How to Hook a Hottie

by Tina Ferraro

  And somehow, moving myself back to square one felt like the only way I could put this Brandon Callister and hooking-up-business mess behind me. By forcing myself to make sweeping changes, figuring out new and better ways to make the five thou than pretending to be an expert at something I knew nothing about.

  Hooking hotties—ha! I couldn't even get the guy I wanted. How could I have thought I'd help others?

  What I'd had during this venture was guts—just not the knowledge. So I imagined if I had knowledge, too, like if I went to business school or took some college courses. There'd be no stopping me. And more book smarts might help me ward off future costly and embarrassing mistakes, too. Maybe my parents' dream that I go to college was actually in my best interest.

  I probably needed to stop thinking of higher education as the evil intruder that stole my mother and start thinking of it as the next natural step in making my plans a reality.

  Footsteps thumped up the stairs, reverberating in my chest. I looked up to see Dal filling the doorway.

  His gaze swept the room, taking in the shoe box and then me. “So this is why we came here. For your money.”

  I didn't answer; I couldn't. I was still sane enough to know how insane it was for me to pay a rich kid's expenses with all the money I had in the world.

  “Complikate,” he said, his tone softening. “Think about what you're doing. That money means everything to you.”

  I searched his face, his words echoing in my ears. One of the reasons I'd initiated my Millionaire Before Twenty plan was so that down the road, I wouldn't lose sight of what was really important. But instead of preventing the problem, I had expedited and exacerbated it, making me lose sight of what was important now.

  “Lexie needs it. And besides,” I added, my voice dropping to a half whisper. “It's like the money was starting to own me. Like I was in the box, surrounded by cold, heartless cash.”

  His gaze swept over me, his eyes a placid, dollar-bill green color, which told me he respected my decision, wasn't choosing to fight. “You're sure? You know, you can't change your mind tomorrow and get it back.”

  “I'm sure,” I said, hoping I was. I stood on slightly shaky legs, replaced the lid, and tucked the box in the curve of my arm. “Let's take this to the coach, then go give Lexie the good news.”

  I expected him to turn and head out. Instead, he pressed his palms on the sides of the doorjamb and leaned forward, like he was holding up the doorframe.

  My heartbeats accelerated.

  “I owe you an apology,” he announced.

  An apology? If his posture wasn't enough to stop me in my tracks, his words were. “For what?

  “When I said you were like your mother. She would never put someone else's interests first. Especially not some kid who mostly got on her nerves.”

  Feelings I didn't even know I had started arriving and demanding attention. I realized I could cry. Or get mad. Or something.

  “You're an incredible person, Kate, a way better person than your mother will ever be or deserves in a daughter.”

  Emotion filled my throat. Wow. But while I was supertouched that he thought so much of me, I did not want to think about my mother right now. I didn't want to think about anybody. Except us. Dal and me.

  His hands left their security posts and reached out to me.

  I stared at him for the longest moment of my life. Then I slipped the shoe box onto the nearby desk and fell into his magnetic pull. Locking my arms around his back, I pressed my head into the hollow of his shoulder.

  Adoring him.

  Oh, God. Being with him like this . . . it was so wrong. It was so right.

  His lips brushed my forehead in a friendly kiss, sending tingles through me—and the ominous feeling that something like lightning was going to strike. Something crazy, something freaky. Something that would do irrevocable damage.

  I had no choice but to step away. He was hers. And the last thing I wanted was to do something we'd regret, something that would drive a stake into our friendship.

  I realized that without Dal, my life would lose its meaning.

  “So,” I said, attempting to swallow but finding I needed saliva for that. “Should we get going?”

  He paused, then reached for the shoe box. “Your money, your call. How much do you have in here, anyway?”

  “Almost as much as we need. Plenty to hold her spot. It'll give us time to figure out how to get the rest.”

  He walked down the stairs ahead of me. “Let's make a pit stop at my house,” he called back. “I've got some money, too.”

