The Cheerleader

Chapter Nineteen

Susie

All week after the speeding ticket incident was resolved, I keep my nose to the grindstone, like I owe the President of UConn my total dedication to being a model student and cheerleader. I go to class, to practice, and I study. The only thing I do outside of those things is tutoring Bryan.

We decide it’s best to meet in front of the library from now on, which I don’t mind even though it’s starting to get chilly. I told him if it’s raining, he needs to come to my dorm, and he accused me of being a sissy. I laughed.

The memory of that phone call makes me smile. That he called surprised the heck out of me because I never gave him my number—until I remembered that it’s the same as Liz’s number, and of course, he has it. My smile fades as I close my book.

Josh, Carol, and Liz met with the student activities office and finalized the arrangements for the beer fest this week. They also met with our cosponsor, the UConn soccer team.

I was shocked that a varsity team ranked in the top five in the country would need to do fundraising to supplement their budget. That makes me almost feel guilty about the athletic department’s recent generosity with us.

The beer fest starts at seven. It’s almost four. I’m wondering where Liz is until she pushes the half-open door wide and comes in. Her cheeks are red from the cool air, hair windblown, face beaming. She gives off a wall of energy that almost blows me back when I stand.

“Are you ready? Tonight’s going to be a long one. We need to get there by five thirty for setup.”

“I’ll be there. I’m sorry I haven’t been helping with?—”

She waves a hand as she goes to her desk, offloading her books and folders. “Don’t worry. You’ll be working tonight long and hard enough to make up for it. We have a lot to do. Set up, ticket sales, beer pouring, resupplying, and cleaning the restrooms—they’ll get gross if we don’t keep them up. We could have hired someone, but the soccer team agreed with us that it would cut too much into our profits.”

“Wow. There’s a lot more to this than I realized.”

“Someone from the student activities office will meet us there and orient everyone, assign responsibilities, and make sure we have everything covered.”

I nod, determined to do more than my part. “I’ll do whatever you need, Liz. I’ll even clean the ladies’ room.”

“I know. We’ll all do our part. We have such a great group. We don’t have as many people as the soccer team, though, so we won’t be sharing the profits equally. That’s the rule.”

“That makes sense,”

I say as I push open the curtains of my closet to find something to wear.

“Make sure you dress neatly, but in work clothes. And remember we decided on team colors. Plus, it’s going to be hot in there?—”

“Hot?”

“I forgot you’ve never been to a beer fest at the ROTC hangar.”

She smiles like I’m in for something.

“It’s a huge building, so?—”

“It’ll be filled wall-to-wall with students, and it’ll get hot, believe me.”

“Okay. White short-sleeved polo shirt with blue jeans it is.”

“One of your Izod tops?”

I nod. “Do you want to borrow one? I know I have at least two white ones?—”

“That would be perfect.”

She pauses. “You don’t mind if it gets dirty?”

“Don’t worry. That’s what they make bleach for.”

We don’t have time to eat after dressing, so we grab a candy bar from the cartons we take with us. Liz says this will be the perfect place to sell them and make extra money.

When we arrive at the ROTC hangar, it feels like we’re late. Josh and a guy who must be from the soccer team are at a back door offloading kegs of beer from a truck while other guys, including Keith and Nick, are hauling them into place around the perimeter of the massive space.

Liz heads straight for a guy with a clipboard who’s pointing and giving instructions, and I and the other girls who’ve arrived gather around us.

“We’re reporting in for duty,”

Liz says to the guy who must be the student activities director. “Where do you want us?”

“You can man the ticket sales with one other cheerleader, preferably female, and the rest of your group can help pour beer when we get started. The guys will set up the tables.”

He looks at me and nods. “It’s a perfect fall night, and this one was well advertised, so I think we’ll do well.”

He grins. “You guys impressed me with your all-business approach.”

“Of course. We don’t do anything halfway,” Liz says.

I feel funny standing around watching the others working. “I’ll help set up tables too.”

He looks me over and shrugs. “Suit yourself. But they’re heavy.”

“I’m stronger than I look.”

I have no idea if that’s true, but it’s how I feel.

“A women’s libber, eh?”

He grins, and I think he’s teasing.

I take Sherry’s arm because she’s the smallest of us. “Let’s go show them how it’s done.”

