Page 49 of Perfect Score

“Oh my God! Zoey? Zoey Kloss?” Gran says, trotting up to me the second she realizes who Brent brought with him. She pulls my hands into hers and squeezes. “Oh, please tell me that you are the one dating my grandson.”

Her wide smile and hopeful eyes almost have me wishing I could tell her that he and I are dating, and it not be a lie… but then I would actually have to date Brent for that to be true. No matter how much I love Brent’s grandmother, dating Brent is out of the question.

“I told you I was going to surprise you,” Brent says, with that warm smile that I only get to see on Tessa's social media feed.

“You outdid yourself with this one,” she tells him, squeezing my hand.

Her right hand releases mine but her left hand keeps a solid hold as she reaches up and pulls Brent in for a hug.

When she pulls back, her eyes sparkle back at him as if he holds the moon and the sun. It’s hard for me to imagine how he could be so good to her and Tessa, and so many others and still be capable of hurting me like he did.

I wish I knew the real reason for why he didn’t show up that night. I just don’t believe it was to shoot goals.

Maybe if he could have been honest with me, I could have forgiven him enough to see the good parts of Brent that everyone else sees.

Her right hand reaches back for mine like she thinks I might slink away if she doesn’t keep a tight hold on me, and I don’t mind it one bit.

“Looking good Gran. Are you supposed to be Mrs. Claus?” Brent asks.

“Yep, and I’m looking for all the boys who were naughty this year. I need my ninety spankings," she teases, wiggling her eyebrows.

“I volunteer!” an older man’s voice in the back corner yells over the music.

Brent’s lips twist, trying not to grimace. I can see him struggling, and I bite back a chuckle.

Seeing Brent in some discomfort over his Gran getting hit on is more entertaining than I expected it would be.

Gran looks over at Brent for a second and then back to me.

“I’m not surprised my grandson finally won you over after all these years. He looks just like his grandfather did at this age. He was such a fox,” she tells me.

“Gran,” Brent warns.

Won me over after all these years?

What does she mean by that?

“You know what I mean, don’t you, dear? He’s quite the looker, isn’t he?” she asks me.

I look over to see Brent, who's shooting daggers at his grandmother even though there is so much love there, too.

Then those green eyes of his land on mine and my belly flips.

It’s been so long since one look from Brent has done that to me. It used to happen every day in Spanish class and on the occasion when we’d pass each other in the halls between classes.

Now I’m used to the burning anger that bubbles up instead when I spot him in a room.

“He is,” I tell her, my eyes still locked on Brent’s.

It’s not a lie. Brent is a looker, as Gran puts it, but it’s been a long time since I’ve seen him like that. Passionately disliking someone has a way of allowing you to suppress certain things like attraction.

“Gran, it’s your birthday. We don’t need to talk about Zoey and me. Don’t you have a harem of boyfriends you want to introduce me to?”

“I sure do,” she gleams.

Gran gives him a wink and then looks back over at me. “But first, Zoey and I have a little catching up to do. Will you be a doll and get us some punch? And don’t be quick about it, we need girl talk.”

She pulls me away from Brent and leads me to a round table. My nerves kick up for a second. Is this her interrogation tactic? Is she separating us to see if we have the same answer to a list of questions she’s about to ask?

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