How to Hook a Hottie (10 page)

Seventeen

D
ragging myself out to the quad later, I decided that this was how my dad must feel after long hours of wrestling sewage pipes: exhausted, bored, unimportant, and ready for comfort. Dad had his TV and his chair.

I wanted Dal.

I surveyed the huddles until I spotted him standing with a group, his hair needing a comb, his eyes dark and darting. Our gazes came together in this zip-zap thing, and my body moved toward his as if it had a mind of its own.

“Hey, stranger,” he said, and opened his arms to me. “I've been looking for you.”

I braced myself for the power in his touch and was not disappointed by the knee-buckling sensations that raced through me when I hugged him. But I pulled away disappointed. It had all happened so quickly and was so completely friend appropriate. Of course, he'd spent the weekend in Marissa's arms, so he was hardly needy for female affection. Especially mine.

I caught my breath and regrouped. “You heard the news, I'm sure.”

“Only once or twice or five hundred times. People seemed to want to tell me about Brandon and Jenn.” He shook his head. “And some are making a huge deal out of it, like as your best friend, I'm supposed to do something about it.”

My hand went to my hair. I wondered if these same people could see what I'd started feeling for Dal, if maybe I hadn't been as careful as I thought.

“Kate?”

I refocused on his handsome face.

“You don't want me to confront him, do you? I mean, you've told me over and over that you don't even like the guy.”

I let out a laugh, which appeared as a cloud between us in the cold. “Totally. Don't worry, Dal. If anything, I'm relieved.” I was also super surprised he was offering. The last time he had defended my honor had been . . . what . . . on the elementary school playground?

“I'm glad. You're too good for him anyway.” He slipped his bare hands in the front pockets of his jeans. “And honestly, I'm kind of burned out on confrontations. I feel like that's all I did all weekend.”

I tried not to smile—“tried” being the operative word. “Really?”

“Marissa is dead set against our hookup business. She called it ‘a crime against nature’ and accused us of stealing people's money. And said we should get out before we do any real damage.”

Oh, she did, did she? My eyes narrowed.

Okay, I loved the fact that I was causing trouble between them, even indirectly. And from people's reactions today, our business was on its last legs anyway. But that didn't mean I had to take her criticism lying down. Especially since she was the one getting to do the coveted lying down with Dal.

“Maybe if she was here and actually saw what we were doing, she wouldn't be so fast to judge,” I told him.

“Maybe. But face it, Kate, we
have
been flying by the seats of our pants.”

Sure, but no way I was giving her the upper hand. “We've been providing a service. Supply and demand. Capitalism at its finest—”

He held up a hand. Which was probably a good move, since I was working up to the kind of spin I usually felt while banging my meeting gavel.

“Mark was all pissed off last week,” he reminded me. “And last I heard, Yvette was freaking out over Lamont.”

That stopped me even colder. So true. And he didn't even know that Mark was mad at me
again
. Chelsea, too. And that the Yvette/Lamont thing had actually gotten worse.

He inched toward me, not just closing the gap between us but heating the air a little, too. “How did that work out for Yvette, by the way?”

“She wants her money back.” I rolled my eyes. “Okay, yeah, so there's been some mistakes. But we made two clients pretty happy. That's something.”
Not to mention,
I continued silently,
that the extra time you and I spent together has made
me
happy.

As we stood there at an impasse, Carlton appeared and handed me a CD for Brianne. Right then it dawned on me that no one else had approached Dal and me at all in the past few minutes. Not a word about the hookup biz, not even a “hi” in passing.

It was like the past week had been a dream.

I took the CD, but I had to be totally honest with him. “You
do
know my name is mud, right? And that any association with me is going to negatively affect your image?”

Carlton huffed out a laugh. “You
do
know I'm desperate, right? Senior year's ending in a few months, and I may never see her again. I'm running out of time.”

“Fair enough.” I offered him a hand, and he shook it. “I'll let you know when I make the drop. And you let me know if you need anything from me,” I added, mentally crossing my fingers that it wouldn't be his money back.

•

As I walked to chem, I tried to convince myself that seeing Brandon would be no big deal. We'd left things on a good note. And he was the dump
er,
after all.

What I didn't count on was finding my so-called ex in a closed-eyes lip-lock with his new girlfriend next to our classroom door.

I drew in a ragged breath, unable to tear my eyes away. Being squashed down to invisibility wasn't enough? Brandon had to pick at the
remaining
shreds of my dignity?

