9. Chapter 10
Chapter 10
CHRIS
T he next hour passes slowly with my curiosity eating away at me. What was so urgent she needed to run home on a weeknight? And why was she so adamant I wait in the car?
I know she said I could leave, that she’d be at least an hour, but I have nowhere to go and no desire to abandon her without a car in case she needs me.
Since I have nothing better to do while I wait, I open the digital files coach sent us to review for this weekend’s game and start studying the new plays, but I find myself mindlessly staring at my screen, unable to focus.
Finally, I give up and recline my car seat, opening the text thread with the guys instead.
ME :
I’ve already started working on implementing the Love Playbook. In fact, Lettie and I are on a date as we speak.
JACE :
Is she handcuffed or hog-tied in your trunk?
ATLAS :
Kidnapping doesn’t count, bro.
ME :
Haha motherfuckers. No. If you must know, she asked me for a ride, and being the gentleman that I am, I obliged. Afterward, I’m taking her to dinner.
She just doesn’t know it yet.
TEAGAN :
So, she’s desperate and using you for transportation, but you’re going to twist this into a date?
GRAHAM :
Sounds about right.
JACE :
I don’t think holding her against her will was in the playbook.
ME :
For your information, I brought her tea, which she was so grateful for, she practically begged me to accompany her to her mother’s house, and then she happily agreed to dinner.
JACE :
I call bullshit.
ME :
Okay, she might have sniffed the tea like it was cyanide before drinking it, and she doesn’t know we’re going to dinner yet, but it’s happening. And she’s going to love it.
TEAGAN :
Oh Lord.
ATLAS :
You’re an idiot.
GRAHAM :
I concur with the others.
ME :
Oh ye of little faith, mark my words, we’ll be swapping spit by the end of the night. She has all that sexual tension just waiting to be unleashed.
TEAGAN :
Wow. Swapping spit, huh?
GRAHAM :
Sounds romantic.
ATLAS :
Sexy too.
ME :
It will be fucking beautiful.
JACE :
Whatever you say bro.
A creaking sound draws my attention, and I jerk my gaze from the phone to where Lettie steps over the scarred wooden boards of the porch and onto the grass.
ME :
Oh shit. She’s coming. Gotta go.
I click my phone off and silence notifications before I lean across the car and push open Charlotte’s door from the inside. I totally would get out of the car and open it for her, but she has a look of murder in her eyes, and I’d rather not get kicked in the sack.
“I can get my own door,” she grumps, her voice a barely audible mumble as she slides inside.
“Everything okay?” I ask, watching her closely.
“Fantastic. Everything is freaking fantastic,” she says through gritted teeth.
Yep, she’s angry. Or upset. Or something. Hell, this girl is a puzzle.
“Wanna talk about it?” I ask, even though I know hell would freeze over before she talked to me about her problems.
She says nothing, just continues to stare out the window as my gaze slides to the delicate line of her throat where it bobs as she swallows. “Can we just go, please?”
I nod, tearing my eyes away from her smooth skin and start the car. “Sure thing.”
My mind races as I start down the driveway. I should probably take her straight to the dorms. It’s what a normal person would do. Hell, it’s what a gentleman would do, but even if I weren’t hellbent on making Charlotte fall for me, I can sense she’s upset?more than upset?and I care enough about her as a human being that I can’t let her step foot back on campus without a smile on her face.
I turn onto the street while she leans her forehead against the window beside her, eyes closed, and a frown playing with the corners of her mouth.
By the time I pull into Hobbs’s Diner twenty minutes later, I’m sweating bullets. I think she’s fallen asleep, and I have no idea what her reaction is going to be when she sees we’re not back on campus.
The moment I park the car and turn the ignition off, she blinks her eyes open, and I hold my breath. “Where are we?” she asks, her frown deepening.
“Neither of us have eaten yet, and it’s almost eight o’clock. I’m starving.”
Her mouth parts, and I have no doubt she’s preparing an argument when I press a hand to my forehead and wince like I’m in pain. “My blood sugar is low. I’m feeling woozy. It’s unsafe to drive.”
“Then give me the keys.” She wiggles her fingers out in front of her. “Because I’m fine, and I’d be happy to drive us.”
