enjoy this time while you can, young one. You’ll be a grown-up soon enough.”

  He shook his head, keeping his eyes on mine. “I’m not that young.”

  “Yeah right,” I teased. “Compared to me, you’re practically a baby.”

  “You know, I’ve always had a thing for older women.”

  It wasn’t what he said, but the look he gave me that made me blush.

  Ash just smiled. “You’re so easy, Spitz.”

  I laughed at myself. Of course, he was just joking. Guys didn’t see me like that, and the only one I wanted to was currently over on the other side of the room, sitting on the couch, getting his scruffy cheeks rubbed by a line of people that’d formed sometime after I’d left. It was like they were at a petting zoo, and Becks was the main attraction.

  Ash followed my gaze. “Does he really think that works? The non-shaving thing?”

  “Guess so.” I shrugged as one guy took it a step farther and placed a passionate kiss on his cheek. If Becks swung that way, I might’ve been worried. He was a very pretty guy. As it was, I smiled as Becks tried not to look too uncomfortable. “He’s a great player, but he’s also superstitious. Three days before a game means no more shaving.”

  “That’s just stupid.”

  I shifted my eyes to his. “You guys won yesterday, didn’t you?”

  “Yeah,” Ash said, “because we’re good, not because of some stupid lucky beard.”

  “I tried to tell him that.”

  “Guess you and me are the only ones who think that way.” He gestured to where Becks sat. “Everyone else seems to buy it.”

  I looked over and saw Mercedes sitting in Becks’s lap. She was running a hand through his hair and staring deeply into his eyes, pressing against his chest in her too-tight dress. The sight made me furious. Who did that skank think she was?

  “Looks like someone’s trying to steal your man, Spitz. Better run on over there, and claim what’s yours.”

  The anger in my chest withered away, settling in my stomach like a dead weight. Becks wasn’t mine, not really, just for pretend. At some point tonight, after our break up, he wouldn’t even be that.

  “He’s not my man,” I said sadly.

  Ash looked unconvinced. “Isn’t he?”

  I shook my head.

  “Well, he’s looking at you like he is.”

  Snapping to attention, I saw Ash was right. Becks was staring at me from across the room, his face unreadable. As he went to stand, Mercedes caught his neck, and I made a break for it.

  “Later, Ash,” I said, speed walking through the crush of people and entering the first door I saw.

  It was a bathroom, the perfect hiding place.

  Flipping the lock, I took in my surroundings.

  It looked like one of those fancy schmancy bathrooms you’d find in a high price restaurant. Seriously, there was a small chaise, two chairs, toilet, shower, jet tub, mints, perfumes, hand soaps, gels and lotions, anything you’d need. A person could live in Mercedes’s bathroom, and I was going to do just that, at least for a while.

  I’d already splashe
d my face, used some silky soft lotion, and eaten five mints when the first knock came at the door.

  “It’s occupied,” I called, popping another mint into my mouth.

  “Sal, it’s me. Can I come in?”

  Eyes wide, I spit the mint back out, dropped it in the trash. When I opened the door, Becks was standing there, leaning against the jamb.

  “Yes?” I said.

  “What were you doing in there?” Peering past me, Becks’s eyes widened. “Whoa, that is one mighty fine bathroom.”

  I crossed my arms. “Did you want something? Towel, hand sanitizer, mint?”

  He looked at me. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay. You rushed in here pretty quick.”

  “I’m fine,” I said. “Where’s Mercedes? Seems like she might want first crack at you after we’ve broken up.”

  “Yeah, no kidding,” he said. “That girl is relentless, Sal.”

  “That’s a nice way of putting it,” I mumbled.

  “Relentless,” he repeated. “Are you mad at me or something?”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “You’re glaring hard enough to burn a hole through my chest.”

  “Am I?”

  “Yeah,” Becks said, lifting my chin. “You are.”

