“So you believed her.”
“No. I wanted to know for myself that she was lying.”
“I’l believe that. But didn’t you think for one second how absurd it was? I mean, if we lived in Hol ywood maybe but, dude, we’re in Pleasant View.
Campfire Girls sel cookies here, you know?”
Cort laughed. “I saw you walking and fol owed you to Countryside Manor.”
Rachel sat erect. “You did?”
“I heard you reading.” His foot stopped rocking the hammock. “You were awesome.”
She sat back, not sure if she should be flattered or annoyed. “I’ve never been fol owed before.”
“Then it was a first for both of us.”
“Oh, come on. I’ve seen girls tripping themselves behind you.”
He sat up. “You’re the one with the pack.”
“I told you, they’re just friends.”
“Yeah, right.”
Across the expanse of the deck, their eyes locked. A wind chime played in the air creating a mystic melody. Cort patted the emptiness beside him.
Rachel stood and crossed, looking down at him. She knew what he wanted; she just wasn’t ready to give it to him.
“We cleared this up. Good.”
His big brown eyes searched her face, heating her skin.
“You’re gorgeous,” he murmured.
His lazy tone made her smile, but she wouldn’t share the hammock with him—this was a practiced move for him, she was sure. Even though he was wracking up scores on his side like crazy, the hammock was dangerous too soon.
“You say that to al the girls when you’re sitting on a hammock, right?”
The dreamy intensity on his face changed. His jaw squared. He stood, looked down at her as if he wasn’t sure he should touch her or push her away.
“You ever going to cut me a break?” His voice was hard.
She blew it. But she didn’t want to be a victim of a trite cliché. “Maybe.”
He let out a huff. “Maybe?” Then he looked off for a moment. “You ever going to give me an answer besides, maybe?”
She lifted her shoulders, feeling the weight of ruining what had promised to be a nice night. Her mind scrambled with how to save it. His dark eyes flecked with disappointment but it wasn’t because he was leaving without getting something from her. She’d hurt his trust.
“See ya, around, Rachel.” He avoided touching her and started off the deck.
Pride kept her from stopping him. He’d believed Bree or he wouldn’t have fol owed her. That was a strike against him, even if he had said otherwise. This was probably better, she thought and she crossed back to the hammock, stil swinging from him. She lowered herself where he’d sat. The loopy fabric was stil warm from his body.
THIRTEEN
On his break, Cort met the guys at Minerva’s for drinks.
The sun was high overhead. They sat under the shade of a purple and green umbrel a.
“Ah.” Cort sat back in his chair, sipped from a steaming latte. “This is the life.”
Chad and Eric laughed. “It may be for you,” Eric told him.
“Yeah, women everywhere. How did you get so freakin’
lucky?”
Cort shrugged a shoulder. “Desperation.”
“See,” Chad said, “I don’t think I could rub girls’ feet al day.”
“I don’t think I could rub girls’ feet any day,” Ben bristled. “My mom has corns the size of knuckles on her toes and if al girls’ feet are like that then no way.”
“Jenn has hot feet,” John said. The guys al snickered.
“Yeah, yeah.”
John grinned at Cort. “I may need some massage pointers, dude.”
Cort couldn’t stop smiling. “You guys are missing the point. There’s psychology behind it.” He leaned forward, as if going to tel a secret and the boys fol owed suit. “Look at it this way. You’re sitting there and the room is fil ed with women—hot, gorgeous women of al ages, and they are waiting in line for you to take their hands and—”He demonstrated by grabbing Chad’s hand and slowly massaging his fingers. The guys watched, mesmerized.
“Then you take their feet, the grossest part of anybody’s body, right? And you’re, like, caressing them with fruity smel ing cream and oil. I’m tel ing you, females are putty in your hands.”
Eric sat back, shaking his head. “It could be kind of cool, I guess.”
“There are worse things than feet,” Chad agreed, looking at his hands with new admiration.