I nearly choke. “You driving the Boss? Now, I’m really feeling faint.” I fan my face with a hand, and she cuts me with a glare so sharp and so strong, I shift a hand to my junk to make sure it’s still intact.
Yep, all good here.
“Can’t you just go through a drive-through or get takeout?”
“When we’re this close to Hobbs?” I say, like it’s a crime. “Hell no.”
“What the hell is Hobbs?”
I scoff. “What’s Hobbs? It’s only the best diner in the Great Lakes. How can you be from around here and never eaten at Hobbs?”
She shrugs and grumbles something unintelligible, then, “Look, I’m not even hungry.”
“Too bad.”
Her mouth drops open. “Excuse me?”
“I said . Too. Bad.” My gaze flickers over her. “From the looks of you, it’s been a long day; you’re tired, and clearly going through something you don’t want to share, so we’re going to get out and eat some comfort food, maybe get a little more caffeine to perk you up, and then we’ll head back to school afterward, and you can go back to pushing pins into the little doll you have of my likeness.”
Lettie snorts. “Okay, but just so we’re clear, I’m fine,” she says like she’s hoping to convince herself. “I’m just . . . just . . .” She trails off, and I can tell by the look on her face, she’s at a loss for words. Even a lie won’t roll off her lips right now.
“Look, it’s not in my nature to stand by and do nothing when a friend is upset,” I say, saving her from herself.
“We are not friends.”
“Listen to you,” I say with a cheeky grin. “Playing hard to get again.”
“I am not playing hard to get,” she says, crossing her arms over her chest, her expression pinched.
And because I’d rather have her annoyed than upset, I say, “Oh, so you’re saying we’re more than friends. I mean, I kind of think we’re moving too fast, but I guess I’m okay with it.”
With a growl, she hastily unfastens her seatbelt and gets out of the car. “Fine!” she growls. “If you promise to shut up, I’ll have dinner.”
I grin, pocketing my keys as I slide out and join her on the sidewalk, whistling as we enter the diner side by side. Grabbing her hand, I guide her to the back booth on the far right and next to the ancient jukebox, only releasing my grip on her so she can take a seat.
She slides inside the tacky red booth, eyeing me warily as I settle in across from her and pick up the menu, acting as though she’s not looking at me like she’s plotting my murder.
“So, what are you in the mood for? I don’t know how you feel about chicken and waffles, but theirs are to die for.”
“Do we really have to do this?”
I lower the menu and smirk. “Do what?”
“This.” She motions between us. “Pretend we like each other. We can eat in silence, you know.”
“I do like you, Lettie.” I lower my voice and lean closer as I whisper, “I actually like you very, very much.” I wet my lips, eyeing her pouty mouth as she blinks back at me, a fire in her dark eyes I recognize as desire before she blinks it away.
“You know what I mean,” she grumbles, and I laugh.
“How about this?” I say, setting my menu down and folding my hands over the table. “Just for tonight, why don’t you pretend I don’t get under your skin, even though I kind of like it there, where it’s all snug and warm and cozy, and instead, act like we’re just two friends hanging out. Let me treat you to dinner. We’ll enjoy a hot meal together and some harmless conversation, then I’ll drop you off at your dorm room, and you can go back to glaring holes in the side of my face every time I’m around. Deal?” I reach one hand across the table, waiting for her to take it.
She eyes me warily. “If you think you can change my mind about our parents over dinner, you’re wrong.”
“I wouldn’t dream of changing your mind,” I lie.
“Right.” She glances down at my hand before slowly reaching out and clasping it in her own, and I try not to dwell on how perfect it feels?all soft and warm and small inside my larger calloused palm.
“Are you ready to order?” The waitress appears at my side, and I glance down at our clasped hands. Energy zips down my arm before Lettie yanks her hand back, and I wonder if she felt it too.
“We’re ready,” I say.
I lean back in the vinyl booth as we wait on our food, trying to come up with a topic of conversation that won’t piss Charlotte off. She’s agreed to have dinner with me, and even though it took a bit of coercing, I’m counting it as a win. So, the last thing I want to do is ruin it by putting my foot in my mouth.