Totally into the kiss, he was holding Jenn's waist like she was a delicate bouquet of flowers. As I neared, people noticed me and started stepping back. Voices dropped to a whisper. The only sounds I could hear above my own heartbeats and my racing thoughts were my footsteps across the tiles. I had a bigger audience than most of our school musicals.

So . . . how to handle this? Glare? Pretend not to see them? Make some sort of guttural noise in my throat? “Accidentally” bump into them?

All doable. But I sidestepped those ideas and went with what was beginning to become second nature to me: I tried to turn it into an Ideal Opportunity.

“Excuse me,” I said, tapping cute little Jenn's cute little shoulder.

They broke the kiss. Brandon's eyes popped open and he dropped his hold on Jenn's waist.

“Hi there,” I said to him when our gazes met.

He seemed to flinch, but maybe I was giving him more credit than he deserved. Jenn dropped her arms and turned toward me, too.

I let my gaze bounce between them both. “I just want to let you know that I'll be billing you. Fifty bucks for giving Jenn your e-mail address, another fifty for sealing the deal.”

Around us, a few people chuckled.

“You . . . ,” Brandon sputtered. “What?”

“I'm sure you've heard about my hookup business? You two are my best work of all. Not only are you on opposite ends of the popularity scale,” I said, and let my gaze linger on Jenn's face, “but I was so sly at this hookup that you didn't even realize I was behind every step.”

Was that a collective gasp?

“That's crazy,” Jenn said.

“Think about it.” Then I smiled, like I knew what I was talking about. (Yeah, right.) “And look for my bill.”

I didn't wait for a reply. I cruised on into the classroom, my heart pounding, and fell into my seat.

It didn't take long for Brandon to follow and slide in beside me at our table, looking like a kindergartner who'd been benched for pushing. “Kate, I don't really owe you money, do I?”

I stared him in the eye. The big jerk. “I guess not. But you do owe me an apology. I'm fine with you being with her. But I'm not fine with you flaunting it to try to make me look even stupider in front of everybody.”

Confusion flashed in his eyes. “I wasn't trying . . . I didn't think . . .”

But before he could finish his thought, I put mine together. No, of course, he didn't think. Brandon was no Einstein (a fact I'd known all along); he'd probably been making out with her simply because he wanted to.

“I'm sorry,” he said, sounding sincere.

I really
did
want to make him suffer a bit longer. But finally he'd actually said two words that were worth-while. So I nodded and shrugged.

“So what's this about a matchmaking business?” he asked, leaning back in his chair.

I smiled. “You really
have
been gone awhile, haven't you, Brandon?”

•

Aimee McDonald marched up to me after the last bell and demanded her Wait-List fee back. Not wanting to even go there, I pulled a couple of crumpled tens from the pocket of my jeans and dropped them in her hand. Whatever.

I made a beeline for my car. My millionaire fantasy had been crushed. Now I was a potential pauper, and I just wanted out, and for this day to be over.

Clicking my key chain remote to unlock my car, I spotted Skinny Girl leaning against the hood of another one.

“I have a date Friday night,” she said, a smile pulling the sides of her mouth. “Thanks to you.”

I froze. Then, gradually, as I realized what she'd said, the feeling came back to my limbs. I'd done something right? (And didn't it just figure that it was the job I'd taken pro bono?) But I contained myself. “So the icebreaker worked?”

“Oh, I didn't try it. After you told it to me, I realized the secret to your success was giving clients the tools they needed to let their crushes know how they feel. So I jumped ahead and simply told him I'd like to get to know him better. And he suggested Friday night.”

I felt my eyes widen. The secret to our success? I'd had no idea Dal's and my philosophy was so, well, simple.

•

I let Skinny Girl's words sink in while I drove over to the Hoppenfeffers'. Lexie wasn't standing outside when I pulled up, and I realized that Mrs. H.'s SUV wasn't parked in its customary spot, either.

I threw the gear in park and hopped out of the car. The house looked closed up tight, but a legal-sized envelope protruded from under the door. My name was written on the front in bold letters.

Huh.

I grabbed the envelope and ripped it open, anticipation itching in my fingers, since it
was
payday. And yes, inside were the twenties owed me—plus a note.

Eighteen

N
o one answered the Hoppenfeffers' door.

I knew I should give up and go home. But I needed to know what I'd done. Or hadn't done.

I rushed back to my car and drove to the one other place where I might get answers: the rink.

My breathing strained from running across the lot, I entered the building to see Mark manning the skate rental counter. Dal was on the customer side, in street clothes, his jacket hanging over one arm. I hazily remembered it was payday for him, too, and guessed he'd dropped in for his check.

