Quarterback Bait by Celia Loren

sees me. “And thanks. You're really doing me a solid.” I almost
felt like my favorite self again—the bawdy, theatrical, fearless self I'd been
working so hard to hide from the Pastor and Landon. I rose to my tiptoes and
kissed him lightly on his stubbled cheek, before ducking into the office.

Chapter Thirteen

    Landon
    July 23 rd
     
    “Oh no, don't change it!” cried the old guy, drumming his fingers
against the back of my headrest. Zora was fiddling with the radio, and she'd
just breezed by some 90s band I barely recognized from back in the day. I snuck
a look at my lady, in shotgun. She looked testy, at best, to be taking orders
from a stranger in scruffy cords, and chose to ignore the suggestion, finally
landing on my least-favorite trigger tune: Steal my Sunshine. I thought
to catch Doll's eye in the rearview mirror, but caught myself in the nick of
time. She probably didn't remember, anyways.
    Zora was rolling her eyes and huffing, in want of attention,
but I didn't have the time or patience to work on my girlfriend just then. It
was bad enough that Pop had basically forced me to give Doll a lift to the
church, mandating we make contact—but she'd decided to bring along some old
fogey as a date. The dopey guy in my rearview mirror was all sheepish hipster
grins. They were scrunched up close to one another, because the truck rig only
had two seats in the back and Denny had taken one of them. I watched her
laughing softly, coyly, as he murmured things into her ear. Like a goddamned
sleaze ball. Fucking loser apparently didn’t even have a car of his own.
    “Jesus, Landon! Watch the road!” Z cried out, in the nick of
time. I jammed on the brakes, sending us all tumbling forward. The car behind
me honked with fury, but my eyes sought out Doll first. She was patting her
pretty hair down, in the rearview mirror. Tugging up her V-neck t-shirt. I
watched him mouth something to her, his skinny arms rising as if they could
protect her: Are you okay?
    That fucktard.
    “I don't know why you're being such a baby,” Z said to me,
putting a smooth elbow on the cup-holders so as to bridge the gap between us.
    “He's like a hundred! She's the baby.” I fought to
keep my voice low, but in his seat catty-corner, I could see Denny snickering.
I bet he was loving this.
    “ She's a consenting adult. And I was talking about
your Dad, anyways. Jesus.” Z narrowed her heavily lined eyes in my direction,
and for an exhausting second, I thought she was about to pin me. Then I watched
her gaze drift back towards the side-view mirror, and thusly, herself.
    I clutched the steering wheel and gritted my teeth. We
weren't ten blocks from the church, but I'd forgotten to take the sneaky back-roads
route because Doll had gotten me so distracted. She smiled in the mirror,
showing her teeth to that stranger. I balled my fist.
    I mean, I knew I had no right to be mad. She was entitled to
skip off into the sunset with whatever other hoity-toity person she could find
to enjoy her own insufferable company. She was so proud, so holier-than-thou.
Why this cranky girl kept refusing to vacate my daydreams was anyone's guess. I
caught a whiff of Zora's perfume from the passenger seat. She sure loved a special
occasion, my girlfriend. Ex-girlfriend. Fuckbuddy. Whatever-we-were. Why, I
wondered to myself, couldn't I have hitched my wagon to someone—easier—this
summer? And not easier like the obvious way, but rather some chick like
Yvette: a beautiful, unchallenging woman who knew what she wanted and wouldn't
ask too much of me. Someone with a good head on her shoulders and few demands.
Somehow, I'd managed to pack this truck with women who knew exactly how to
drive me batshit crazy.
    At long last, I deposited the five of us in the empty
parking lot outside Pop's church. His twenty or so other regular parishioners
all seemed to have made it out for the big day. I wondered who'd be doing the
honors, considering Pop was the only Pastor at the Holy