To her credit, she doesn’t protest as we head for the rack of tables at the back and get to work as best we can. I’ll never admit that the guy was right about how heavy the tables are, but between us, Sherry and I manage to get a few in place while the band sets up and the kegs are brought in.

When we finish, we assemble at the front entryway where the ticket—and candy bar—sales will be. I can see and hear the crowd outside. There are six cops. A couple of the soccer players are assigned to help with bouncer duties.

“Carol and I will get the ticket table ready,” Liz says.

The student activities director assigns duties for the rest of us. I’ll be pouring beer with Josh. The band starts warming up, and someone dims the lights. My heart rate spikes. This is a performance, same as cheering at a game.

“Ready, everyone?”

the director asks, looking around at the crowd of over thirty of us.

Liz leads the response, a cheerleader down to her bones.

“Ready, set, go.”

She throws up her hands and claps. We follow suit while the soccer players grunt.

“Man your posts. Let’s open the doors.”

We scurry to our assignments just before the crush of students comes through the doors, loud and excited. The band starts with a cover of Elton John’s Crocodile Rock.

“Let’s start filling cups,”

Josh says. “You know how to operate a tap?”

“I’m sure I can learn.”

I see a stream of students head for us. “Fast.”

* * *

It doesn’t take long for Josh and me to get into a groove. He does the pouring and I collect tickets and hand out beers. I’m a little worried that the pack of people is going to push the table in their enthusiasm to get their beer and pin us against the wall.

Then, as if someone’s read my mind, I hear a voice and see people backing people up, relieving the crush.

I know that voice. Bryan appears, holding people off with his presence, commanding respect and order as he stands in front of me, keeping already half-drunk students in line.

“Oh my god. Where did you come from? I’m surprised—and grateful—to see you here.”

He nods as I take a ticket and hand a beer to a girl who keeps her eyes glued to him, smiling and looking like she wants to say something. She doesn’t move aside until Bryan nods at her and gestures for her to move on.

“You’re a pro at this,”

I say. “Have you worked at a bar before, as a bouncer?”

“No. But it’s not hard.”

“What are you doing here? I know you’re not drinking beer.”

He shrugs one shoulder and steps closer, almost coming around the end of the table as if he’s going to hang out.

“Don’t get me wrong. I’m glad you’re here.”

I smile with real sincerity.

“When I heard you were relying on soccer players for security, I was worried about your safety.”

I laugh because I know him well enough to know he’s teasing. Or half teasing, because he has that deep protective streak that makes me shiver with the idea of him being worried enough to show up.

“We have a police detail too.”

“They’re at the doors.”

“So you don’t think I can handle a few drunk guys?”

My voice turns flirtatious without a thought, my body’s automatic reaction to Bryan Granger. I hope he can’t see my blush in the dim lighting. I turn my attention solely to where it belongs: taking tickets and handing out beer again.

“I know you can’t. You don’t have an intimidating bone in your body.”

“And you do? You think of yourself as intimidating?”

I ask. He is very intimidating, but I wonder if it’s just an act.

He comes the rest of the way around the end of the table to stand next to me and leans in. “Every bone in my body.”

I shudder and feel my heart racing and my belly fluttering like I’m a teenybopper meeting a movie star. I feel ridiculous, but that doesn’t diminish the giddy feeling of having Bryan very intentionally flirt with me.

I hang onto my poise.

“Is that what you’re doing now?”

My voice is a whisper, and my heart rises, beating as fast as a hummingbird’s wings.

“No.”

He swallows, and I watch his Adam’s apple move, watch the strong corded muscles of his neck as he leans even closer so that I can feel his breath. I’m dimly aware of the fact that we’ve moved back from the table, that Josh has taken over collecting tickets, that the line for beer has gone down. Then I let my surroundings go altogether and stare up into Bryan’s dark, intense eyes, waiting for him to say more. Hoping he’ll say more.

“I’m flirting with you. And…”

He moves his mouth so close to mine I can almost taste his minty breath. Every molecule in me pulsates with anticipation. Please kiss me.

“And?”

I breathe the word, keeping my eyes on his, fascinated with his dilated pupil.

“And you’re flirting with me.”

A flush of heat throbs through my body, and I feel myself lean ever so slightly in his direction, all by itself. I want to feel his body against mine.

Instead, he moves his mouth a fraction and whispers his lips against mine, a delicate brush, the barest of contact. But the touch explodes in a rush of sensation, setting me on fire, and I stumble forward against him.