“Hey,” I said, “have you guys seen Lexie or her parents today?”

Dal turned to me, his eyes a dark, uh-oh shade of green. “No, and I guess we won't. Mark just told me her mom called and said she's pulling Lexie from the skating program.”

“What?”
My gaze zipped to Mark's. “Why?”

“Something about the dad moving out,” Mark said, and shrugged. “And the mom not wanting to bother with skating anymore.”

I muttered a curse under my breath while snippets of old conversations with Lexie and her mother started to come together for me. Unfortunately, it was beginning to make sense—as much sense as anything.

“Bummer for Lexie.” Dal gazed down at me. “And for you, too, since I guess you're out of a job.”

The funny thing was I didn't even think about me or potential money or my future. All that got swallowed up by some good old-fashioned sympathy for Lexie.

The kid loved skating, and she had been working her little butt off to be the best. She
belonged
at that qualifying competition. More importantly, now that I knew her family life was falling apart, I knew she needed it. The planning, the excitement, the distraction.

If anyone understood this, it was me.

“How incredibly selfish
is
she?” I said to no one in particular. “Why punish Lexie because she can't get along with her husband?” I fished out my car keys. “I'm going back over there. I'm going to wait for Mrs. H. and tell her what I think.”

As I turned to leave, Dal grabbed my arm. I looked him in the eye, and he was dead serious. “I'm going with you. In case you need backup.”

It sounded good to me—but when had we turned into Starsky and Hutch?

•

Heading north on Division under a sun that slipped in and out of darkening clouds, I told Dal everything I knew about the Hoppenfeffers, and how Lexie's skating was a link with her dad.

“That sucks,” he said. “To work as hard as she did and have it taken away out of spite. And to have her parents split on top of it. You and I never had to go through that, thank God, but we can only imagine, right?” He glanced toward me. “I mean, even though your mom's gone, it's not forever, right?”

I bit the inside of my mouth. Ever since my mom had left, I'd kept my suspicions about my parents' marriage tied tight inside. Was it pride? Denial? Who knew?

But in the past few days, I'd wedged open that secret place not once, but twice. And I'd
lived,
right?

Maybe it was time to open it one more time. To the one person outside my family who I wanted to know.

“Actually,” I managed, keeping my eyes on the road and my hands tight on the wheel. “I don't know if my mother
is
coming back from Germany. Or whether when she does, she'll move back in with us. I don't know if anyone knows, my parents included.”

The only sound in the confines of my car was the Dixie Chicks' harmony.

“Yeah,” he finally said.

I glanced over at him. “You knew?”

“I wondered. You're so weird about your mom. You say you hate her, but then sometimes, you act just like her. I figured there had to be something else going on, something you weren't talking about.”

I drew a breath, but my lungs felt like they were already full. “Yeah. Well, now you know.”

“Now I do.”

He touched the back of my hand. Just fingertips on my skin. Still, I wanted to flick him away. Did he think I was going to do something half-baked like cry—over my
mother
?

I said nothing, and eventually, he removed his hand.

Soon we pulled into the too-familiar circular drive. Mrs. H.'s SUV now sat in a ring of sunshine, looking like a gauntlet thrown down for a fight. One I readily accepted.

I turned to Dal. “Let's go tell that woman all the reasons she has to let Lexie keep skating.”

He put up his hand for a high five and I slapped it, and moments later, we were marching up the driveway, gravel crunching under our feet.

When we reached the doormat, I rang, and we waited. After some heart-pounding moments, Lexie pulled the door open. Her usual scowl and aura of extreme confidence were hidden by pink, puffy eyes.

Everything inside me tightened.

“I can't,” she murmured. “I can't skate anymore. The Wicked Witch of the West—”

“Lexie!” a woman's voice boomed. Heavy footsteps sounded, then ceased. The door pulled back farther to reveal Mrs. H. in another sweatsuit, a frown dug deep into her forehead. “Go do your homework,” she said to Lexie. “I'll take care of this.”

Lexie gave us a desperate look, then slinked off.

Mrs. H. glared at me. “I trust you got your money and my note?”

I nodded. “But I didn't know what had happened—if I'd done something—so I went over to the rink, looking for you.”

“It has nothing to do with you,” she said, and took a step back, as if preparing to terminate the conversation.

“But it has everything to do with Lexie, Mrs. Hoppenfeffer,” Dal spoke up. “I know you don't know me, but I work at the rink, and I've known Lexie for a while. She's a great kid and a hard worker, and she deserves to be happy.” He paused. “Even if she
wasn't
a great kid, she doesn't deserve to have her passion taken away from her.”

