The Boyfriend League by Rachel Hawthorne Page B

head. “Never mind.” On second thought…
    â€œYou don’t like all the makeup?”
    â€œI just don’t think you need it. I mean, you look pretty without it.”
    Oh, really? That was totally unexpected.
    He started tapping the steering wheel like he was listening to a rock concert, or suddenly embarrassed, maybe wishing someone would shut him up. “Sorry I don’t have a towel in the car.”
    Subject change. He was embarrassed. How cute was that?
    â€œThat’s okay. We should probably get home, anyway, and we have plenty of towels there.”
    â€œRight.”
    He shifted into reverse and did that thing guys do where they twist their whole bodies and put their arm across the back of the seat. Only his car had bucket seats, and his fingers grazed my cheek and then jerked as though they’d been stung, before he grabbed the back of the headrest.
    He was staring at me, really staring at me, and I wondered if he wanted his fingers to touch my cheek again, because I wanted them to. I wanted to feel that spark again, that littlespark I felt every time he gave me the slightest accidental touch.
    â€œDo you like Mac?” he asked.
    â€œOh, yeah,” I said really quickly, too quickly.
    He nodded, looked over his shoulder, and backed out of the parking spot.
    As we drove home, a heavy silence filled the car. I began to wonder if maybe he hadn’t really been asking if I liked Mac.
    If maybe he’d been asking something completely different. Maybe he’d been asking if I liked him.

Chapter 13
    T he next morning I went into the kitchen for an early breakfast and discovered Jason at the table reading the Thursday morning Ragland Tribune . He glanced up and smiled. “Secrets of the concession stand revealed. Call Oprah.”
    I’d never before been self-conscious about someone reading what I’d written, but I was this morning. Maybe because I kept replaying those few minutes in the car and wondering if I had really missed what he was asking.
    No, last night it was probably just my imagination gone wild, because everything seemed fine this morning, back to normal.
    â€œYeah, I considered writing about the dangers of foul balls, but it would have ended up including too much of my first-personaccount, and the column isn’t supposed to be about me. It’s supposed to be about what happens around me.”
    â€œIt’s actually entertaining.”
    â€œYou say that like you’re surprised.”
    He looked like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming eighteen-wheeler, and I realized I’d really put him on the spot. What could he say to that? Based on our numerous conversations, I was under the impression communication wasn’t your strong suit?
    â€œNever mind,” I said, taking the steam kettle off the stove and filling it with water. I was a British-breakfast-tea-in-the-morning girl, and I made it using a real teapot and everything. “I’m not fishing for compliments.”
    Okay, I was a little.
    â€œI just…I just didn’t expect it to be so funny,” Jason said.
    â€œYou wanted a serious column about hot dogs?” I put the kettle on the stove and turned on the flame. “You want some tea?”
    â€œNo, thanks.”
    He was eating a bowl of cereal, some sort of bran flakes, with sliced bananas on top.
    â€œI have a hard time coming up with a subject for a term paper,” he said. “How can you come up with a subject to write about every week?”
    â€œWell, for one thing, it’s way shorter than a term paper, so I don’t need anything with any depth.” I sat at the breakfast table. It was situated in a bay window. Bright yellow balloon valances decorated the top of the window, but other than that, it was natural sunlight streaming in. Mom liked cheery. “Then I try to give it a quirky angle.” I shrugged. “No big deal.”
    I didn’t know what possessed