by Tina Ferraro
“Here,” Adam demanded.
Instinctively, I sealed my fingers around the cup. What flew through my mind was why Adam couldn’t hold his own beer, and if he needed help from someone, why me? But he disappeared too quickly to get any of that out of my mouth. Whatever.
Randy gestured toward the cup. “I was just about to ask you if I could get you one.”
I started to tell him I didn’t drink—then did a quick shift. Because if I’d learned anything from my life lately, it was that the Just Say No thing made me about as popular as a cafeteria money grubber.
“Looks like I’m set,” I said instead.
In what I hoped was a smooth subject change, I asked about which vest/tie he’d ended up choosing with Phillip, but a guy from across the pool called out to him. As Randy’s thick neck swiveled back and forth between us, it was suddenly clear to me I’d never get that answer.
“Sorry, I need to go talk to him.” He flashed a smile, so gap-toothed that all I could think was that he probably wasted a lot less of his life flossing than the rest of us. “But I’ll see you around, okay? Maybe later here, or at school.”
“Sure,” I said, then added the word “whatever” real low.
I turned and walked toward the house, planning to find Adam and return what was rightfully his. My phone vibrated in my back pocket, suggesting he and I were on the same wavelength, so I moved his cup to my teeth and used my hands to wriggle my phone free.
A glance at the display, however, showed a 313 area code. I had no idea where that even was and told myself it was a wrong number. Tucking the phone away, I saw my teammates dead ahead, grinning my way and calling out to me. In hey-you-babycakes, welcome-to-the-club ways.
It took a moment for my brain make the connection. Then I pulled the cup from my mouth, and told myself to play it cool.
“Hey, have you guys seen Adam?” I said, gliding up to them, careful to keep the beer from sloshing.
Madison’s amused gaze went from my cup to mine.
“This is his,” I clarified.
“Uh-huh,” she said, but her smile did not leave town.
Flea stepped in closer to me. “I saw him walking around with Saffron a little bit ago. He couldn’t be too far.”
“They might be behind a closed door,” Madison offered with a smirk.
I faked a laugh. What else could I do? Admit that the idea of Saffron and Adam together was almost as bad as the fact no one on the team had thought to check with me about my feelings on this matter first? So what if I’d been AWOL?
My gaze centered on Flea. She was my best friend. Was I still hers?
“Well, I should probably find Adam before this beer gets warm,” I said, realizing moving on was better in the long run than saying something I’d regret. Something that might make this whole thing even worse.
Soon I was padding past a dining room table that could seat the entire softball team, and through the huge room that housed couches and an entertainment center. There was nothing “great” about that room, in my opinion. In fact, I didn’t feel any sense of goodness or realness or rightness until I plunked Adam’s cup on a random end table and headed for the front door.
Chapter 5
Breakfast was on the fly that next morning since I was in a hurry to get to work. Phillip let me open the shop on Saturdays, which he considered a favor to him, but I knew was a favor to me. It was the only day I got uninterrupted, quality time with my boyfriend.
Zipping around the kitchen, I pitched some frozen berries, a few dollops of yogurt, a long stream of apple juice and a whole lot of sugar into the blender, and set the knob on high. Within minutes I had an icy cold fruit smoothie—and my dad at my side.
I divided the mixture into two glasses. His eyes widened appreciatively, then he knocked his back in a few Adam’s apple-bobbing swallows. Which would have given me total brain freeze, but since when did our brains work alike?
“Thanks,” he said, depositing his empty glass back in my hand. “Before you go, make sure the counters and table are clear? Jennifer’s got a couple of DJ’s coming by for the reception, and we’ll need space for their boom boxes and cassette tape collections.”
O.M.G., nerd alert! “Dad, cassettes?”
“Right, I meant CD collection.”
“Better, but still, they’ll more likely to bring an iPod and a docking station.”
His eyes blurred and practically crossed.
