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“Better than watching me play?”
She turns her head, her gaze meeting mine directly. “Definitely.”
I rest my hand on my chest. “I’m wounded, Willy.”
“I told you not to call me that.” She sends me a death glare.
“Do you have a question for the class, Miss Lancaster?”
Oh damn. The teacher just called her out and from the look on her pretty face, she doesn’t like it.
“I’m fine, Mr. Chen. Just answering a question that he had.” She jerks her thumb in my direction.
“Well, Mr. Bennett, do you have a question for me?”
“No, sir.” I shake my head, sitting up straighter.
The teacher moves on, turning off the lights and turning on the overhead projector to explain the various parts of an iPhone camera compared to an Android.
A snooze-fest. Though Willow seems totally into it, her expression enraptured as she stares at the image shown on the white board.
“You’re really enjoying this, aren’t you?”
She shushes me, which only makes me want to talk to her more.
“Maybe you should come to my practice and take photos,” I suggest.
“I’m not going.”
“You’ll be there.” I say this with complete confidence. She might not show up today, but she will.
Eventually.
Damn, I really do love a challenge.
“No, I won’t.” She won’t even look at me and I’m tempted to get in her face, but that’ll just piss Mr. Chen off and I don’t feel like dealing with him.
“You’ll regret it if you don’t show up,” I practically taunt.
“Doubtful.” Her lips curve upward though, like what I said was funny.
“Hey, it’s your loss.” I lean back in my seat once again, kicking my feet out. She’ll show up.
They always do.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Willow
Of course, I don’t go to his practice. Why would I? I’m not about to become a total fangirl. I don’t even know this guy. Not really.
But after school, I do walk by the field to see what’s going on.
The first thing I notice is how many girls are already sitting in the stands, watching the football team play with stars in their eyes—I can practically see them from where I stand. Their phones sit idly beside them on the bench, unless they’re taking photos of the boys scrambling around like chickens on the field.
And the longer I watch everything unfold, the more I notice that the girls do that a lot—take photos of the boys playing. Or they take selfies together, making sure they get the team on the field behind them because I’m guessing it’s a flex, to hang out and watch them practice? It makes no sense.
I pause for a moment, focusing my attention on the boys out on the field. I have no idea what they’re doing, and I’ve never really cared before either. I don’t pay attention to sports. My father watches football sometimes—even more now because of Row being on the team—but I couldn’t tell you who his favorite team is. Does he watch college football or professional? I have no clue. It never really mattered before.
