Page 45 of The Quarterback Sneak

He doesn’t notice my discontent and just kisses my forehead again. Gah, why does he always have to do that? Doesn’t he realize every touch, no matter how menial it is, makes my heart flutter in ways it shouldn’t?

“I’m sure I will, Buttercup. I hope you have a great time doing your homework.” He quirks his eyebrows and offers me an amused smile but nothing more. “I’ve got to go to practice, but if you need me, send me a text.” And with a wink, he jogs off, leaving me watching his butt in his tight pants.

What the heck is going on between us? One minute he’s flirting, and I think I’m falling; the next, he’s distant and cold.

Before I have much time to think about it, my phone rings, and I roll my eyes, knowing immediately that it’s my mother wondering where I am.

“Hello, Mother,” I answer, walking to the parking lot.

“Hunniford. Where are you?”

“Just on my way,” I singsong, ignoring her sully tone.

“Well, get here as soon as possible. Your horse won’t ride itself.”

“Don’t I know it.” The words are mumbled, and my mother doesn’t hear them because she’s too busy yelling at me about something.

Whatever, I don’t care anymore. I’ll do just about anything to get my mind off Zach.

Smoothing down the navy cocktail dress my mother asked me to wear tonight, I walk to our house, feeling a little embarrassed that I had to get my hair done for this dinner. It’s my birthday, but I don’t feel the carefree, elated emotions you’re supposed to feel when you turn eighteen. All I feel is like a puppet on a string, only pulled out by my parents when they need me.

I take one final look at my phone before bothering to leave the car.

Dozens of birthday texts come through from people I’ve barely spoken to, but pathetically, I only care about one person, and there’s still nothing from him. What did I expect, though? I didn’t tell Zach it was my birthday, and he’s out partying tonight, not giving me a second thought.

Just as I put my phone down, a message comes through.

Mother:No flirting with the clients now that Jamie isn’t coming.

I snort out a laugh. Unless my father’s new client has brought some hot college intern with them tonight, she has nothing to worry about. Does she think I’m that desperate that I’d be interested in a couple of balding men with kids my age? Another new message comes through.

Mother:And I expect you on your best behavior.

That makes me drop my phone in my bag. I don’t want to see any more messages berating me. When am I not on my best behavior?

Getting out of the car, I take careful steps on my new Aquazurra heels, ignoring the slight pain in my toes from breaking them in. They’re cute heels, but my mother picked them out, so I instantly hate them and will donate them after this dinner.

I slow as I step closer to the front door because of the crazy amount of cars in our drive. Gone is the gardener’s beat-up Toyota, replaced with brand new Teslas and Mercedes. How many people are they having over tonight? Suddenly feeling a little lighter, I walk faster to the front door. Maybe I’ve lucked out, and this dinner is less intimate than I thought, and I can sneak out after general introductions. Not that I have anything else to do, but hanging out in my room watching something on Netflix sounds better than enduring an evening of fake smiles and awkward conversation.

When I open the door, I’m surprised that our maid isn’t there to greet me and the lights are off. “Mother?” I call out through the quiet hallway, the only noise being the click of my heels.

No answer, which makes me breathe a sigh of relief. If she heard me calling out her name so brazenly, I’m sure she’d chastise me for making it look like I have no manners.

I decide to walk farther down the hall, toward the formal lounge, hoping they might be in there.

As I grasp the door handle, I hear soft mumblings on the other side and fix a fake smile on my face.

“SURPRISE!”

People scream, jumping from behind our furnishings to greet me with a smile.

Taking a step back, I nearly fall from shock and disbelief. Students from school and friends from my extra-curricular activities fill the room.

“What the…” I say under my breath, clutching my chest. I swear my heart is about to beat out of my chest.

“Did you really think I’d let your eighteenth birthday go by without celebrating it?” Olivia laughs as she comes out of the fray. She pulls me into a hug as the music starts to play, and the party gets into full swing.

As I look around the room, my eyes immediately connect with Jamie’s. He’s staring, with his arm slung around McKenna—who is wearing a tight, garishly pink dress. How long has he been watching? And why are the majority of these guests people who taunted me online?

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