“Never mind. You’ll see.” I clunked my glass down on the counter. “I’ve got to get to work, so I’ll just put all this in the dishwasher and run a rag over the counter and you’ll be fine.”
I knew he was proud of me for having a job. Still, I could see a battle going on in his wavy brow as to where my priorities rested. “But what if Jennifer wants to hold the meetings in the dining room or living room? Do you have a second to straighten up in there?”
I bit my tongue from telling him to do it himself—I wasn’t even sure he’d know how—and thanked my lucky stars that in just fourteen more days I’d be getting round-the-clock help with my bumbling dad.
“I’m sure she can handle whatever comes along,” I told him and reached up to give him a quick kiss on the cheek. “See you tonight, Dad.”
* * *
Flipping the shop’s sign from “Sorry, Closed” to “We’re Open” later, I almost had goosebumps. Finally, it was time for just me and my guy—the one who didn’t confuse me, didn’t push cups at me, didn’t judge me.
Tux was like the PSAT, I mused, leaning in to place a big smackeroo on his smooth cheek. The ultimate test prep.
“Good morning to you, Hot Stuff!” I crooned, all sing-song.
Pulling my softball team cap out from my back pocket, I two-handed it over the crown of his head. While not sized for a full-sized man, the cap was a perfect fit on his hairless, smooth dome.
“Too cute,” I said, then gave his tuxedoed arm a squeeze. His fabric of choice, for both jacket and pants, was a standard polyester gabardine, with satin notch lapels and a matching satin pant side stripe. Verrry classy, if I said so myself. (Not that he’d had much say about it.)
“Now, my darling, hold that pose. I’ve got to get Phillip’s coffee going.”
Jumping down to the floor tiles, I moved hurriedly through my Saturday routine. Make coffee, open the register, flip on the back lights, then back to Tux. Where I’d usually primp and fuss over him, while sharing with him whatever grievance was bothering me most. I swore, just talking to him made my problems fall away like water off a duck’s back.
Today, though, was just about having some fun. Back in the window, I leaned in for a cheek rub against his satiny lapel before stepping back to wind up my arm for a game opening pitch.
“Play ball!” I shouted, then released an invisible fast-ball.
In my mind’s eye, Tux’s bat connected with a resounding thud, and that ball knocked out of the park. I threw up my fists and yelled, “You go, boy!” as I imagined him taking off for first.
Movement outside the paned glass window brought me slamming me back to reality. I turned, fast.
Phillip stood there, his face stretched in a look that might have been shock. Might have been horror. Might have been call-the-guys-in-the-white-coats concern.
I did the only thing I could think of: I gave him a little finger wave, then acted like I was tossing a ball at him. Instead of pretending to catch it, he shook his head, did a big inhale and cruised through the front door.
Crap!
Leaping from the display, I strained for reasonable excuses. Like that I was needed at home. Immediately. Because I needed to bury myself under my covers. Luckily, by the time we were face-to-face, I’d come up with something better. “Just an early start on next spring’s softball season.”
His brow went so low that a little bulge had formed between his eyes.
I opened my mouth to say something—anything—then wisely clamped it shut before my foot got in the way of my tongue again.
/> “You do realize that everyone and their mother driving down the boulevard can see you, right? And that the softball cap on the mannequin is not exactly the look we’re selling?”
“First and last time—I promise!”
His gaze softened, but that brow bulge remained. “All things considered, I think it’s best to stick to the business of renting tuxedos here in the shop, okay, and leave the sports practices to your private time?”
“Of course! And, uh, I’m pretty sure your coffee is ready.”
He swaggered into the back room, giving me the chance to lean into the window display and grab the cap off Tux’s head.
Whew. I’d dodged a bullet this time. From here on out, I needed to be super-careful to maintain the illusion, at least, of being nothing but professional. No matter how good being silly and a little bit crazy felt.
* * *
Phillip and I worked steadily all morning, with things quieting down around noon. When he squatted down behind the display case to arrange some newly-arrived tie tacks, I did a limp noodle collapse onto the customer sofa. My head lolling to one side, I might have actually dozed off had the bell over the door not tinkled.