  “No way,” I told him when I caught up with him on the landing. “You need your money for college.”

  “Not really. I'll be living at home and hopefully still working at the rink.”

  “What are you talking about? You can't commute to the U.” Seattle was on the other side of the state.

  “I didn't apply there. I knew it wouldn't work out.”

  “Financially?”

  “Well, that, too,” he said, and did a throat-clearing thing. “What I really meant was between Marissa and me.”

  My eyes shot open. I must have looked horribly inquisitive or at least in some kind of pain, because Dal seemed to feel the need to explain.

  “Look, it was fun with her at first. The homecoming dance, and then some dates. She was a senior who liked me, and how cool was that? And later, it was exciting to have a girlfriend away at college, to go visit with no parents. But take the fun away, and it was just Marissa and me. Two people who liked the idea of being together better than actually being together.”

  I tried to act as normal as I could. “You sound like you broke up.”

  Shifting his weight on the hallway linoleum, he nodded. “Yeah, we did.”

  Omigod. If I was dreaming, I didn't ever want to wake up. If I was awake, I didn't ever want to sleep again. Finally, finally, Dal was free!

  Still, I knew I had to keep my cool. “I'm so sorry,” I managed to say, lying to him for the second time that afternoon.

  He paused, his gaze all over my face. “You don't seem all that sorry.”

  “I—don't?” Frown, Kate, frown! “I guess I'm surprised. And,” I said, thinking fast, “worried that it had something to do with our business?”

  The lines eased in his brow. “Well, yeah. Partly. She's always been a little jealous. I did a stupid thing early on, admitting I'd asked you to homecoming before her. She never got over the idea that she was second best to you. So yeah, then with her suspicions about you with our business . . . everything just blew up.”

  I frowned again, hoping I looked sincere. Then, since oh yeah, we needed to get to the rink, I started backing toward the kitchen and the back door.

  “Just promise me something, Kate,” he said, following, poking my shoulder from behind. “If I end up without a prom date, and you don't have one either, you won't call me a coward for asking you.”

  That stopped me dead in my tracks. “No! Well, I mean, not again. I mean,” I said, and I laughed. Then I realized that the fuss, the hair, the nails, the dress—the money—it would all totally be worth it if I got to be in Dal's arms. “Yeah, I'd love to go with you. If neither of us has dates.”

  “The funny thing was,” he said, shifting the shoe box from one arm to the other, “I really did want you to be my date for homecoming. I was asking for real. I only asked Marissa to save face.”

  Memories of that conversation slam-banged into a recent conversation, when Skinny Girl informed me that the underlying secret to my business's success was getting the crushes to know how the clients felt.

  I hadn't known Dal liked me liked me when he'd asked. But would it have made a difference?

  Ummm . . . I wasn't ready for him, so probably not. Not then.

  But I thought about Mark with Chelsea. Jon with Dakota. Skinny Girl and her guy. Even Dal and Marissa. They'd gotten the message that the other was interested and taken a chance.

  Did I dare take my own
advice and tell him how I felt?

  “I'm sorry I gave you such a hard time,” I managed to say. “It won't happen again. And I'm really glad you're sticking around next year. I'm not ready to become e-mail friends yet.”

  “You're the one doing the leaving.”

  “Not necessarily. For all you know, I'll end up at the community college, too, learning how to mount an aggressive campaign on the finance world.”

  “I love it when you talk business, Kate.”

  “Yeah, well,” I said, and laughed. “I love a lot of things about you, too. And I have for a long time.”

  My heart stopped. I expected him to laugh and launch a fastball right back at me. That was what Dal and I did, right? We were best friends who joked around about almost everything, even the things that cut a little too close to the bone.

  But he didn't laugh. He didn't talk. He didn't poke me. He didn't do anything but stare into my eyes. “For how long?” he finally asked. “A week? A month?”