“So, Lettie Baker, you know I play football, but what do you do for fun when you’re not going to classes, making last-minute trips home, or hanging with the ladies?”
She shrugs, glancing everywhere but right at me. “Nothing, really.”
“Nothing?” I cross my arms over my chest, finding that hard to believe. “Come on, everybody has something.”
“I really don’t. I played a couple of sports in school, but never really stuck with anything, and I’m not in any clubs.”
“So, when you don’t have any schoolwork, and the girls are busy, what do you do?”
She releases a sound, part growl, part sigh. “Why does it matter?”
“Call me curious.”
“I don’t know. Write?”
My eyes widen. “Like, books? Poems? Journaling?”
“No.” She shakes her head. “Nothing so exciting. I like to practice calligraphy and lettering. It’s stupid,” she mumbles, “but my mom got me this kit once when I was twelve, and I fell in love with it. So, I just . . . doodle a lot. Practice with different pens and markers.”
“Seriously? So you can do all that fancy stuff, like on wedding invitations and shit?”
She rolls her eyes. “And shit, yes.”
“That’s cool. Maybe you can show me sometime.”
She grunts, and I take that as a win. “What else?”
She stares at me for a moment, and just when I think she’s going to tell me to fuck off, she says, “I do yoga.”
Fuck. Yogis are hot.
I imagine Charlotte bent over in nothing but a pair of tights doing downward dog, and my forehead pricks with sweat.
I barely resist biting my knuckles when I croak out, “I’ve always wanted to get into yoga.”
“Really?” She eyes me like she doesn’t believe me, and she shouldn’t. I’m still thinking about her ass in a pair of tights. “So why don’t you?”
I guffaw, proud of myself for banishing the image of a semi-nude Charlotte on a yoga mat from my mind. “That stuff is hard as shit. My senior year in high school, our football coach thought it would be good for our mobility and mindset, but I almost tore a groin muscle.”
She chuckles under her breath. “I might have paid money to see that.” She bites her lip, nodding as she eyes me with a grin. “Actually, I totally would pay to see you, Jace, Damon, and the guys doing yoga on the football field.”
“Speaking of yoga, why are yoga chicks always so fucking hot?”
She scoffs.
“What? I’m serious, and you’re not exactly proving my theory wrong.” I lean forward, my elbows on the table as my gaze flickers over her. “Do you wear leggings and a tank top when you do it? Or maybe those tight little bicycle shorts,” I muse.
“You’re such a pig.”
“Oof. I love it when you talk dirty to me. Turns me on.”
She rolls her eyes. “Everything turns you on.”
“Correction.” I point. “Everything about you turns me on.”
She huffs out a breath at the same time our waitress interrupts by dropping off our drinks, which is probably good, because the probability of receiving a throat punch was high.
I waste no time sucking down half my Coke when she asks, “So, do you think you’ll restore any more old cars?”
“I’d like to,” I say. “I mean, obviously, I can’t right now. College football requires too much of my time, and I don’t have a garage at school, but as soon as I’m out, that’s the plan.”
“You mean, like for a job or hobby? What about football?”
I shrug. “I know I’m not good enough to go pro. Jace, Damon, and a couple of the others have a chance, but not me. College football was a pipe dream, one I feel fortunate enough to have achieved, but the buck stops here, and I know that. I prefer it, actually, because I want to reopen my father’s garage when I graduate.”
“Wow. I—I didn’t know that.”
“You wouldn’t, seeing as how you can’t seem to say two words to me without a snarl,” I say with a rueful grin.
As if to prove my point, she scrunches her nose up and curls her lip.
“See!” I point. She rewards me with a laugh and it feels like I’ve won the lottery.
“So,” she says, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear, “if you want to open your father’s car shop back up, what are you majoring in?”
“Uh, business with a minor in marketing. I figure if the Griffins want to help pay for me to get an education, then I’ll make sure it’s something that’ll help me with running a business.”
Charlotte stirs her ice water with her straw, then takes a sip. “I guess that’s smart.”
“Wow. That’s almost a compliment, Lettie Baker.” I smirk. “You might become a Chris Collins fan yet.”
