“Hurt? Not at all.” Paul glances at Fran. “I thought you were okay.”
“Oh.” She nods. “I am. Just a few scrapes.”
“And bruises,” I say, referring to her sore bottom. “But the pad helped?”
Her lips purse to the side as if she is reining back a grin. “It did.” She sets one hand on the top of the half wall between us. “I stood for a while too.”
“Is that why you stood?” Paul says with a snort of amusement. He pulls his phone from his pocket. “Have you seen this? It’s pretty wild.” He holds his phone out to me, and with one click, there’s a video reel on some social media platform playing before my eyes.
I watch as Fran crouches in the road, gathering her things, and thenwham! Paul slams into her just before a truck screeches to a stop in the spot where Fran had just been. The next ten seconds of the clip plays the video again, only slowed down. I can make out Fran’s side and knee scraping along the concrete and then her bottom slamming into the hard ground. Ouch. No wonder the girl is sore.Thankfully, Paul cushioned her head, preventing it from hitting the cement, or she might have ended up with a serious concussion.
“Wait, who posted that?” Fran says, leaning on the wall separating us to peek upside down at Paul’s phone.
Paul snickers. “No idea. But everyone is sending it to me.”
Her cheeks and neck flame pink with his casual words, and she folds her arms around her stomach. “That seems wrong, someone using my accident to get views.”
“Because itiswrong,” I say, pushing Paul’s phone back at him.
“It’s not wrong. They’re just trying to inspire people to do good. See what she’s written?”
He holds out the phone again, and I read aloud: “Paul Fender, hero of the week.”
“See? Inspiration.”
I’m finding I’m not a huge fan of Paul. In fact, I’m wondering if he saw that kiss before the game, and even more, hoping the answer is yes. We gathered quite the crowd as we stood near the tunnel rather than going in for so long. He could have been in it. But I’m not sure. I only know he wasn’t in his seat.
Protective instinct kicks in, driving my next actions. I press my hands into the top of the advertisement board and lean forward, just until my lips meet skin. I press a light kiss to Fran’s cheek before stepping back down to the grass.
“I’ll text you later,” I say.
Fran’s cheeks are flaming now. “Okay.”
I dart my gaze to Paul, the used car salesman, but he’s looking at Fran too.
“So, do you want to catch a movie next week?” he says.
My actions mean nothing to him; they don’t deter him in the least. I swallow. I’m considering hopping back up on that step, when an arm wraps around my neck.
“Nice game, Superman,” Zev says. My friend has impeccable timing. What might I have done?
I cough and peek one more glance at Fran, who is watching me back. I wave goodbye and let Zev lead me into the team tunnel.
“Are you seeing Franny tonight?”
“What?” I say as my brows cinch and a bead of sweat slips from my forehead to my chin. “No. Why would you say that? Why would I?”
“She’s cute,” Zev says.
“She’s also quirky and odd and?—”
“Nothing like Simone,” Zev adds. It’s a compliment. No doubt. One I can’t deny.
“Yes,” I say. “Nothing at all like Simone.”
Sixteen
I standfeet from my seat, in the stands, right over the team tunnel. I’m not sure why I followed Cal—it seemed like he wanted to say something else to me when Zev dragged him away. So… I followed.