His hands grip my arms, holding me back, but not before I felt the impact of his body, the hardness of it, the heat of it, and his unmistakable arousal.

“You’re playing with fire, princess.”

“Maybe you’re the one playing with fire.”

I’m reduced to spouting schoolyard nonsense, but he doesn’t seem to mind. His mouth quirks up on one side.

“Sweetheart, I’m the arsonist.”

His devil-may-care expression quickly morphs into the big bad—and very hungry—wolf who’s looking at his next meal.

A loud voice interrupts our conversation, dispelling all the tingly heat of flirtation instantly.

“Granger, you working here? Get me a beer.”

Fletcher waves a ticket in our direction, flashing a nasty smile as his eyes dart between us. I step away from Bryan and reach for a cup as I take Fletcher’s ticket. I should be grateful for the interruption because I have no business kissing my best friend’s… what? Not her boyfriend. No, worse. He’s the love of her life. Or that’s the impression I get.

I should be thanking Fletcher for stopping us, but I’m not. I should feel horribly guilty, but I don’t. Right now, my hormones are so stirred up all I feel is … needy. I need more of him. I need a real kiss.

Bryan nods at Fletcher, but otherwise doesn’t move as he returns his teammate’s unfriendly look in kind.

Josh gives me a nudge and a wicked grin. “The crowd’s slowing down. I think it’s time for a break,”

he says. “You go first.”

I nod, giving him a grateful look. I almost hug him, but a beer customer takes his attention.

Turning back to Bryan, I see him watching Fletcher’s retreating back.

“I’m going on break for a minute,” I say.

He nods and then, there it is, a full-fledged smile appears, making his already intriguingly handsome face look so sexy my knees almost buckle under the influence.

“I’ll come with you. You’re not safe in this unruly crowd.”

When he takes my hand, heat and desire ripple through me like I just took a shot of Jack Daniels. It makes me warm and a little buzzed.

“We have a police detail to take care of security,”

I repeat. I can’t stop my compulsion to tease him.

Bryan shrugs. “Sometimes you want to avoid involving the police. Sometimes you need a personal touch.”

I know what I’d like that to mean. We pass a lot of unruly guys all worked up talking about a dare, and one of them lets out a wolf whistle.

Bryan grips my hand tighter and pulls me closer as he turns. Then the guy reaches out and grabs my arm.

“I found one of them. I bet she’ll?—”

“Hands off.”

Bryan moves as he talks—or I should say growls at the drunk guy. His quickness takes me off guard as he takes hold of the offender’s shirt front and backs him away from me.

“Hey! What are you doing? This is none of your business.”

“She is none of your business. You touched her and that makes you my business.”

“Wait—I didn’t know. I?—”

“Hey,”

one of the drunk guy’s drunk friends speaks up. “Aren’t you Bryan Granger?”

“Yeah. You are him,”

the drunk guy says, his face changing from afraid to impressed, almost starstruck.

Bryan drops the guy’s shirt and backs up. “Keep your hands to yourself.”

He finds me behind him and wraps an arm around my shoulder like a protective shield. I feel warm and gooey and so safe that a big sigh escapes.

“You think you’re a big shot, don’t you?”

Bryan turns away and ushers me toward the door. Some of my excitement has fizzled, and I’m not so sure I should go with him now. The guy follows us, breaking away from his friends.

“Hey, I’m talking to you, Granger.”

Bryan ignores him, and I lean close and whisper, “What’s wrong with him? Why would he follow us?”

We get to the door. “Some people like to pick fights,” he says.

“Why would he do that? He’d never win. Does he want to get beat up?”

He half smiles at me as I notice the guy push his way past a knot of people to get to us.

“He knows I won’t beat him up because I’d get in a fuck-load of trouble if I did. Pardon my French.”

The drunk guy pushes Bryan into the wall.

“You think you’re a big deal, don’t you? Think you own the cheerleaders and no one else can touch them?—”

Bryan shoves him back, and the guy stumbles. The guy winds up for a roundhouse punch, but Bryan steps out of the way as the guy’s fist hits the wall behind us. He swears a blue streak. He’s clearly in pain and may have broken his hand. I almost feel bad for him.

“Go back to wherever you came from,”

Bryan says. The guy is angry as hell now.

“You bastard,”

he yells, drawing attention now from the people around us. Then he launches himself at Bryan. But Bryan is ready, and he steps aside again.

