Stealing Parker (11 page)

I sink down into my seat, embarrassed. My rep must be pretty bad if Kristen Markum, the girl who gets it on with everybody, thinks I get around.

•••

Brian works us like plow horses in gym class.

But there is a bit of good news. I get lots of smiles from him as I run laps around the track.

I speed past Laura just in time to hear her comment on how cute Brian is, and how it’s too bad he’s our gym teacher. It’s a good thing Brian’s busy yelling at the baseball players in Coach Burns’s class to pay any attention to her.

I’m on lap six of twelve, thinking about Brian’s chapped lips and wondering why he bites them so hard, when Corndog jogs up next to me.

“Hey, Parker,” he says, loping along, arms flailing all over the place.

“Your form sucks today,” I reply.

“I’m tired. I stayed up too late texting.”

I laugh. We have been texting a lot. Corndog and I talk about books and animals and how I might become a zookeeper and how he wants to study agricultural law one day.
A lawyer for farmers?!
I texted him last night.

A soil expert,
he replied.
One of the reasons farming has become so hard for people is soil erosion. It’s become chemically altered because people overuse it.

Part of me wishes we could’ve been close friends before our last semester, but considering we spent three and a half years duking it out over grades, this is the first time we’ve been able to relax around each other.

“You stayed up late texting?” I tease. “That was very wrong of you. You should be removed as captain. You are a horrible influence on these young minds.”

He laughs, his brown hair flopping in the wind. “You’re the bad influence.”

“Me?” I blurt.

“You’re jogging with me. All the other girls want to be like you. They’re gonna be all over me now.” He jerks his head, indicating I should look behind us, and sure enough, Kate Kelly and Emily Mansfield are following, checking us out. Those girls are goody two-shoes who go to my church, and started ignoring me after Mom left. Everyone knows Kate’s had a huge crush on Corndog for a century.

“I highly doubt anyone wants to be like me,” I say, wiping sweat off my forehead.

“You slaughtered my GPA and ruined my lifelong dream of being valedictorian and—”

“Corndog!” Brian yells, waving his hand in a circle. “Pick up the pace.”

“Coach, come on!” Corndog snaps, but he starts running faster than I could ever hope to run.

I go back to jogging by myself, and when I pass Brian, he narrows his eyes and mouths, “Corndog?”

I shake my head and give him a knowing smile. I feel a shift: Brian doesn’t have all the power. Is he waiting on me to make a move?

Saturday’s game is at home.

We’re playing Coffee County Central, one of the biggest schools in Middle Tennessee. They are damned good at baseball. Better than Hundred Oaks. Every year when we play them, we play for the Coffee Pot. It’s a trophy in the shape of a coffee pot. It’s stupid, really, but all these guys would go to war for that trophy. Anyhow, Brian is taking this game super seriously and keeps taking the stats book out of my hand, combing over the numbers, and handing it back.

And he doesn’t mention last night’s conversation at all. We chatted online for a few minutes before he went out with a high school friend. I prayed that “bowling with an old buddy” isn’t code for “I’m having sex with Coach Vixen tonight.”

Are you wearing a bowling shirt?
I had asked.

Brian Hoffman: No. A button down. What are you wearing? :)

A bowling shirt
, I lied.

Brian Hoffman: LOL

I garnered some guts and typed,
I wish I could go bowling with you.

Brian Hoffman: Oh yeah?

Parker Shelton: I want to hang out with you. Alone. Together. You know?

Brian Hoffman: Like in the closet at church last week? :)

We could hang out in a nuclear reactor for all I care
, I pressed Enter and pulled a deep breath.

The cursor blinked and blinked.

Brian Hoffman: You’re fun. I wish we could hang out too…

He seemed wistful. Like it would never happen. But I also could tell I have a shot. A shot I desperately want.

I decided to play the hard-to-get card,
I guess it’ll never happen, eh?

Brian Hoffman: I don’t know about never.

Parker Shelton: It’s too bad it can’t be sooner rather than never.

Brian Hoffman: I know, I know……I have to run.

Parker Shelton: Ok, see you tomorrow at the game.

Brian Hoffman: See you.

Right as I was about to sign off, Brian wrote,
Soon. We’ll hang out soon.

I did a bit of Internet sleuthing after our call. I looked up the age of consent for Tennessee. Not because I think Brian and I will have sex, but because I wanted to know how bad this is. My wanting him. Turns out the age of consent is 18, unless the partner is less than four years older.

That scared me, but nonetheless, now I find myself hoping that hanging out soon means today.

While most of the team is on the field during the top of the seventh inning, and we’re losing four to one, Brian’s leaning over onto his knee and yelling at Travis Lake to get into the game at shortstop.

I take a chance and tug on his jersey sleeve.

“What?” he asks, barely throwing me a glance.

“How was bowling?”

“Boring. It was just me and Evan.”

“Evan is boring?”

“He’s no Parker.” He smiles slightly, then claps a couple of times and hollers to Jake Sanders that he’s pitching a great inning. “Evan spent the whole time talking about how he hates changing his kid’s diapers.”

“That should be a lesson to you,” I say, barely able to contain my laughter.

