"They could care less what I eat, Viola," he added. "If anything, I have to intake a lot because I burn so much with soccer. Your dad's actually given me some good tips."
"Why do you enjoy torturing me?" I asked.
"Not torture," Dare said, and when I re-opened my eyes, he still looked mighty pleased with himself. "I have more fun than I should teasing you. But it's what friends do."
I lifted a brow. "Fake friends, you mean?"
Dare tilted his head. "I thought we cleared this up the other day. We're friends, Viola. Or at least, we're getting there."
I tugged at the bottom of my shirt. "You know, I really didn't mean anything by it. About the food. I know you're saying it was a joke, but I hope I didn't offend you."
At that, Dare did the unthinkable.
He reached down and lifted his shirt, high enough to show me a tantalizing view of his stomach. The six pack he revealed was lean and lovely. Dare even had those cut V-lines that kissed the top of his waistband. Fit indeed, I thought, trying to make sure I wasn't doing something stupid like drooling or ogling him too much. But it was difficult.
Dare looked up and met my gaze.
"I'm good, flower."
Yes. Yes, he was.
"I wanted to ask you something."
"Hmm," I said.
"Can you give me a lift home after practice? Ty usually does, but he was out sick today."
"Sure, sure, no problem."
"Great, thanks." Dare dropped his shirt then, and I blinked, coming back to the here and now. "Practice lasts about 45 minutes. There's plenty of room to sit in the stands. See you there, Vi."
Before I knew it, he was jogging down the hall, and I was left staring after him with a surprising revelation. I was now stuck driving Dare home, would have to sit through soccer practice and wait until he was done.
All because I was hypnotized by his lovely abs.
Note to self: Ab trances are a real thing, and I am not immune.
Ugh.
At least this would give me a chance to plot my revenge on Dad.
#
It was hot as Hades outside. I was sitting mostly by myself in the stands with a pen and notebook propped on my lap, pretending to study so as not to look suspicious. But it was all a front.
Instead of homework, my eyes were on my dad.
Wondering what would get through to him, make him regret meddling in my life.
He'd hired a guy, for goodness sake.
To be my friend.
Who the heck did that?
And for that matter why choose Dare? Why not another girl my age? His faith in Dare and their bond was easy to see during practice. All Dad had to do was make a hand gesture or shout one word, and Dare immediately knew what he meant. That happened now as the team waited for the ball to be thrown back inbounds. Dare looked to my father, who gave him a nod, and then the ball was in play. In the next breath, Dare managed to shake off two defenders, get into position by the net, and when the ball was passed to him, he caught it with his chest, and shot it right past the goalie into the net. All of this happened in a matter of seconds. Even I, who didn't typically like watching soccer—much to my father's dismay—knew that kick had been picture perfect. Dad blew his whistle, signaling the end of practice, and as the team came in, he gave Dare a pat on the back.
But I shook my head.
Part of me understood that he was trying to help by giving me the only thing he thought would make me happy. Dad loved people, and they loved him. He'd even been voted Favorite Teacher of the Year by the students for three years running. He thought I was lonely—though I'd told him I wasn't. He thought I needed someone to talk to (a human, not the animals at the shelter). Which okay, yeah, maybe I did.
But this was just cray cray.
Dad needed a wakeup call. Badly.
I had to show him the error of his ways.
But how?
My eyes went to the notebook page in front of me. We'd been out here nearly an hour. I was starting to sweat under the heat, couldn't even imagine how the players were feeling with all the running back and forth.
And I hadn't been able to come up with a thing.
Well, nothing I could use.
My imagination was one of my best attributes. I'd watched too many movies, read too many books, for my mind to be idle. I was bursting with ideas. But of the possibilities I wrote down, I'd ended up crossing them all out.
Idea #1) Be wild.
Take a page from Dare's playbook and start partying, experiment with alcohol and smoking, hook up—heck maybe sleep around (all things I'd heard Dare had done his first year at DHS. Funnily enough, he'd never been like that before—but it hadn't been pretty.). There was even a rumor he'd dated and dumped the entire cheer squad. Though, I hadn't verified that.
I'd marked through that option almost instantly.
My uncle Ollie let me try his beer once, and I nearly puked. Also, smoking was just ew. Parties and hooking up involved interacting with people. Enough said.
Onto the next.
Idea #2) Date someone on the team.
Another no-go. The idea was good on the surface. I knew Dad would absolutely hate the thought of me dating anyone, let alone a player. There was just one big problem. None of the guys on the team knew I was alive—well, besides Dare, Tyson and Jovonte, thanks to Lit. But Dare was Dare, Jovonte was taken, and Tyson hadn't returned my feelings. Plus,