Go, Dal!

“I don't see how this is any of your business,” Mrs.

H. shot back. “You don't know the circumstances.”

“But
I
do,” I blurted out. “I know you don't like her skating. I know it's something she shares with her dad. So it doesn't take a genius to figure you're making her quit to get back at him for moving out.”

Her eyes narrowed, and she exhaled loudly. I half expected steam to come out of her nose. “Not that it's
any
of your concern, but the bills have been piling up around here for months, with way more money going out than coming in. When my esteemed and estranged husband finally starts doing his share again, I'll consider the extras like ice-skating.”

Fire lit her eyes. “But I promise you, Kate, after this insolence, you'll be the
last
person I'll hire to drive my daughter.”

Like I'd work for a tyrant again!

I wanted to tell her
exactly
what I thought of her and mothers who put themselves first. But again, I had to pull back and remind myself that no matter how personal this felt,
this was not about me
.

“What about a grant or scholarship?” I pressed on. “What if we found a way for her to go to the New York competition for free?”

Mrs. Hoppenfeffer cackled. Just like the Wicked Witch of the West! “They don't give scholarships to people in my income bracket, honey. But if you can pull off the impossible? Sure, be my guest.” Her brows arched. “Now, is this inquisition over?”

“For now,” I grumbled. Then I turned away, my feet heavy, my body feeling low to the ground.

The door closed behind us with a bang, the force nearly knocking Dal and me off the front stoop of the house. He looked at me, and I looked back at him.

“What now, boss?” Dal asked.

We turned toward the driveway. Gray clouds hovered on the horizon, promising something cold, wet, and icy before nightfall. But that was the least of our problems.

“Back to the rink, I guess.”

A shrill voice cut through the air. “Stop! Wait!”

I pivoted to see Lexie waving her arms over her head, making tiptoed leaps in sweat socks across the gravel. Crunching toward her, I could see tears filming the poor kid's eyes.

My rib cage seemed to tighten over my heart. I wanted so badly to help, to lift her emotional storm cloud. The one I knew so well. The one that tainted your every moment, your every movement, and even how you thought about yourself, until you were crazed to shut off your emotions, to lose yourself in something, anything, to make the pain of reality go away.

“You've got to
do
something!” she cried.

I reached out and rubbed my hands over her sleeveless upper arms to share my warmth. “We're going to your coach right now. We're going to see about getting you a scholarship for the competition.”

She looked from me to Dal and back again, her eyes frantic. “No—your business. You have to use all your tricks, your hexagon and everything. To get my parents back together.”

My words caught in my throat, though whether surprise or helplessness was the stronger emotion was anybody's guess. “We can't . . . do that,” I said, then paused, unsure how to finish.

“Yes, you can!”

“No.” I bent my knees until I was looking straight into her eyes. “I was a fake. I was just doing it for the money. Sometimes I got lucky and things worked out. But mostly they didn't, Lexie. I didn't know what I was doing.”

“But if you get my parents back together,” she said, using the whiny tone that for the first time did not grate on my nerves, “then everything will be good again.”

I pulled her into my arms until her cheek was pressed flat against my shoulder. She felt so small and vulnerable, a world away from the thorny twelve-year-old I'd battled with for the past few months.

“I can't fix your parents' marriage. But I'll do what I can to help you, okay? And I'll be back later, all right?”

I caught Dal's eye and watched him nod.

“
We'll
be back,” I amended.

•

Lexie's coach was doing drills, but said he could spare us three minutes. Dal and I spoke with the speed and precision of moving from the on-ramp to the fast lane of the I-90 in rush-hour traffic.

“I wish I could help,” the coach told us, taking his cap off to scratch his balding head. “But Amanda Hoppenfeffer's right. They're local celebrities. People around here would laugh at the idea of their kid needing financial aid.”

I shifted my weight. “What about help from the national level?”

“A year ago, maybe. Not now.” He readjusted his cap. “Believe me, I am sick about Lexie missing the competition. She's a natural. I thought for sure she'd medal for our team.”

I thanked him and turned away before I told him what I really thought. While he might be “sick” about her missing the competition, there was someone who was “sicker.” A twelve-year-old girl who was being used as a pawn between her battling parents. Who'd just lost everything, including all hope.

If there was one thing I knew, it was that as long as I had a breath left in my body, I wouldn't sit back and let this happen without a fight.