Read The Boyfriend Project Online
Authors: Rachel Hawthorne
The Boyfriend Project (21 page)
“Hey now, retract the claws. I was just trying to save you the embarrassment of a face-plant.”
“While insulting me at the same time. Or trying to. I'm actually quite proud of my academic record.” Could I sound any more like a snob? There went my mouth again, social cues disengaged.
He didn't seem the least bit offended. His eyes were twinkling like he found me humorous, and that irritated me even more. I took a long swallow of my drink, hoping he'd take the hint and go away.
“You know that drink is about three-fourths whipped cream vodka, right?” he asked.
I licked my lips, savoring the taste. “So?”
“So the reason it tastes like candy is to get girls drunk.”
“I'm not drunk.” I took another long swallow to prove my point, even though I realized I was way more relaxed than I should have been standing in the presence of a guy who had a reputation for showing girls a good time in the backseat of a car. Although I'd never figured out the car part, since he rode a motorcycle. Maybe he took them to the junkyard and found some beat-up vehicle there.
“Isn't this party a little wild for you?” he asked. “Figured read-a-thons were more your style.”
“Guess you don't know everything,” I said.
“Oh, I know plenty, genius,” he said.
“I'm a few IQ points shy of being a genius. Your trying to goad me by referring to my intelligence is a little juvenile.”
One side of his mouth curled up into a grin and his gaze swept over me as though he was measuring me up for something that was definitely not childish. My stomach did this little tumble like I was back in gymnastics classâwhich I'd left behind during seventh grade when I'd shot up to a ridiculous height of five foot ten, well on my way to the six feet I'd finally top out at. Gymnasts are usually small, but then so are most guys in seventh grade. And eighth. And ninth. It wasn't until tenth that some started catching up to me. I hated towering over them.
“You're graduating first in the class, aren't you?” he asked, surprising me with what seemed like genuine admiration in his tone. That and his smile made it hard to hold on to my annoyance with him.
“Third.” The announcement had come a few weeks earlier. “Lin Chou and Rajesh Nahar are one and two.”
“You got robbed.”
Was he sticking up for me? It was kind of sweet, but I also knew that I hadn't gotten “robbed.”
“Not really. They're way smarter than I am.” Which he would know if he was in any of our advanced classes.
And I didn't mind coming in third. It meant that I didn't have to give a speech during the graduation ceremony, but my grades were still high enough that I could get into any state-funded college I wantedâand the one I wanted was in Austin. I'd been accepted a month ago. I couldn't wait until mid-August when I could head down there and be surrounded by people who cared about academics and grades as much as I did. I took another long swallow of the dreamsicle.
He narrowed his eyes. “You should go easy on that.”
“I'm not a novice to alcohol.”
“So that's not why you staggered earlier?”
“Just lost my balance.”
He brought a brown bottle up to his lips and gulped down beer. I hadn't even noticed he had one until that moment. When I realized I was transfixed by the way his throat worked as he swallowed, I lowered my gaze and noticed how his black T-shirt clung to a sculpted chest, washboard abs, and hard-as-rock biceps. Suddenly I felt warm. Why was I noticing these things? I couldn't deny that he
looked
hot, and while I'd come here hoping to catch a guy's attention, I just didn't want it to be some guy with whom I had absolutely nothing in common. I knew he'd been held back at least one year, so studying wasn't a priority for him like it was for me. Fletcher tossed his empty bottle back into a bush.
“Don't you care about the environment?” I scolded him.
“You're not one of
those
, are you?” he asked.
Ignoring his question, I walked over to the bushes, crouched, and tried to see into the darkness, but I suddenly felt light-headed and dropped to my butt.
Fletcher hunkered beside me, balancing on the balls of his feet, his forearms resting on his jean-clad thighs. How did he manage that? I'd bet money he'd already swigged down way more than I had. “You okay?”
“Yes, justâ” I realized that I'd finished off my drink. Everything suddenly looked far away, like I was viewing it through a tunnel. The cup slipped from my fingers and onto the grass.
“You need some fresh air,” he said.
“We're outside,” I pointed out. “It doesn't get any fresher than that.”
His fingers folded around my elbow and I was struck by how large his hand was, how strong, how warm against my skin. With no effort at all, he helped me to my feet. “It's better by the lake.”
He curled his arm around my shoulders, pulled me in just a little, and I had this insane thought that we fit together like pieces of a puzzle. I liked his height compared to mine. He made me feel normal, when I often felt like a giant. He guided me over the uneven expanse of land that
led down to the lake. When we reached the bank, he didn't release his hold, and while I wouldn't admit it to him, I was grateful because suddenly nothing seemed solid beneath my feet.
I knew I'd had too much alcohol too fast on a too-empty stomach. Snacks weren't nearly as abundant around here as the drinks.
“Take a deep breath,” Fletcher ordered.
I did, and I could smell the brine of the lake, the sweetness of the wildflowers, the dankness of the dirt, and Fletcher. His was an earthy fragrance, nothing artificial, all male. With his arm around me, he was overpowering my senses, until he was almost the only thing I was aware of.
“Better?” he asked.
“Yeah.” There did seem to be more air here. I could hear the breeze stirring the leaves in the trees around us, feel it wafting over my skin. I turned slightly in his embrace until we were nearly facing each other. His nearness was making me dizzy. His hand came up to cradle the back of my head, and he settled my face into the crook of his shoulder. I had that same crazy faraway thought that we fit. I could hear his heart poundingâfelt it thumping through his chest, sending tiny little shivers over my face.
“Don't drink if you can't handle your liquor,” he said, his voice low enough that it didn't disturb the chirping
crickets. “There is always some guy willing to take advantage.”
“Like you?” I asked.
“Exactly like me.”
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