But Ben shook his head. “Not when they look like unicorns.”
Eric shoved him. “Unicorns are fairy tale horse things, dude.”
“And you gotta do girls like Bree,” John pointed out.
“She’d have hooves—like Satan.”
The boys roared with laughter. Minerva came out carrying a flat basket lined with a colorful plaid napkin. Smal scones were laid neatly inside. “You boys want to try some of these cranberry orange scones?” She set the basket on the table. “On the house, Cort. With al the business I’ve gotten since you started working at Miss Chachi’s, I owe you.”
Cort plucked one from the basket. “Thanks, Minerva.
They look great.”
“This your break?” she asked.
“Yeah. And I forgot lunch, so this is awesome.”
“Wel , then, enjoy.” The door to her shop jingled when she went back inside.
“Man,” John said. “You’re hot property down here.”
Cort chewed the dense, soft scone. “I’m doing what I can to further enterprise in our fair town.”
“Yeah right,” Chad slugged his shoulder. “You’re doing what you can to fil your wal et and find babes. What’s up with you and that Rachel chick?”
Cort frowned as he chewed. He hadn’t thought of Rachel in at least an hour and had been glad for it. “Nothing.”
After last night, he wasn’t sure he wanted to prove he was different than every other jock out there anymore. She seemed to chal enge everything he did.
“Hey, Rachel’s cool,” John took a drink. “You should go for it.”
“Bree says—”
“Bree’s a two-faced liar,” Cort snapped at Ben and chewed his last bite furiously. “She’s a viper.”
“A hot viper, though,” Ben said.
“Not if you know her.” Cort brushed the crumbs from his hands. “That’s one thing this job has done is open my eyes.”
“I’l bet she has hot feet, even,” Ben mused, adjusting his basebal cap backwards.
“You’d have to be a retard to like Bree,” Cort said in al seriousness. “I’ve seen her in action and she fires bul ets from that mouth of hers.”
Ben looked over Cort’s shoulder, down the street to the front of the salon where women came and went with the regularity of water down stream.
“Who needs to talk when you’ve got a bod like that?”
“You’re not hearing me,” Cort persisted. “She’d massacre you.”
“So I wear protective armor.” Ben stood, stretched. Cort squinted up at him.
“You’re serious about this?”
Ben shrugged. “Prom’s coming.”
The boys snickered and rose to their feet. Cort took one last drink from his cup then set it down on the table. “There are easier ways to get action on prom night, dude. And stil come out alive.”
“I want a sure thing this time.” Ben started toward the salon. “I’m sick of waiting.”
Nobody said anything. Cort was just as anxious as the next guy, but he wanted something special, something different. And where a lot of guys emphasized what happened after prom, he was too practical now, after working so hard for his money, to waste hundreds of dol ars on a one night thing with somebody disposable.
“You going to go?” Eric asked him.
“Maybe.” Cort thought again of Rachel. If he asked her she’d probably say “maybe” and drive him crazy. “You guys want to come in for a cutic
le treatment?”
They playful y slugged at him and soon the boys were jostling with each other in front of the salon until Miss Chachi came out with her hands on her hips and a frown on her face.
“Break over now, Cort,” she snapped.
“Later, dudes.” Cort wrestled free of his grappling friends.
Ben stuck his hands in his pockets, a smile of mischief stil on his face.
“Forget Bree, man,” Cort told him as he stood in the door of the salon.
But Ben only grinned.
Bree sat like a queen perched on the big, fat pedicure chair. She wore a short skirt and tight tee. Her long, bare legs extended as if someone had artful y posed them to look their very best. Her feet were soaking.
She was waiting for him.
Cort strol ed to the back of the salon, trying to remember how despicable she was as those long, brown legs screamed for notice. Miss Chachi was keeping her company and turned to him, her black eyes narrowed. “Miss Bree wait long for you, Cort.”
He shot Bree a careless shrug. “Her feet needed it.”