  I knew if I was ever going to do it, it was now. “I don't know, exactly. You've sort of grown on me.”

  His mouth tugged upward, like he was trying to smile, but something was keeping it from completely coming through.

  Then I figured, Oh what the hell? “And those days out at the lake last summer, well, I'd have to be blind not to have noticed you.”

  He smiled and did a he-man fist squeeze. I was sure that inside his jacket, those million-dollar abs went rock hard. (Gulp.) “Yeah, I was showing off for you a bit.”

  “You were? But Marissa . . .”

  His face seemed to freeze-frame, and it was almost like his eyes shifted to a softer hue. “Kate, all you had to do was snap your fingers,” he said, his voice low and husky. “And I would have been yours. Don't you know how I've felt about you since . . . forever?”

  Thoughts and emotions clouded my head—but nothing would keep me from responding at that very moment.

  I grabbed hold of his hand, and laced my fingers with his, for the first time touching him without guilt, without caution. And with all my heart.

  He sidled up next to me. Close. “Hey, you know how I went searching for tricks and tests for clients?”

  I nodded, vaguely following along.

  “Well, I found another one, something called the Ten-Dollar Kiss, and I've been saving it to try out on you.”

  My insides fluttered, and I'm sure I smiled.

  “You bet the girl ten bucks that you can kiss her on the mouth without your lips ever touching hers.” He turned and inched toward me. “Okay. Now remember, I win, you pay me. I lose, I pay you.”

  I nodded, anticipation causing a fireworks thing in my veins.

  His mouth, his lips, his breath, his total, hunky Jason Dalrymple–ness grew closer. And closer. Till I thought the sheer anticipation might be the death of me.

  Was this the trick? You drive the girl so crazy that she kisses you?

  But before I could make my move, his mouth came over mine in a nerve-numbing, mind-bending, take-me-to-the-moon kiss. One that broke our hand-hold and sent my arms flying around his neck.

  Once I could breathe again, I nuzzled him with a lazy smile. “You owe me ten dollars.”

  He grinned. I normally didn't do gullible, but I normally didn't kiss the love of my life, either.

  “Let me run a tab,” he said, and kissed me again.

  Moments later, gazing up at my amazing friend, I knew I had something money could never buy. And that when I thought about the past couple weeks, I had to admit I wasn't a complete failure at my business. After all, I'd made a little bit of money that I didn't have to give back.

  And I'd hooked myself the hottest hottie of them all. At least to me.

  Twenty

  Five Months Later

  The commencement committee was smart enough to plan the ceremony after the sun had set behind the football stadium, but eight hundred graduates and three or four times as many guests in any confined area generate a stifling amount of body heat. Factor in black caps and gowns, and our class was as antsy as any to toss our tassels and head for the hills.

  Dal caught up to me as I was attempting to make my break. “So when are you going to show me what's under your gown?”

  Anybody listening would have thought the worst . . . or maybe the best, depending on the point of view and the fact that we'd been a totally solid, committed couple since right before midterms. But I knew exactly what he was talking about, and there was no time like the present to show him “the real me.”

  I backed into an empty row of folding chairs and shrugged the gown off to reveal a pink spaghetti-strapped dress.

  He frowned. Not because of what it was; because of what it wasn't. Not a business suit.

  “You didn't make the full five thou?” He sighed. “I'm sorry, Kate. Especially after the million hours behind the snack bar lately. Not to mention the interest you got from Mr. Hoppenfeffer when he paid you back for Lexie's competition fees.”

  I shrugged.

  “Look, I know I told you not to come to me if you were short. But I want to help. How much do you need?”

  “A little over a hundred. And thanks for the offer, but I don't want it. I pulled off the As, and I'm this close,” I said, holding two fingers together, “to what my parents wanted. So if I can't talk them into cutting me slack on what amounts to a measly two percent, then I don't have the stuff to start making my first million yet.”

