Page 70 of Hard to Score

My grin is huge when I pick up my phone to answer.

Me: A little demanding, are we?

Drew: Someone has to take charge here. Be ready at 9. Plan to be gone all day.

Me: Am I allowed to ask where we’re going?

Drew: No.

Me: How to dress?

Drew: A swimsuit. A jacket. We’ll be outdoors.

Me: Anything else?

Drew: I can’t wait to spend the day with you.

And if the date wasn’t enough, that last line right there was.

I feel like a sap as I sit there and stare at it for way longer than I should, but I don’t care. We’re going on a date, and the giddy female in me can’t wait.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

BREXTON

11 years earlier

“THAT’S SO FUCKING LAME,” DREW throws his hand up, and Dekker and I glance at each other and roll our eyes.

The fuck thing is new this trip. Apparently, Drew is a teenager now and that means he thinks he’s cool if he says fuck a lot.

Dekker has tried it a time or two but then looks around quickly. Mom and Dad would kill us if they caught us saying it.

“What is?” Dekker asks as she props her feet up on the table and grabs a handful of popcorn, dropping some on the floor as she does.

“Look at that poor sap.” He points to the college football game on the TV.

“Who? The guy who just threw that Hail Mary for a touchdown?” Dekker asks with a laugh. “You mean, that one?”

“That’s beside the point,” Drew says as he flops down on the couch.

“What about him?” I ask, desperate to be in any part of this conversation, because Drew might have to take notice of me. I mean, Dekker is sitting on the couch a foot from him with her long legs and almost boobs, while I sit over here looking like a carpenter’s dream—flat as a board and rail straight.

“There is no way on God’s green earth you’d catch me putting some girl’s initials on my helmet like that QB has. Such a sap.”

We all look at the screen and wait for the quarterback to be shown again. And when he is, sure enough there is a “K J” on the back of his helmet.

“Maybe he loves her,” I say.

Drew snorts. “There is no place for that kind of love on the football field.”

“Hold on a second,” Dekker says in her overdramatic fashion with hands gesticulating as she turns to face Drew. “How can you say that?”

“Easy. I open my mouth and words come out,” Drew says.

“You’re not funny,” Dekker counters.

“Yes, I am.” Drew pops some popcorn in his mouth and chews annoyingly to irritate us.