Bree’s mouth dropped. Miss Chachi grabbed a hunk of his sleeve and tugged him through the hanging beads and into the narrow, dark hal .
“Chil , chil ,” he told her.
“I not chil anything. I kick you out if you talk like that again to client.” Her finger wagged under his nose. “Now I
‘cpect apology.”
“Okay, I’m sorry,” he said.
She shook from head to toe, like a tremor of frustration rumbled through her. “Not me—her!”
Cort fol owed her pointed finger with his gaze, looked through the beads that hung in the doorway. Bree.
“No way,” he said. “I won’t do it.”
“You wil or you lose job this minute.”
Cort looked at the little lady in front of him. She was a teapot ready to blow. Al that was missing was steam coming out of the top of her head. He needed the money and he kind of liked the job, even with her volatile personality, even with the long hours and the headaches of girls like Bree.
Pride lodged in his throat. He had no choice if he wanted to keep his wal et fat.
He pushed aside the beads and strode to Bree’s chair. She looked up and smiled. “Hel o, Cortie.”
“I’m sorry,” he said between teeth.
“Oh, no problem.” She crossed her legs and they shimmered in the light.
Miss Chachi gave him a little shove to sit. Cort looked around for the stool but Bree pointed to where Shaylee sat.
“On your knees, Cortie.”
Cort looked at Miss Chachi. As if she’d do anything to upset the princess, he thought dismal y and kneeled down.
When Miss Chachi final y went up front, he glared at Bree. Primly she lifted a leg, aiming her foot his way. He resisted the temptation to look at where that left her short skirt and took her foot in his hands.
When he started the massage, her head fel back and she let out a low moan. Cort glanced around. “Mmm,” Bree said.
“Nobody has the touch like you do.”
“Is that why you come in here twice a week? Or does Daddy pay for whatever you want?” he hissed.
“Both,” she answered without a pinch of guilt. “Girls, you real y should try Cort out. He’s amazing.”
Cort glanced at Shaylee and Megan who looked at him blankly.
“Of course,” Bree went on, her eyes closed, head resting back. “I found him first.”
“It’s okay,” Shaylee said quickly. “I kind of like Tiaki anyway.”
Megan nodded. “And Misu’s fine for me.”
“Then I get him al to myself.” Bree peered at him.
“Lucky me.”
Cort rol ed his eyes.
“I don’t need to work,” Bree went on. “But if I did, I think this would be a cool place. You like it here?”
He shrugged, and moved on to her other foot.
“How come you talk to your other clients and not to me?” Bree asked.
“I talk to you.”
“You’l get better tips.”
“I listen mostly. Some girls don’t want to talk.”
Bree nodded. “They just want to relax. Because it feels so good. Mmm.”
Her tone caused an unwanted trembling somewhere inside of him. He swal owed a hard knot in his throat and focused on her feet.
“You guys go get me a drink from that Minerva’s place,”
Bree commanded.
As if they were robots programmed to respond, Shaylee and Megan got up and left. Bree’s sharp gaze pinned Cort as he rubbed her calf. “You know what?”
He tried to stay focused. But her smooth leg was in his hands. Her calf, slick with oil, was moving under his fingers, sleek and wet.
“I think we should go to prom together.”
He stopped the massage for a moment, forced to regroup.
“Why?”
“Why not?”
“We’re not together.”
“But we’re friends.”
“We were friends.”
Bree leaned close, looked around to make sure no one was listening. “We stil are. What’s wrong with you?”
Absently, Cort took her leg in long, slow strokes.
“Nothing. But I might ask someone else.”
Bree sat back. Her thumb went between her teeth and she started biting.
“That’s why your white tip is always gone on that thumb,” he pointed out.
As if she hadn’t heard him, she kept chewing nervously.
“It’s our last prom, Cort. I real y want us to go together.”
“There are tons of guys who would go with you Bree. Ask one of them.”
“I don’t want them, I want you.”
