I smirk and shake my head. Though to myself, I can admit Fran’s gotten me out of my own head. I have been playing better since I met the girl, since we’ve become friends, since we started “dating” to help one another.
“If Franny doesn’t come, neither will I,” Lucca says—behind us.Great.Has he been eavesdropping this entire time? That’s so Lucca. “You with me, Graves?” He points to Roman beside him. But the Graveyard just grunts, making it clear he doesn’t care what Lucca or Fran does.
“See?” Lucca says to me, that female slaying smile on his face. The girls just can’t refuse Lucca Cruz.
But I sure can.
“It’s official, Zev. She isn’t coming. That way we can get rid of Cruz as well.”
Zev laughs with me while Lucca slaps a hand to his chest in mock offense.
“That hurts, Superman.”
My watch pings—warm-up is over, and Coach will want us back in the locker room for a quick pep talk before our game. Time to hide in a corner and change my socks.
I clap my hands together twice, and loud enough for the team to hear, then point to the team tunnel and locker room entrance. The guys start out, and I enter in the middle of the pack. We jog over the green grass, and myeyes, like a striker to the net, find Fran. She’s leaning against the short advertisement wall that separates her from the field. She stands just a couple measly cement steps above us, waving to the team, that relentless smile on her face.
A few of the guys pause on the grass in front of her. I can’t quite make out what they’re saying, but Lucca is making her laugh. My muscles tense at the sight, and a rush of heat runs through my veins—for some reason I really feel like punching someone. That someone being Lucca. That guy needs to get over himself.
“Franny,” he’s saying, “are you ready to give us our good luck kiss?”
I’m not sure what possess me, but I step in front of him. “Us?”
Lucca just laughs. “Go on, then.”
I shake my head and look up to Fran smiling down at me, hair whipping in the breeze. My jaw clenches with my forced grin, and I hope my face conveys my apology.
“Sorry,” I tell her. “These guys?—”
But I don’t get to finish my sentence because my very level-headed, very sane best friend yells from behind, “Come on, Cap. We don’t have all day. Kiss the girl.”
I glare back at him and return to my still-smiling Fran. She hasn’t said a word yet.
“These guys,” I say again.
“It’s all part of the deal, right?” she says. “Lucky charm and all?”
“Is it?” I say, but my lips are tingling, my heart is pounding. I want that kiss. It’s possible I need that kiss.
“Cap. Today,” Zev calls.
I swear, when I get a red card this game, it won’t bebecause I ran down the opposing team, but my own best friend.
“It’s fine,” Fran says, and a stray of chestnut hair whips over her face.
I lift up on the cement step, meeting her eye to eye, and tuck that strand of hair behind one ear. Fran cups a hand to my cheek, her lips, as red as a rose, turn up at the corners. Her amber eyes twinkle before winking closed.
I pull in a breath and stare at the girl in front of me for three seconds—eyes closed, lips ready, breaths even. Tuning out the crowd, I touch my lips to Fran’s. A familiar and electric softness presses gently back as our breaths mingle into one. Threading one hand around her back, I hold her closer.
A loud whistle sounds from the crowd of fans, releasing the hold I have on her and the spell Fran has possibly cast on me. The kiss was soft, chaste, and much too short. It leaves me hungry and wondering how in the world I’ll be able to go out and play a decent game today.
Twenty-Nine
How didI make it through that game?
Lucky charm. That’s how.
I’ve run at least eight miles in the last ninety minutes, but I’m pretty sure I could run one more. We’ve won—three to nothing, with seconds on the clock. This game is in the bag.