Footsteps followed, then a deep, familiar voice, dropping my name. I focused my eyes on the customer, and pretty much dropped something myself. My chin on the floor. Because no way could I wrap my mind around what I was seeing: Adam, here in the store.
Was he planning to set aside his surfer duds for one night, and don a high-styling tuxedo for his date with Saffron? If so, he must want her bad.
“O.M.G., look what the tide rolled in.”
“Yeah, it’s the Big Kahuna.”
Kahuna: God of surf, sand and sun. Adam was nothing if not full of himself. “What can I do for you, Oh Mighty One?”
He stuffed his hands in his board short pockets and smirked. “I’m thinking you could make me look like one of those guys from ‘Ocean’s 11.’”
I rolled my eyes. The thing was, with his sun-bleached hair, cleft chin and baby blues, he wasn’t that far from a younger, shaggy Brad Pitt. No way I was pumping up his ego any further with that. “Oh, planning to head to Vegas and rob a casino?”
“Later, maybe.” He tilted his chin back as if to study my face. “For now, I’m thinking a quick lunch with you.”
While the fact he wasn’t here as a customer did disappoint me, it was totally trumped by his lunch invitation.
Now that he was with Saffron—well, I assumed he was with her—he suddenly wanted to pal around with me?
“Go on,” Phillip said, rising up like a jack-in-the-box from behind the display counter. I’d kind of forgotten he was even in the room. “I’m sure the rush is over.”
“Thanks,” I mumbled, and followed the Big Kahuna to the door. “Be back soon.”
“Take your time!”
Outside in the sunshine, Adam and I headed for the crosswalk. I had a pretty good idea where he was headed, but it didn’t hurt to ask. “In-N-Out?”
“Only the best.”
Picking up my pace to keep in step with him, I just hoped this wouldn’t take too long. After how the day had started, I didn’t want to test Phillip’s patience. But while the locals sometimes formed lines all the way out the street, what we had going for us was an almost certain lack of beach tourists. In-N-Out was one of the western states’ best kept secrets.
The real secrets, in my opinion, were items they did not advertise on the menu board, like lettuce wraps, grilled cheese sandwiches, and their ultra-sloppy orange tinged sauce, which could be added to burgers or fries, called Animal Style. Requiring, I swear, one napkin per bite.
I was a devoted fan of the Animal Style burgers, but today I was sticking with the basics. Even though I stood a better chance batting .700 next season than Adam meaning this as a date-date, I wasn’t taking any chances with the sauce, my white shirt and my shaky pride.
We grabbed an empty table after getting our food, and dug in. Cars idled bumper-to-bumper in the two drive-thru lanes, music and exhaust competing for air space.
I waited until Adam’s mouth was crammed with a double-double with grilled onions to ask about last night. “What was that? You handed me your beer and disappeared.”
Of course, I knew what had happened. Saffron had happened. And while I was going to have to accept him being with her, it gave me the teeniest sense of satisfaction to watch him hurry-swallow to kill the dead air on the subject.
“I was showing you the ropes.”
I must have looked as baffled as I felt because he took a slurp of his soda, then continued.
“That’s how you work it, Courtney. The not-drinking thing. You pour a cup from the keg, hold it awhile, then put it down. You get another one, you hand it to someone. On and on. All night, people see you getting a beer, holding a beer, putting down a beer, hearing you saying you need a beer. It never occurs to them you’re not drinking any of it.”
Yeah, okay. I bought that. “But,” I continued, thinking out loud, “it’s lying.”
“It’s covering your butt.” He ran a napkin across his mouth. “Look, like we’ve said, all that matters to me is a clear head at dawn, when it’s just me, my board and the waves. Drinking the night before gets in the way. What matters most to you?”
That was a no-brainer: keeping my friends. And they’d definitely liked it when they thought I was sipping the beer. Still—
“Think of it as compromising. Finding that middle ground. Like with teachers or parents to get them off your case.” He picked at some french fries. “And believe me, it’s not so different from what I’m doing right now with Saffron.”
