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“It’s just so … rah rah, go team.” I shake my hand in the air like I have a pom pom in it. “That’s never been my thing. That’s never been our school’s thing either.”
“It is now,” Iris says firmly. “And I think it’s fun. We needed things shaken up around here after having Matthews in charge for so long. He wasn’t one for change.”
“True.” I don’t want to talk about it anymore. I’m afraid I’ll just offend her further and right now, I need as many allies as I can get, considering I feel like I might’ve lost one. “What do you think is going on between Silas and Alana?”
As if conjured up by my question alone, the crowd parts ahead of us and I see them. Walking hand in hand yet again, Alana glances up at Silas, laughing when he says something to her.
Curiosity courses through me and I wish I knew what he told her.
“I hate to say it, but they look pretty serious to me.” Iris touches my arm lightly, and I know she’s trying to comfort me, which I appreciate. “Forget him. Forget the both of them. How dare she pretend I don’t even exist when she gets a boyfriend? I’m still pissed about it.”
“I would be too, but maybe she just got wrapped up in—him.” I get it. I would ditch all my friends and spend every waking second with the boy of my dreams too. I just didn’t figure one of my best friends would steal him from me.
What am I even thinking? Not like I owned him. He wasn’t mine to steal. Maybe in my mind he was, but that’s it.
“Still shouldn’t ditch your friends for some guy. Boyfriends only last so long. Friends are forever,” Iris points out.
“You’re right,” I say, my mind drifting to the football player on the stage, the one who showed up at the house a few days ago. He stared at me like I was a tasty steak and he was craving red meat. “Rhett Bennett is pretty popular, huh?”
Iris goes right along with my subject change. “Definitely.”
“His jersey number is one? Isn’t that … arrogant?” I wrinkle my nose. I don’t really understand how numbers are chosen for team sports, but if the guy is walking around with the number one on his jersey, I’m thinking it could go to his head.
“His dad is a retired quarterback, but now he’s a coach. His dad’s number was always number one. He’s just following in his father’s footsteps,” Iris explains.
“How do you know this?”
“Row told me. If you spend any amount of time with your brother, you find out all he wants to talk about is football.”
He wasn’t like that at all last year. It feels like everything has gone haywire and nothing’s the same. It’s so weird.
“Rhett is a great football player, much like his dad according to Rowan. Rhett took the team all the way to the league championship, but they lost in the playoffs. He’s popular, too. Flirts with every girl on campus, including me,” Iris continues. “You saw how he was a few days ago when he came to pick up his brother and Row.”
I did. Touching him was electrifying. Having him watch me so carefully from where he stood on the stage was much the same. Like a shock to my system. Not that I’m anything special. He just has really good flirting skills.
“I did,” I confirm, not wanting to delve too deeply into it. “He flirts with you too, huh?”
“Nothing beyond flirting,” she reassures. “He’s not my type.”
I think about his handsome face. Sharp jaw and cheekbones, lush, kissable mouth. I think of the photos I found of my parents and the kiss marks all over my dad. Embarrassing, yes, but also …
Rhett is extremely good looking. And for whatever reason, I can imagine doing the same thing to him that Mom did to Dad. Lipstick stains all over his face. Weird considering I don’t know him at all, but it’s there, lingering in my brain. Teasing me.
“Why isn’t he your type? You don’t like football players?”
“Nope.” Iris lets the p pop. “Why are you asking anyway?”
“No reason,” I say way too quickly.
Iris catches on because of course she does. “Wait a second. Are you suddenly into football players, Willow?”
“No, of course not. He just—he looked at me when he was on stage,” I admit, my voice hushed as I glance around. I don’t want anyone to hear, but no one is really paying attention to us.
“Oh yeah?” She bumps her shoulder against mine. “And how, exactly, did he look at you?”
Like I was the most beautiful girl he’s ever seen. As if he was undressing me with his eyes. “Like he was trying to figure me out.”
“Maybe he couldn’t place you at first. You two did just meet after all, and did you even tell him your name?”