This time, the drunk guy spins around and throws a punch with his left hand. If Bryan wasn’t so quick, the drunk guy would have landed the punch in his eye. Instead, his fist grazes Bryan’s temple.

“Enough of this shit,”

Bryan growls and throws a punch back at the guy, landing it directly in his nose. Blood spurts, and I screech. The small crowd around us reacts with everything from cheers to oohs to screams.

Bryan takes the guy by the arm and hustles him to the door. I grab a towel from a nearby table and follow, giving the towel to the drunk guy to staunch the bleeding.

“Hold your head up, blockhead. The bleeding will stop quicker,”

Bryan says.

The guy grunts and does what he’s told as Bryan drags him out one of the side doors.

The policeman on duty there sees us and rushes over. “What the hell’s going on?”

He takes the drunk guy from Bryan’s grip.

Bryan starts to talk at the same time as the drunk guy, but the officer cuts them off and addresses me. “What’s your name? Did you see what happened?”

“Yes. I’m Susie Bennett.”

“Good. Susie, tell me your version of what happened first.”

I tell him what happened, aware of Bryan standing next to me, close enough to feel the solidness of him, his strength and vitality.

The officer asks the drunk guy his name.

“Vinnie Frye.”

Vinnie doesn’t look very well right now.

“Is that what happened, Vinnie?”

He nods and removes the bloody cloth from his nose. It looks like the bleeding has stopped, but Vinnie is paler than the moon in the night sky. Then he turns and falls to his knees, hurling his guts out in the grass. The officer shakes his head.

“I’ll handle it from here.”

Then he asks me, “Are you all right, miss?”

“I’m fine.”

I grasp Bryan’s arm for no good reason and hang on.

The officer nods.

“Aren’t you going to ask my name?”

The officer chuckles. “Smartass. I know who you are, Granger. You’re in the paper every week, for Christ’s sake.”

“You’re not going to lock Vinnie up,”

Bryan says. It’s not a question, more like a strong suggestion. I hold my breath for the answer, hoping Bryan’s right.

“No. I’ll drop him at the infirmary. I’m sure you taught him a good lesson about watching out who you pick a fight with.”

With Bryan’s help, the officer lifts Vinnie from the ground and they escort him to the police car in the nearby lot.

“Good luck against Navy next week.”

The officer takes off with poor Vinnie slumped in the back seat.

“I should go back inside and get back to work,”

I say, but I don’t go in. My legs don’t move a muscle. Not just yet.

Bryn’s breath clouds up in the chilly air. Somehow, I’m not the least bit cold.

“I thought you said you were going back to work. I bet there are a lot of thirsty students waiting for their beers inside.”

I can see the teasing in his crinkled eyes and hear it in the lightness of his low voice. A rush of warmth floods me, and I’m glad it’s cold out.

“I’ve been working for three hours straight, so I deserve to take a break for a little longer.”

“I was teasing.”

Now he smiles, and my belly dips and tumbles like I’m riding the world’s best roller coaster. “Are you always so serious?”

he asks, another rhetorical question.

I snort a laugh automatically, and it’s very unladylike, but I don’t care. “You’re one to talk. I think I could count on one hand the number of times I’ve seen you actually smile.”

He nods, back to the quiet guy I’ve come to know. We stand in silence, not uncomfortable, breathing in the cold air and gazing at the brilliant stars in the clear night sky.

He steps closer to me, almost but not quite touching, though I can feel his body heat like he’s a furnace.

“What would you say if I told you I want to sleep with you?”

He says this with no preamble, not even a cleared throat, vaporizing all thoughts from my head.

My heart bursts into wild clattering against my chest, and in spite of that, I feel like the blood’s drained from my brain. Maybe it’s all rushing to my belly and below because heat gathers there. My mouth drops open, but I don’t say anything because I might be in shock.

He waits me out, keeping my eyes captured by his stare.

“I…”

still don’t know what to say because he’s blown my mind.

He’s done waiting for a coherent response and wraps his arms around me, pulling me smack into his body in a tight hold that leaves me feeling the strength of his desire, making his point come home in a visceral way. My traitorous body responds, bypassing whatever flimsy protests my conscience puts up. There’s no pushback from me, nothing but melting into his embrace.

His mouth covers mine in a scorching blanket, claiming me. Finally. I admit to myself the longing and satisfaction in a single inward sigh. Hunger takes over as my body responds without thought to the velvety tangle of his tongue with mine.