  He studied my face, probably for hints of disappointment. What I hoped he saw was the same determination I'd been showing all year. Just tempered by a bit of experience and reality.

  “Oh, well,” he said. “There's always the C.C.”

  I reached for his hand. “I've already enrolled. Even if I get the money, I've decided that ‘student by day, entrepreneur by night’ has a certain ring to it.”

  He smiled. “Sounds sorta sexy.”

  I laughed and picked up my graduation robe, and together, we headed toward the bleacher exit. I'd agreed to meet Dad and Suz at the car.

  With the place so packed, I almost missed the dark-haired lady standing off to one side, holding the balloon bouquet.

  Almost.

  Then her gaze seared into mine—two sets of brown eyes, the exact same shade, just a generation apart.

  Emotion filled my throat. “Mom . . . ,” I said, abandoning my resolution never to call her by that name again.

  She really did come home. The bull about her plane getting delayed on the East Coast—it wasn't bull. She hadn't been calling from Frankfurt after all.

  “There's my favorite graduate,” she said, and gave me a hug so hard it hurt.

  I strong-hugged back, returning the favor. Then, completely at a loss for words, I said, “Do you remember Dal?”

  “Of course, Kate. And if I didn't, the fact that you've gushed about him in every conversation for months now would have jogged my memory.”

  I wanted to bury my face in my hands. Did she always have to embarrass me?

  But then I realized: yeah, she did. This was my mother. Over-the-top in so many ways. But not heartless, and not cruel. Just . . . self-absorbed and disconnected.

  She did what she felt she needed to do to keep growing, to keep moving forward.

  Just like I did.

  That still didn't mean I liked her methods. But maybe if we spent enough time together . . . well, hey, she'd shown up here, so anything was possible.

  “Nice to see you again, Mrs. DelVecchio.”

  “Goodness, you're a high school graduate now, Dal. An adult. Call me Pam.”

  I eyed her, wondering if she planned to treat me with equal respect. Only time would tell.

  The three of us moved with the pack into the parking lot, where Mark and Chelsea fell in with us. They were Dal's and my one success story, the only client couple who'd made it through the school year, who seemed to want to be together enough to work at it. And yes, Mark still glared at me sometimes, and Chelsea spent too many days looking like
she'd just woken up, but who said Dal and I were perfect, either?

  Well—okay—the hexagon did. When we answered the questions, we got solid lines that connected at every point. I supposed the diagram could be considered biased, since I was the one who constructed it, but who cared? Maybe Dal and I were works in progress on our own, but we were a perfect match.

  I slipped my hand in the crook of his arm and watched him smile back at me.

  Any way you looked at it, being with a guy who loved you, flaws and all, rated up there as an Ideal Opportunity not to be missed.

  Tina Ferraro was too consumed by her high school social life to create a time line for making her first million. In fact, one enduring marriage, two books, and three kids later, she's still waiting for popularity and the big bucks to arrive. In the meantime, she lives in front of a computer in Los Angeles, writing new stories and chatting with her readers. Check out her first novel, Top Ten Uses for an Unworn Prom Dress, and her Web site at www.tinaferraro.com.

  also by Tina Ferraro

  Top Ten Uses for an Unworn Prom Dress

  Published by Delacorte Press

  an imprint of Random House Children's Books

  a division of Random House, Inc.

  New York

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incide nts either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2008 by Christina Ferraro

  All rights reserved.

  Delacorte Press and colophon are registered trademarks of Random House, Inc.

  Visit us on the Web! www.randomhouse.com/teens

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  www.randomhouse.com/teachers

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Ferraro, Tina.

  How to hook a hottie / Tina Ferraro.—1st ed.

  p. cm.

  Summary: Suddenly and unwillingly the girlfriend of a popular baseball player, seventeen-year-old Kate DelVecchio goes from social invisibility to paid matchmaker for her fellow students, progressing toward her goal of becoming a self-made millionaire by age twenty while proving herself to her absent mother.