“Don’t hold your breath,” she mutters, lips twitching.
“You mentioned the other night at dinner you switched from an early childhood major. Is it really because you don’t like kids or was that just a dig at my mother for having six of them?”
She grimaces. “I’m not that rude.”
I arch a brow.
“Whatever.” She scoffs. “I really did discover I don’t much like other people’s kids when I helped Brynn with a volunteer gig.”
I bark out a laugh. “That’s criminal. Kids are the fucking coolest.”
“I’m not surprised you feel that way, seeing as how you’re on the same intellectual level,” she says, her tone teasing.
“I can’t even be mad at that. But why teaching?”
The humor in her eyes fades as she glances down at her plate. “I don’t know,” she says, with a lift of her shoulders.
“Aw, come on. There’s gotta be some reason you want to be a teacher.”
And I want to know what it is. I want to know everything about you, because I’m convinced past all the prickly exterior is a gooey center just waiting to be discovered.
When she says nothing, I continue to prod, “Summers off? Holiday vacations? Kick-ass hours? A pension and benefits? What is it?”
She shakes her head, biting her lip while staring into her water. “I had this teacher in high school who could tell I was going through a rough time after the divorce, so she started asking me for help with projects after school. We’d sit there together, working on whatever project she had for me that week, redecorating her classroom, grading papers. She even had me help her bake cookies for the class at Christmas. Everything and anything she could think of to keep me busy. It continued on like that into my sophomore and junior years. By the time I became a senior, it was more than obvious what she was doing, and the school projects turned into coffee dates instead.”
She laughs, running a hand over the back of her neck as she says, “There were times where that was the brightest spot in my day?that extra hour after school. And I just kept thinking about how she didn’t have to do that for me, but she did it anyway.” She shrugs, chewing on her lower lip. “It was then that I realized she was so much more than a teacher, and I wanted to be that for someone someday, too.”
I shake my head as I lean back in the booth, completely inspired. I have no idea what Charlotte went through in high school with her parents’ divorce. If I’m lucky enough, someday she’ll tell me, but as if I didn’t like her enough, she swoops in and hits me with something so fucking meaningful it makes my heart ache.
“Fuck.” I groan.
Her head whips up, eyes wide. “What?”
“As if you weren’t already my dream girl, you just went and made me fucking fall in love with you. Well played, Lettie. Well played.”
“Chris.” She scoffs like I can’t possibly be serious, but the sound of my name rolling off her tongue only tugs on my heart harder. “For once, I give you a serious answer instead of blowing you off, and that’s what you come back with?”
“What? It’s fucking true. I’m being completely serious here, Lettie. You should know by now that I’m anything if not honest.”
“Right.” Her mouth puckers like she sucked on a lemon before she takes a drink of her water.
“What? You don’t believe me?” When she says nothing, I hold up a hand and start ticking off all the reasons I’m already crazy about her, even though she can’t stand my sorry ass. “Brunette with bangs that frame those gorgeous brown eyes. Petite. Sassy and snarky as hell. An amazing friend. Every bit as smart as your mouth. Does yoga ,” I emphasize. “Add in the fact you want to make a fucking difference in some kid’s life . . .” I throw my hands up and sigh. “Say less. I’m fucking cooked. Done. Finished. Take my dick on a silver platter, it’s yours.”
“Err.” She scrunches her nose. “No thanks to the dick on a platter thing.”
“The offer stands.” I raise my hands, palms up. “Whenever you’re ready.”
“No. There’s no getting ready for . . .” She waves between us, then growls in frustration. “Never mind, I give up.”
“Complete and utter submission. Damn. It’s like, finally after all this time, we’re speaking the same language.”
Charlotte stares at me for a beat before she lifts her gaze to the ceiling and mutters, “What did I do to deserve this?”
“Must have been a saint in your former life, sweetheart.”
Charlotte drags a hand down her face. “Are you always this ornery?”
“You mean horny? Yes.”
“That’s not what I . . . You know damn well what I said,” she growls.
I laugh, loving the way her cheeks pinken when she gets all riled up. “I prefer the term determined .”
With a shake of her head, she bites her lower lip, and maybe I’m fucking crazy, but I swear she’s fighting to hide a smile.