  I tried to look indifferent but don’t think I succeeded. The picture of Mercedes sitting on his lap was still right there, blazing bright in my head. I couldn’t help but be mad at her for what she’d done and at Becks for what he didn’t do.

  “You know, it’s not my fault Mercedes sat in my lap.”

  “Yeah, but you could’ve thrown her off.”

  “I did. You just ran off too fast to catch it.”

  “Not right away, though.”

  Becks shook his head, running a hand along his stubbly jaw. “I just didn’t want to hurt her feelings, Sal. What can I do to make it up to you?”

  I said nothing. It was probably true, but what a lame excuse.

  “There’s got to be something you want,” he coaxed. “I’ll do anything.”

  I watched him through narrowed eyes. “That’s a big offer.”

  “I mean it, Sal, whatever you want.” He held up his hands. “Just please, stop looking at me like that.”

  “Hey, you guys almost done? I really need to use the restroom.”

  Rick Smythe was doing what I liked to call the pee-pee dance, legs clenched standing behind Becks, hopping from one foot to the other. I knew right then what I wanted. Turning, I grabbed a towel and a couple of things from the counter then stepped out of the room.

  “It’s all yours,” I said.

  Rick said, “Thanks, Bally,” slapped a hand to Becks’s cheek and waddled inside, pulling the door closed after him.

  “Decide what you want yet?” Becks asked.

  I nodded, smiling wide. “Follow me to the kitchen, please.”

  “You sure you don’t want to think on it some more?”

  “Nope.”

  “That was fast,” Becks muttered. “What’s that razor for? Should I be nervous?”

  “A little fear never hurt anyone,” I threw back, making him suffer.

  People were drifting in and out, but the kitchen was mostly empty. All the food for the party, the music, the dancing was in the living room, so nobody stuck around for long. The kitchen was like everything else in the house: huge, wide-open, and more than a bit obnoxious.

  Looking around for a place to sit, there were only two options, the dining table or the countertop. I guessed Mercedes had cleared out all the chairs before the party. Since it would put me right next to the sink, I picked the counter. Becks was much taller, so it’d also help make up for the height difference.

  “Sal, what are you doing?” Becks looked on as I tried to lever myself up. I was on my third attempt.

  “What does it look like?” I huffed, jumping and sliding right back down. On second thought, maybe this hadn’t been such a good idea. Stupid rich people and their stupid high counters.

  He sighed, walked over and gripped my waist. I gasped as he lifted and placed me on the counter on the first try, as if I weighed nothing at all.

  I’d been right. Height was no longer an issue. In fact, with Becks’s hands still attached to my waist, I was only inches away from his beautiful eyes, staring straight into them, the ones that pulled me in. I caught myself leaning closer, and shifted back.

  “Thanks,” I said, looking away, grabbing for the shaving cream like a lifeline. “You said anything, right?”

  Becks nodded. “I did.”

  “Okay. Then I want to shave it off.”

  “What?” He dropped his hands, looking horrified.

  I nodded to his face. “Your scruff.”

  “Jeez,” he said, shoulders drooping. “Don’t scare me like that, Sal.”

  “What’d you think I meant?” I laughed. “Your head?”

  He nodded. “You were looking pretty pissed.”

  “Nah, I love your hair too much for that.” Becks looked up sharply, and I played it off with another laugh. “So, will you let me do it? Shave your sacred five o’clock shadow?”

  “You really don’t like it, do you?”

  I waited.

  “Sure.” Becks shrugged. “Why not? There’s not another game until next week. The luck’ll still work if I don’t shave again past Wednesday.”

  Pouring some cream into my hands, I got a good lather going and spread it gently across his cheeks. “It’s got nothing to do with luck, Becks. You’d win even without this.”

  “But why chance it?”

  I shook my head, rinsed my hands then filled a bowl with water, placing it at my side. “I just hate that you can’t see how talented you are. Why won’t you believe me?”