“Oh?”

“Maybe you should hang out with me while you’ve got the chance.” I can’t believe how bold I am toward him.

“Focus on stats, will you?” he says, chewing his gum and smiling.

We lose the Coffee Pot five to one. After storing the coolers in the equipment shed, I head back across the field toward the bike racks. The softball team is already warming up for their game.

“How old do you think he is?” Laura asks Allie, gazing over at Brian.

“Twenty-three,” I say, skipping past. I can’t help but smile, because I know the answers to everything they want to know.

“Parker,” Brian calls, beckoning me with two fingers. I can feel Laura’s eyes burning holes in me.

I hustle up to him, summoning my cutest smile. He adjusts his cap and chomps on his gum. “Have any plans this afternoon?” he asks quietly.

“Nope.”

“You know the park by Little Duck River?”

I nod.

“I’ll be there with Brandy at about four o’clock. She likes the water.”

“That river has water moccasins! You shouldn’t let Brandy play in there.”

“Aw, come on. My dog ain’t afraid of no snake. Snakes are scared of my dog.”

“Oh, is that it?” I laugh.

From beside his truck, Corndog calls out from across the parking lot, “You need a ride home, Parker?” He jingles his keys.

“I’ve got my bike, but thanks!” I smile and wave.

Corndog nods slowly. He looks a bit sad. “Have a good night then!”

“Someone’s got a crush on Parker,” Brian says in a sing-song tone only I can hear.

“Shut up, you.” I’m tempted to slap his arm playfully, but Laura and Allie are here and I’m sure they’re looking this way. Do they suspect anything? Do they know I want Brian bad?

One thing’s for sure: any problem can be solved with a big slobbery dog named Brandy.

•••

The sun is low and the sky is a dark blue when I lock my bike, shove my hands in my jacket pockets, and skip toward the stream.

I stroll along the creek, admiring the tall green reeds sticking out of the water. Rocks and mud line the banks. I keep an eye out for frogs and turtles and lizards and snakes—I’d like to see them. I toss a few stones in the water.

A dog barks, and I lift my head to find Brian coming my way, being pulled by a big black lab. I glance around quickly to make sure we’re alone, then rush toward them.

He’s wearing flip flops, worn jeans, and a faded Titans sweatshirt. No cap—his black wavy hair hangs loose. I want to weave my fingers into it.

“Hey,” I say to Brian. I get down on one knee, feeling mud soak through my jeans, and start scratching Brandy’s ears and kissing her face. “You are gorgeous,” I tell the dog. I hug her neck and pat her back and she barks and paws at me and wags her tail. “You are the sweetest.”

“Thanks,” Brian says, smiling down at me, the leash wrapped tightly around his fist.

“I was talking to Brandy. Duh.”

Brian squats and rubs Brandy’s neck while staring at my face. “This is much better than hanging out in a janitor’s closet.”

“I’m fine with hanging out wherever.” I look in his eyes.

“Want to walk?”

“Sure,” I say, bouncing to my feet. Brandy jumps, and her paws get muddy prints on my pink shirt.

“Brandy, behave, girl!” Brian exclaims, securing her leash. His eyes run over the dirt on my clothes. “Sorry…”

I wave a hand. “Can I hold her leash?” He hands it to me. Brandy jumps up again, to try to lick my face and I say, “Good dog.”

“Someone’s got a fan,” Brian says.

Brandy hauls me down to the water and starts drinking. Then she hops in and splashes around the rocks. “Brandy, be careful! There are snakes in there.”

Brian appears beside me and plays with my shirt sleeve. My heart beats like crazy. I have to control my breathing.

“You’re hilarious, you know that?” he asks.

“I
am
Elaine.”

He lifts his eyebrows, so I go on to tell him about how I play Elaine for Drew, Corndog, and Sam sometimes, and that makes Brian laugh so hard.

“So you go sit at Jiffy Burger and talk about nothing?” he asks, grinning like a madman.

“Don’t make fun of me!”

“I’m not, it’s funny. I totally would’ve done that in high school.”

“When you weren’t in detention or suspended, you mean.”

“You got me.”

We wander by the creek, and Brian picks up sticks and rocks to lob into the water. The air is perfect—cool, with a dash of spring. For a while we don’t talk. We listen to the wind and Brandy’s barking and slobbering. Soon we’re under a bridge. The concrete supports are covered by colorful graffiti like “I’m an audio pirate!” and “Crips” and “AW + TG.”

Brandy tugs on her leash, pulling me forward.

“I think that’s enough, Brand,” Brian says, taking her leash back. His fingers graze my skin before he squats down to whisper to his dog.

Aside from nudging me or playing with my shirt and other meek attempts at flirting, he hasn’t made a move. Do I have to wear the pants? I peek down at his face—pensive, as he pets her black coat.

I thrust my hand toward him. He looks at it, then at my eyes before taking it and standing. I lace my fingers with his. The wind gently threads through his black hair.

“Parker…I don’t want you to get the wrong idea—”

“What idea?”

He looks at our hands again, then strokes mine with a thumb. It feels so good I moan softly like I did that day in class. Only this time, I’m a hell of a lot more embarrassed.

