I’m wondering if I’m reading him right when another voice chimes in and my pulse skips.
“There’s my broadcast buddy.”
Chapter Nineteen
Garrett walks up with Cooper and Tucker. He’s wearing a white V-neck. He should look awful in white with his coloring. And a V-neck. I hate V-necks on guys.
God, he looks good.
His eyes smile into mine. My heart, which a second ago was right where it belongs, is now in my throat, choking me with an unexpected response.
Shit. I’m just like my mother.
Alarm vibrates in the pit of my stomach along with an answering chorus in my brain of No-No-No-No-No. I scowl at Garrett. I cannot fall for this guy.
“Someone angry at their snooze button again?” he asks in a mild voice.
“Um. I’m late. I have to go.” Not smooth, not even true, but I turn, needing to get away. I told myself I was standing on the edge of quicksand—close to trouble but in no danger of falling in. Now I realize I’ve been sinking for days.
Tucker comes up beside me, and I’m flanked by him and a grinning Cooper, who have no idea that I’m in meltdown mode. “G told us you were named after Joe DiMaggio.”
“He was my grandpa’s favorite player,” Cooper adds. “I got to tell him that—he’ll like you even more on the broadcasts.”
“I hate my name,” I say.
Tucker looks shocked. “But it’s perfect for you.”
“I think she’s perfect for me,” Cooper teases.
“Sorry,” Garrett says, appearing right beside us. “She doesn’t date ballplayers.” There’s an edge to his smile and something watchful in his eyes that makes me feel too exposed.
“I’ll change her mind about that.”
“You know what they say,” I tell Cooper. “Big ego, small—”
“Josie!” Cooper places a hand over his heart. “I’m insulted. But I’m prepared to prove you wrong any—”
I interrupt. “Save it. Not interested.”
Garrett opens his mouth, and I snap, “Definitely not interested.”
There’s a tiny moment of shocked silence and I realize how harsh that sounded.
Mai’s expression says WTF?
“I’ll see you guys in a few,” Garrett says, not taking his eyes off me. “Walters and I need a minute.”
“We do not.”
Mai gives me a meaningful tilt of her eyebrows and then heads off with the others.
I fold my arms over my chest and face Garrett. I know him well enough by now to know he won’t give up until he has his minute. “What?” I say, my eyes avoiding his.
“You mad about something?”
“No.”
“Then what’s with the attitude this morning?”
“I always have attitude.”
“Come on, Walters. No bullshit.” He moves closer, smelling of soap and sun and crackling with barely suppressed energy that has my nerves crackling, too. “That’s not how we work, you and me.”
I have nothing to say to that because he’s right. And because I can’t tell him how good he looks in that V-neck and how I’m mad at myself for noticing. For liking him when I swore I wouldn’t. For wishing he was anyone but who he is. “I don’t want to be late,” I mutter.
“I’ll walk you.”
He’s still waiting for an answer, so I give him the first excuse that pops in my head. “I’m tired,” I say. “And stressed. I have a lot going on.”
“Like what?”
“Like it doesn’t have anything to do with you.” Unfortunately, my history class is only a few doors down, and I have no choice but to stop.
“Come on,” he urges in a singsong voice. “Tell the nice Mr. Reeves what’s wrong.”
“Is that how you talked to the kids in summer camp?”
“Yes,” he says. “But first I had them sit on my lap. Wanna try?”
A smile sneaks out, fighting me until there’s no way to hide it.
He smiles back as if I’ve made his day. I hate how good that makes me feel.
The halls are emptying, only a few kids hanging out by their doors for a few last minutes of freedom.
“I’m serious, Walters,” he urges. “Maybe I can help.”
“Why would you want to?”
His expression is a little surprised. “Because we’re friends.” He says it as if it’s obvious. As if it’s a done deal. As if it’s no big deal.
“That’s not part of the rules,” I say, but it sounds lame even to me.
“Is it really going to kill you to have a friend who’s a baseball player?”
“Maybe,” I mumble.
He laughs, and I start to feel a little ridiculous. I’m the one turning this into a thing and it doesn’t have to be. He’s still a library book that’s going back on the shelf in a matter of weeks. “I’m just busy,” I say. “I told you before we started that I had a lot going on. I’m in charge of designing a new website for our company and I’ve got nothing to show my mom today.”
“You can’t handle WordPress?”
I bat my eyelashes in pretend confusion. “Is that like Word, only ironed?”
His smile is crooked and adorable. “There’s that unsophisticated wit I know and love.”
I stick out my tongue. “I’ve got a basic template, but I need dropdown menus and sidebars. I can’t figure that stuff out.”
“Is that all?” He leans against the wall, bracing his weight on one hand. Not only a stupid V-neck but one that’s too tight. I can see every one of his ab muscles shift and strain against the shirt.
I’m careful to look directly in his eyes. “I also need secure ordering pages and multiple options for accepting payments.”
“I can help you do all of that.”
His muscles are forgotten in a momentary burst of hope. “You speak HTML?”
“My mom works in advertising. Half her business is developing websites.” He shrugs like it’s nothing. “We can do most of it in a couple of hours. How about after school today? My house is a mile from yours. I’ll drive you home after.”
“Your house? I can’t go to your house.”
“Walters. Really? Are you afraid I’ll take advantage of you?” He’s looking down at me, all blond and tan and flashing white teeth.
My heart somersaults. “No.”
“You think