“You’re insane,” she says.
“You know what they say. Insanity loves company.”
A smile spreads her lips as she shakes her head. “It’s misery. Misery loves company, you dolt.”
“So, you admit you want company, then?”
Charlotte throws her head back with a laugh and the sound lights me up like a fucking Christmas tree.
Butterflies swarm my stomach as I watch her. If this is what a simple laugh can do, I’m in trouble.
“Damn,” I mutter as my gaze slips to her lips.
“What now?” she asks, her tone wary.
“You have the best laugh,” I say at the same time the waitress brings our food.
“Okay, Casanova.” She motions toward my plate. “Stop flirting and eat.”
By the time I pull up to Hyde Hall, I’m sorry to see the night end.
Charlotte braces her hand on the door of the Boss, but I stop her with a hand on the arm. “Let me get that for you,” I say before I slide out of the car at the same time she swings her door open anyway and gets out.
“I said , let me get that for you.”
“I have arms,” she says with a roll of the eyes, and I’m glad to see she’s still the same Lettie.
“Really? I hadn’t noticed.” Charlotte punches me in the arm, and I laugh. “I’m sorry, was that your fist or a fly?”
“Funny.” She smiles. “You know, this is really unnecessary,” she says as we begin to walk toward the dorms. “No one is going to jump me from here to the doors, and the resident adviser is just inside at the desk.”
I shrug. “Doesn’t matter. If you don’t want me to walk you to your room, fine, but I’m at least going to see you inside. Otherwise, I’ll just worry.”
“Okay, Dad .”
My eyes flare with heat as I reach out and tuck a lock of hair behind her ear. “Make no mistake, I’m not your dad, Lettie. And if I were, I certainly wouldn’t be having the kind of thoughts I’ve had all night.”
A blush creeps up her neck, heating her cheeks before she looks away. “And what kind of thoughts would those be?”
“Keep asking, and you’ll find out,” I warn, begging her to push it a little further, disappointed when she doesn’t.
A golden glow from inside Hyde Hall spills out of the double doors onto the pavement at our feet as we pause just outside. Silence stretches between us, and she hugs her coat tightly around her body to ward off the cold, her breath puffing out in front of her like smoke.
I should probably let her go. The temperature is dipping, it’s late, and she’s tired. I can see it in the half-moons beneath her eyes and the gentle curve of her shoulders, but I can’t bring myself to say goodbye. Not yet. Not when this day has already turned out to be spectacularly better than I had hoped.
There’s a wariness in her expression when her espresso eyes meet mine, and it hits me how different it is from the first time I saw her. I still remember the way she looked in the short summer dress, her hair a mass of tousled waves around her face, falling just below her chin and showcasing her slender neck. She was happy and carefree, laughing with Brynn as she walked out the door. But the light in her eyes has since faded, dimmed. The carefree girl from first year is gone, and these last few months, I’ve watched her close in on herself. While she’s still friendly with the girls, she’s irritable with just about everyone else around her. Especially me.
“Can I ask you something?” I say, watching her closely.
She brushes the bangs out of her eyes, and I so badly want to replace her fingers with my own. Instead, I tuck my hands safely inside the pockets of my jacket.
“Depends on what you’re asking.”
“Last year you were different. Aloof, maybe, but also . . .”
Less bitchy?
Shit. How do I say it without sounding like a dick?
“Happier,” I blurt. “I don’t know. It’s like a switch flipped this year and your demeanor changed.”
She hesitates, her gaze falling to her booted feet as she kicks at a stone on the sidewalk. For a moment, I think she might leave me hanging, but then she surprises me and says, “Have you ever wanted a fresh start so badly you convince yourself that it’s possible, but then you realize you’re on the same hamster wheel you’ve been on your whole life? That damn wheel just keeps on spinning and taking you with it. And that’s how you know there’s no getting off or stopping, because you’re not the one in control. You never have been, and maybe you never will be.”
Her words echo in my chest, and the urge to reach out and touch her consumes me. I don’t know what I expected her to say, but it wasn’t that. It wasn’t something so fucking real and raw, and now I’m left with a dozen more questions than I started with, like who is driving the hamster wheel and why the fuck can’t she get off? All she did was make me want to know more. To peel back all her layers and see what makes her tick.
