for starters, he gave me this.”
Morgan’s eyes widened, and she hovered her hands over it as though it were some sacred relic that might smite her for defiling it. “He gave you his team shirt?”
“It’s just an Eastline football shirt.”
“No, it’s his personal team shirt.” She turned it around and pointed to the number on the back. “That’s his and his alone, and he gave it to you.”
“He probably gave one to Summer, too.”
“If he had, she’d be prancing around in it like a peacock. No, he gave this to you, and something tells me there’s more to you two than just some study dates.” She pulled up my desk chair and sat on the edge, her legs crossed and her hands resting expectantly on her lap. “And don’t you dare leave any juicy details out.”
I remember how Richard grilled me about the kissing, and I wouldn’t expect any less from Morgan, so I swallowed my pride and confessed. “Okay, so there has been some stuff going on between us, and before you interrupt, yes, he’s a good kisser, and no, he hasn’t punched my V-card.”
“Yet.” She gave me a wicked smile.
“How about never? Because as soon as I start to believe he’s interested in just me, he bends over backward to do something for Summer.”
“I know you hate her, and I know why, but come on—he’s had you over to his place twice for breakfast and he gave you his team shirt.”
I tossed the shirt on the bed. “I still don’t get the significance of it.”
“It’s like one step below getting his letterman jacket. He’s making a claim on you. When people see you wearing his number, they’ll know you’re his girlfriend.”
My fingers turned cold, and the shirt took on more significance than what I’d first assumed. “But I’m not his girlfriend. Although this does add a new perspective on his request for me to wear it to the game tonight.”
“He asked you to wear it to the game?” The squeal she’d held back on the phone finally made an appearance, and my goth best friend bounced up and down like my airhead cheerleader of a sister. “Oh my God, Alexis, do you have any idea how many girls would love to be in your position?”
“I know of one in particular.” I told her about how Summer tried to intimidate me the other day. “She said that he was lying to me.”
“And you believed her? The skank is desperately trying to cling to him, and he’s all but begging you to announce that you two are an item.”
“Or he could just be setting me up to publicly humiliate me like Summer did.”
“Brett doesn’t strike me as the pawn type. Which brings me back to Wednesday night. I thought you were going to that concert.”
“I did. And he was there.”
Morgan bounced in her chair again. “He was? Are you sure he’s not stalking you?”
“Doubt it. He knew all the lyrics.” And sang them very sweetly in my ear. I closed my eyes and was transported back to that happy place where I stood wrapped in his arms, gently swaying to the music.
The sudden urge to play the banana pancakes song overcame me, but the second it came on, Morgan would cover her eyes and claim I was torturing her.
“You have that dreamy look in your eyes,” she said.
I shook off my daydreams and focused on the here and now. “It was nice.”
“So you admit you have a thing for him?”
“Maybe.”
“Bullshit. I’ve been your best friend for four years, and I’ve never seen anything remotely like the expression on your face a moment ago. You’re falling hard.”
“No, I’m not.” And yet, as soon as she accused me of falling for him, I crossed my arms over my stomach and doubled over. This whole liking a guy thing was doing a number on my gut. Maybe it was just a stomach flu instead. I could hope, right?
“What’s your holdup?” she asked.
“We could both get hurt from this.”
“Maybe. Maybe not.” Morgan twirled her hair around her finger. “Let’s break this down. One: He gives you his team shirt and
Morgan’s eyes widened, and she hovered her hands over it as though it were some sacred relic that might smite her for defiling it. “He gave you his team shirt?”
“It’s just an Eastline football shirt.”
“No, it’s his personal team shirt.” She turned it around and pointed to the number on the back. “That’s his and his alone, and he gave it to you.”
“He probably gave one to Summer, too.”
“If he had, she’d be prancing around in it like a peacock. No, he gave this to you, and something tells me there’s more to you two than just some study dates.” She pulled up my desk chair and sat on the edge, her legs crossed and her hands resting expectantly on her lap. “And don’t you dare leave any juicy details out.”
I remember how Richard grilled me about the kissing, and I wouldn’t expect any less from Morgan, so I swallowed my pride and confessed. “Okay, so there has been some stuff going on between us, and before you interrupt, yes, he’s a good kisser, and no, he hasn’t punched my V-card.”
“Yet.” She gave me a wicked smile.
“How about never? Because as soon as I start to believe he’s interested in just me, he bends over backward to do something for Summer.”
“I know you hate her, and I know why, but come on—he’s had you over to his place twice for breakfast and he gave you his team shirt.”
I tossed the shirt on the bed. “I still don’t get the significance of it.”
“It’s like one step below getting his letterman jacket. He’s making a claim on you. When people see you wearing his number, they’ll know you’re his girlfriend.”
My fingers turned cold, and the shirt took on more significance than what I’d first assumed. “But I’m not his girlfriend. Although this does add a new perspective on his request for me to wear it to the game tonight.”
“He asked you to wear it to the game?” The squeal she’d held back on the phone finally made an appearance, and my goth best friend bounced up and down like my airhead cheerleader of a sister. “Oh my God, Alexis, do you have any idea how many girls would love to be in your position?”
“I know of one in particular.” I told her about how Summer tried to intimidate me the other day. “She said that he was lying to me.”
“And you believed her? The skank is desperately trying to cling to him, and he’s all but begging you to announce that you two are an item.”
“Or he could just be setting me up to publicly humiliate me like Summer did.”
“Brett doesn’t strike me as the pawn type. Which brings me back to Wednesday night. I thought you were going to that concert.”
“I did. And he was there.”
Morgan bounced in her chair again. “He was? Are you sure he’s not stalking you?”
“Doubt it. He knew all the lyrics.” And sang them very sweetly in my ear. I closed my eyes and was transported back to that happy place where I stood wrapped in his arms, gently swaying to the music.
The sudden urge to play the banana pancakes song overcame me, but the second it came on, Morgan would cover her eyes and claim I was torturing her.
“You have that dreamy look in your eyes,” she said.
I shook off my daydreams and focused on the here and now. “It was nice.”
“So you admit you have a thing for him?”
“Maybe.”
“Bullshit. I’ve been your best friend for four years, and I’ve never seen anything remotely like the expression on your face a moment ago. You’re falling hard.”
“No, I’m not.” And yet, as soon as she accused me of falling for him, I crossed my arms over my stomach and doubled over. This whole liking a guy thing was doing a number on my gut. Maybe it was just a stomach flu instead. I could hope, right?
“What’s your holdup?” she asked.
“We could both get hurt from this.”
“Maybe. Maybe not.” Morgan twirled her hair around her finger. “Let’s break this down. One: He gives you his team shirt and
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