“What idea?” I press.

“This.” He holds up our entwined hands. “It’s not a good idea.”

He’s right, it’s wrong, and I should care, but I don’t. And I tell him as much. His eyes grow wide. I keep moving closer to him, and he doesn’t run or jump into the river or anything, so I squeeze his hand tighter. Brandy jerks her leash, trying to pull Brian away from me. His gaze never leaves mine as he says, “Brandy, come on, girl. Sit.”

The dog collapses at his feet, and Brian secures the leash around his hand as I put my hands on his hips. He shudders. With his free hand, he touches my hair and laughs softly at my tangles. The thumping of my heart threatens to drown out Brandy’s panting and the sound of water lapping over rocks.

I get up on tiptoes and stroke his stubble. I glance at his lips, then at his eyes. He’s focusing on my mouth. He digs fingers into my hip. Now or never.

“Brian.”

My mouth finds his, and I wrap my arms around his neck. He pulls back at first, gasping, his breath warm against my lips. He dives back in. His chapped lips feel rough against mine. He pushes me up against the concrete bridge support. The stone scrapes my lower back. I deepen the kiss. His tongue explores inside my mouth. My knees go wobbly. My breathing quickens, and I’m clutching his shoulders and holding on tight so I don’t fall.

He yanks away from me.

“What’s wrong?” I whisper, panting.

“Nothing, nothing.” He touches his lips. “I had fun today. See you around?”

“You’re leaving?” I blurt.

“I need to change the oil in Mom’s car, and I have to pay some bills and work on some insurance paperwork.”

He stopped kissing me so he can go work on insurance?!

Was I not a good enough kisser? Is he not interested in me? “Insurance? Really?”

His face is all red, and he clutches the back of his neck. “I need to go before I do something we’ll regret.”

“I won’t regret anything!” I say, but he’s already moving away quickly. He leads Brandy back to his truck, leaving me here with nothing but dark rushing water.

•••

This makes two Saturday nights in a row I haven’t gone out to find someone to kiss. I guess I really like Brian. I’m repainting my fingernails when I get a text from Corndog:

Look out ur window!

I peek outside and find him and Drew standing in the front yard, waving. I go let them inside, and Corndog says, “Let’s go to Jiffy Burger. I need a Monster burger.”

“You know, those things have, like, a thousand calories,” I reply, blowing on my wet nails. My pinky is smudged already.

“A thousand calories? Really?” Corndog smiles. “I could eat two of those burgers and meet my caloric intake needs for the day.”

“Exactly,” Drew responds, bumping Corndog’s fist.

“You in?” Corndog grins coyly at me.

“Okay,” I reply. Anything to take my mind off Brian and his kisses. And his insurance paperwork, for crying out loud.

As we drive the streets of Franklin, I watch for Brian’s truck. He’s not at Freddie’s Oyster Bar. He’s not at the Barnes and Noble. He’s not at the Porno Supermarket (thank the heavens!). He’s nowhere. I check my phone to see if he texted—maybe I didn’t hear the chime over Drew’s rap music.

I’m such a psycho. He’s twenty-three! We can’t have anything. Why would he risk his reputation, risk everything, by dating a student? Even if we wait until after I graduate, I’ll still be six years younger and in a totally different universe of meal plans and being sexiled out of my dorm room and not worrying about insurance. I haven’t even gone to college, and he’s probably worried about buying matching furniture and starting a 401K. He’s spending his Saturday night paying bills! Holy boring.

“Parker? Parker?” Corndog shakes my knee. I jerk my head. He’s been trying to get my attention from the front seat apparently.

“Sorry, I was thinking.”

“What about?” Corndog asks.

“What do you think about matching furniture?”

He grins. “It’s supposed to match?”

“Doesn’t your mom’s furniture match?”

He shrugs, then thinks for a long moment, drumming his fingers on his thighs. “I was thinking about what toppings I should get on my Monster burger.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. I’m not getting tomatoes this time. They make the bread soggy. But I love tomatoes, so maybe I’ll ask them to put some on the side for me? And I like pickles, but I don’t like them mixed with mustard, so I’ll probably ask for those on the side too.”

I tsk tsk. “Picky, picky.”

“What are you getting on your Monster burger?”

“I can’t eat that. It has tons of calories and carbs.”

He flicks the back of my hand. “C’mon. You can afford to cut loose a little.”

“If I was going to get toppings, I’d get mayo and lettuce. I agree with you about the tomatoes. I think they take away from the taste of the burger. I like dipping my fries in mayo.”

“Me too!”

“Are y’all gonna ignore me the whole night?” Drew asks from behind the wheel.

“Uh, yeaaaah,” I reply. “Besides, you’re obviously all dressed to impress somebody.” I point at his skinny jeans. He’s been wearing them a lot lately.

“Hear, hear,” Corndog mutters.

“Shut up, man,” Drew replies. He fixes his hair with one hand.

At Jiffy Burger, aka Monk’s (per Corndog’s instructions, when we are inside JB we have to call it Monk’s like on
Seinfeld
. Boys are ridiculous.), the guys get in line while I stake out our usual booth by the fingerprint-covered window.