  “I want to, Sal. Really, I do. It’s just I’m not willing to take a chance on something so important and lose.” He tried to catch my gaze. “If I was wrong, the fallout would be too painful. You know what I mean?”

  I did. That was exactly how I felt about my love for Becks. I really wanted him to feel the same, but I’d never risk losing him as a friend. That wouldn’t just be painful; it’d most likely kill me. How could I live without having Becks there with me, to talk to and laugh with? There was just too much at stake.

  “I get it.” Light gleamed off the razor’s blade as I picked it up, tucking my right leg beneath me to get more comfortable. “I still disagree. You and I both know you’d win without this beard, but I understand what you’re saying. You ready?”

  “Yep,” he said.

  “You’re going to have to come a little closer.”

  “Like this?” Becks moved so he was only a hairsbreadth away.

  My throat went dry. “That’s good.”

  I could make out his grin through the foam.

  “Listen, I’ve never done this before, so you’re going to have to stay still.”

  “No movement, got it.” Just as I was about to put the razor to his cheek, he smiled. “Great song.”

  “Becks,” I warned.

  He stopped talking.

  As I raised the blade to his skin, I realized he was right. This song was great, setting the mood perfectly, slow and lazy, filled with repressed emotion. The rasp of the singer’s voice, Becks’s closeness, the whole situation left me feeling raw, exposed. I’d never realized how intimate shaving could be.

  My hand shook on the first stroke, leaving a long, untidy line of bare skin. I traced it with the tip of my finger, watching Becks’s lids flutter. Silky smooth.

  His reaction satisfied me in a way I couldn’t explain.

  The second pass of the razor revealed more skin, the next even more. A glimpse of cheekbone. A hint of jaw. I tried to keep my breathing steady, but Becks wasn’t making it easy. Despite his promise, he did move. Barely—less than an inch—but it was enough. Becks swayed toward me every time I leaned in. It was like he couldn’t help it.

  Sort of like I couldn’t help touching each patch of newly uncovered fl
esh.

  I was close enough to count his eyelashes, to see the tiny scar in his eyebrow that he’d gotten falling off his bike in sixth grade. There was something powerful about the way his eyes followed my every move. After tonight, I wouldn’t be able to touch him like this, so I took my time. I’d miss him being my F.B.F.

  “So,” I said about half-way through, “pick a college yet?”

  Becks gave me a look.

  “Okay, okay. It was worth a shot.” Pisszilla was not going to be happy, but I had more immediate concerns. “How’re we going to do this anyway? The break up. I know you said big and public. We want to do it in front of the most people possible, right?”

  Becks couldn’t say anything. I was being very cautious around his lips.

  Dipping the shaver in the bowl, I shook off the excess foam then went back to work—and rambling.

  “Are you going to break up with me? Or am I breaking up with you? Are we supposed to fight or not? We never really talked about it, Becks.”

  “Sal,” he murmured.

  Noticing a small area I’d missed, I titled his head and placed the blade gently against his jaw.

  “Sal, I don’t think we should break up.”

  I was so surprised my hand slipped, and he winced.

  “Oh God,” I said, grabbing the towel, dabbing at his cut. It was small, but those always hurt the most. “I’m so sorry, Becks. Are you alright?”

  “It’s fine.” He covered my hand with his. “I cut myself shaving all the time.”

  “Sorry.” Pulling my hand away, I let him wipe off the left-over cream. I couldn’t have heard right. “What did you just say? Becks, you were the one who said this would be the perfect place.”

  “I know.” He laid the cloth aside.

  “We have to ease people into it. Those were your words.”

  “I remember.”

  “Well? What changed?”

  Becks locked eyes with me. “Do you really love my hair?”

  The question threw me. “It’s not horrible.”

  “You’re a terrible liar.” Becks shook his head, gliding a hand across my cheek. “I don’t think we should break up.”

  “You don’t?”

  “No.”

  My voice was paper thin. “Why?”

  “Well, the fake boyfriend thing has worked out pretty good so far. Don’t you think?”