His mouth seals my lips, creating a warm dark cave of intimate bliss. His lips press, and I press back, nibbling, tasting. His tongue explores my mouth, and I let go of whatever restraint or reserve or sense of common decency I might have possessed before I met him, before he became the tragic hero starring in my dreams since I was a little girl.

He drops small nips on my lips, kissing the corners of my mouth as he withdraws, shocking me with his gentleness as he lifts his head, making me feel the loss of that intimacy all the more, making me want to pull his mouth back to mine.

But I stare into his eyes and try to match his self-control even as I still feel his arousal against me. Then he loosens his hold and steps back a fraction, enough for me to lose that contact. I bite my lip to keep the groan of disappointment from escaping. This kiss makes the last one seem like a warm-up, a dress rehearsal for the real thing.

And I enjoyed it too much because it’s so wrong to be kissing him.

Since when am I so wanton? I never found Todd so irresistible.

“Now you have something to think about,”

he says and drops his arms, abandoning me. I should say something, but he doesn’t wait. He stares at me for one last beat, communicating all kinds of lusty desire, then turns and takes off.

The cold air hits me, waking me from my Bryan Granger trance. I hug myself as if to preserve all that fleeting warmth and intimacy I felt with him before it can escape into the place where dreams go. I head back inside.

I’m not the same, too preoccupied with that kiss and what it all means, and I wonder if Josh can tell. He doesn’t say anything before taking off on his break. I go through the motions of pouring beer and collecting tickets the rest of the night as if nothing happened, but on the inside, I’m all mixed up. Bryan has shaken me to the core. I know it’s stupid to want him, that it was wrong to let him kiss me, to kiss him back. It’s a betrayal of Liz, and it makes me feel sick because she’s become my best friend again.

It’s wrong to be thinking about sleeping with him. And yet, I can’t get his words out of my head. He’s confused me so much I can’t tell good from bad.

We stay late to clean up after all the partyers are gone. We talk with some of the soccer players and promise we’ll cheer for one of their games if they want, a rash promise since I think we might need permission from the athletic department.

Although we seem to be mostly on our own. We get the keys to the state cars and a gas card for away games now, and we’re sent on our way. No one accompanies us or seems to keep track of us. I’m not even sure Pete knows that we’re doing this fundraiser.

I’m surprised to see Bryan still here, helping to heft kegs into a truck. I’m not sure if the kegs are empty or full, but he’s having no problem lifting and carrying them out the side door.

I join several others in pushing a broom along the expansive cement floor. Half of me wants to run over to Bryan and throw myself at him; the other half of me wants to run the other way and hide, never see him again.

Okay, I’m officially being melodramatic, and I need to stop. I’m not that little girl who daydreamed about the boy in the ditch. I’m a full-grown woman with a brain, and I need to start using it. Also, I need to start paying attention to my conscience.

The ROTC hangar seems cavernous now that it’s empty. I find several things on the floor, like bracelets, a student ID, and some cash. We have a lost-and-found set up, so I go to the front door where it is. Liz is there counting money with the soccer team captain and a police officer.

The stacks of bills make my eyes pop. I don’t know what to say, so I clear my throat.

Liz looks up and stops, putting a pile of tens aside. “This is two hundred.”

The soccer guy—Alex Winn—puts a band around it and writes it down.

“We’re doing great,”

she says, beaming at me. “We’re not nearly finished counting, and we’re up to over a thousand dollars,”

she whispers.

“Wonderful,”

I say as if I’m my mother. I add, “Really cool.”

Why does the memory of Bryan’s lips on mine pop into my head now, causing a burst of guilt to erupt?

“I have some things for the lost and found.”

I hand over the items and cash. She takes them and puts them in a large labeled box that’s almost full. “Want me to find another box?”

“Sure. Are you okay? I bet you’re tired.”

Alex glances at me.

“No more so than anyone else,”

I say. I give my best shot at a smile, trying not to force it, trying to feel it because this was a successful night and we did a good job. Although the job isn’t done. “I have to go finish sweeping so we can get started on mopping.”

I leave them, but not before I hear Alex asking Liz my name. She tells him, and he says he thinks I’m pretty. That makes me smile for real as I resume sweeping.

There are other guys, like Alex, whom I should be paying attention to. Not Bryan Granger. Anyone but Bryan.