She clears her throat and lifts her head, but she doesn’t meet my eyes as she stares at the double doors that lead inside. “Anyway . . .” She lets out a small laugh and licks her lips. “I should probably get going.”
I step forward, mesmerized as her teeth sink into her lower lip. Reaching out I release it with my thumb, but as soon as I do, my fingers ache with the need to touch her again, and my heart flutters as I hear it beating loudly in my ears. Her breath catches and our eyes lock.
The pad of my thumb brushes her mouth again. One. Twice. Her lips are soft like velvet, and I know that once I taste them, I’ll never be the same again. Charlotte’s mouth will be fucking life-changing.
I lean forward, my gaze intent on its target while my heart hammers in my chest, and adrenaline pumps in my veins.
It’s happening.
The kiss is happening.
This is the moment I’ve been waiting for.
My chance to impress.
Our magic moment.
The one where I change her mind about me.
The heat of her breath fans over my skin, and I start to close my eyes. Anticipation sinks in the pit of my stomach, stirring the butterflies when her hand shoots up and she palms my face with her fingertips like a fucking WNBA star and pushes me away from her while I stumble back in shock.
I blink, trying to reorient myself as she smirks. “Nice try, buddy.” And then she pats me on the chest, turns, and heads inside.
I straddle the bench in the locker room as I lace my cleats and catch Jace up on my night with Charlotte. “I swear, her hand was like the fucking thing from Alien .” I make a sucking noise and press my hand to my face. “It just clamped on right here”?I tighten my grip?“as she pushed me away.”
“What the hell are you going on about, Collins?” Brandon pauses by the bench with a grin.
“He’s explaining to us why he has no game,” Jace says.
I drop my hand. “That’s bullshit!” I jab a finger at him. “I have plenty of game.”
Damon snorts and tugs his jersey over his head. “Prove it.”
“Okay, fine. I can prove it,” I say as an idea blooms. A shit-eating grin spreads across my face.
“Uh-oh. He’s got that look.” Brandon points.
“You mean the one that looks like he has to shit?” Jace asks.
“Fuck off.” I reach out and grab the nearest thing to me, which happens to be Damon’s deodorant and chuck it at him.
Jace ducks and the stick goes flying.
“Hey! I was about to use that, asswad!”
“So, who is it you’re trying to impress?” Brandon asks, ignoring us.
“Charlotte Baker,” Jace explains.
“My dream girl: Small, brown hair, eyes like melted chocolate,” I add with a wistful expression. “Kind of looks like Nina Dobrev but less goody-two-shoes and more sass.”
“So, like the off-the-rails, vampire version of Elena Gilbert. I’ve never thought of the comparison before, but fuck, it fits,” Brandon says.
“Right?” I motion toward him, because this dude gets it.
“So, what’s this grand plan of yours?” Damon asks.
“Oh, he’s got a whole book of grand plans to make her fall, all ideas provided by yours truly and my boys back home,” Jace says with a laugh.
“A whole book?” Brandon gawks while Jace nods.
“It’s a fucking love playbook, okay?” I say, rising to my feet just as Coach enters the locker room, ready to give us our pep talk before the game. “Everyone knows you can’t win a game without a plan, right Coach?” I ask, half shouting.
Coach points at me with his clipboard. “Damn straight, Collins!”
I pump a fist in the air in victory as Jace mutters, “Kiss ass.”
“So, what grand plan do you have now?” Damon asks as Coach brushes past us for his office.
“A little public display of affection,” I say, wiggling my brows.
“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Brandon asks with a frown. “Some chicks don’t like that.”
“Especially chicks that hate your guts,” Jace adds.
“She no longer hates my guts,” I protest. “We made progress the other night.”
“You just told us how she rejected you.”
“Rejection is a harsh word.”
“But an accurate one.”
“Oh, ye of little faith,” I say as I rise to my feet just as Coach reappears for our pregame huddle. “After tonight, I’ll have Charlotte wrapped around my finger. Watch and learn, brothers, watch and learn.”