The mention of her name gave my gut a twist. “You’re together, then?”
“It’s not that simple.” He rolled a loose muscled shoulder. “See, making the cut for the championship puts me into a whole new league. One that my folks cannot swing. My dad’s paying for my sister’s college tuition—and trying to save for mine—and my mom’s business is struggling. She just rented out the house and we moved to an apartment to try to save money.”
His jaw tightened. “It’ll be near-impossible for me to get ahead in the circuit without corporate sponsorship. And for a while now, Saffron’s saying her dad’s company would probably back me if I ever needed it. Now I do.”
“And she’s making herself part of the deal?”
Not a huge surprise. Daddy Willis’s deep pockets seemed to know no limits. According to Saffron, he was already making sizeable donations to an art institute in Chicago with the best program in graphic arts, to make sure they accepted her after high school. Why not buy his darling daughter the boyfriend she wanted, too?
When my eyes refocused on Adam, he was frowning.
“What am I going to go do, Courtney? I need the backing. And it’s not like I have a girlfriend. Or, you know,” he said, his gaze shifting down to his burger, “feelings for someone else.”
No joke. At least when it came to people at this table.
“Saffron and I hung out last night,” he went on. “I asked her to Homecoming, adding the no-time-right-now-for-a-girlfriend line. It’s a date, not a relationship.”
I scrunched my brow. “Which she’s thinking will change if her dad sponsors you and you can quit your after-school job.”
He nodded quickly; I almost missed it. “We’ll see where it goes. For now, we’re just going to the dance. I’ll meet her dad. And I can be all about surfing again, working on my mental focus and developing a really aggressive approach to do my best in my heats.”
His words were accentuated by sparkles in his eyes, which I admired, and even envied. He had his priorities straight, was so secure in his passion that he could make sacrifices and tough choices. And it wasn’t like Saffron would be suffering. She was getting a studly Homecoming date, and maybe more.
I was no slouch in the priority department, either, was giving it my all to make St. Ansgar’s happen. But could I take it to where he was going, straddle personal relat
ionship lines? I couldn’t answer that.
Which slid me into one last question, something I couldn’t shake or resist asking. “Say my dad was to pony up the money to sponsor you,” I said, smiling and playful. “You’d go to the dance with me?”
His face jerked up. “You? No way.”
I think my heart stopped. Just stopped. Which wasn’t such a bad thing, considering I wanted to die.
“Because the only way that would happen, would be because you made it part of the deal. And you’d never do that. That’s not,” he said, glancing down, “who we are.”
I laughed—as good a response as any—and then he did, too. I thought about making some dorky joke about us having as much chemistry together as a broken test tube, then decided to play it safe and go back to my burger instead. And reminded myself to never again ask a question I didn’t really want to hear the answer to.
Minutes later, we were back across the street, heading towards the shop. Since I now knew he was going to the dance, I went with my salesgirl best and tried to get him to rent one of our tuxes. What did I have to lose?
“We’re offering a discount,” I continued with a playful nudge. “And for you, I could probably throw in the vest at no extra charge.”
“Something tells me you’re getting commission.”
“No comment.”
“You’re going for some sales record or strategy you plan to include in your application essay for St. Ansgar’s?”
I let out a laugh, mostly impressed he remembered the odd name of the college. “Not a bad idea. I’ll think on that. But really, we have some fantastic styles to help you pull off any look you want.
“I mean, take a look at him.” I aimed my pointer finger toward the storefront window. At my gorgeous, darling guy, who, come to think of it, did have a little bit of the “Ocean’s 11” mystique going on, and was posed not only to break women’s hearts, but to grab men’s eyes, too. “Classic.”
“Him? Not it?”
I stared at Adam, my faux pas kicking in, then cleared my throat. “Yeah, I call him Tux. And I mean, you could be as cool as he is.”