He looked at her for a moment. Months ago, that statement would have blown him away. But he knew her too wel now and could never look at her without seeing beyond the synthetic veneer.
Gently he set her leg back on the foot rest. “I can’t say yes.” He oiled his hands and took her other leg.
She leaned close. “What? You want me to beg? Okay. For you I wil .”
“I didn’t ask you to. I just said no.”
“It’s that Rachel chick isn’t it?” She glared at him with mean in her eyes. He only looked at her for a second; afraid his face might give his heart away. “What do you see in her, anyway? I’m so much cuter. Besides, I told you, she’s a—”
“She’s not.” Unconsciously, he squeezed her leg.
“Ouch!”
“Sorry, sorry.”
“Be careful. My skin’s very delicate.”
Cort tried not to laugh. When he rol ed his eyes, the gesture infuriated Bree more. “This is your last chance,” she told him.
“I wouldn’t go to the bathroom with you, Bree, let alone prom.”
She slapped him.
For a second, he was so stunned, he didn’t move. He was frozen, his face turned to the room for al to see as it bled red with color. Then he reached up and touched his jaw, as if he stil couldn’t believe she’d hit him.
“You deserved it.” Bree hissed and scrambled off the chair, gathering her things. “You’re a loser. A virgin and a loser.” She leaned over so that she was close to his face. “And you’re going to lose your job. I just hope she’s worth it.”
Bree marched to the front. Her voice pitched like nails on glass. Miss Chachi nodded, looked at him, and nodded some more. Then Bree stormed out.
FOURTEEN
Cort didn’t lose his job but Miss Chachi once again dragged him back behind the dangling beads and chewed him out. She wanted him to apologize to Bree but he flatly refused. Even after she told him how much revenue Bree brought in monthly, he stil refused.
He pointed out that Bree didn’t deserve anything after slapping him. He could refuse her his services forever more.
Miss Chachi tried to talk him into being reasonable and it was then Cort knew he carried more cards in Miss Chachi’s deck then he realized. He
thought about it the next day as he walked to Miss Tingey’s class in a rare moment of being alone.
Then Bree appeared out of nowhere. He didn’t expect her to talk to him ever again, let alone walk alongside of him.
“I want you to know I’ve forgotten about how rude you were yesterday,” Bree started sweetly.
“Too bad.” He kept walking. “I was hoping you’d stay away from me.”
“I could never do that, Cortie. We’re too good of friends.”
He snickered, turned the corner and took the stairs up to Miss Tingey’s classroom.
“Besides.” She was stil at his elbow. “I thought maybe I should apologize for slapping you.”
He stopped and looked at her. It was the first time he’d ever heard her say she was sorry for anything. He tried to find the lie in her eyes.
She stood close, so her body brushed his.
“Forgive me?”
“We’re stil not going to prom,” he said.
“Oh, that’s cool. I just wanted you to know I’d never hurt you.” She touched the side of his face. “Did it hurt?”
He was confused by this repentant, nicer Bree.
Something wasn’t right. “No,” he lied. He went up the stairs to class, relieved she didn’t fol ow. Eyes desperate for something normal searched for his friends as he entered Miss Tingey’s class. He looked for Rachel. She was already seated and she didn’t bother to look up at him.
Miss Tingey wrote the day’s journal entry on the board.
Contention—how it makes us stronger. Is that what it does?
Contention made him feel like he’d swal owed a bag of ticking explosives.
He buried his head in crossed arms and let out a sigh.
What was Bree’s problem? She’d turned into this monster he didn’t want to have anything more to do with. But the more he pushed her away, the stronger she came on.
He couldn’t understand why she was doing it. They’d known each other for years, been friends once. She stil thought they were friends. But his perception of friends and friendship had changed. Friends didn’t try to manipulate each other.
And what about Rachel? She’d al but given him the brush off the other night. He looked at her, felt a jab that she wasn’t even looking at him.
He had to figure this out somehow.