Page 7 of The Playbook

A whoosh of air left my lungs as I collided with a wall. Or rather, a heavy wooden classroom door. The papers I’d been holding went flying, my favorite book spilling onto the floor. And me. I toppled to my butt, letting out a grunt of pain as landed hard. I heard a groan, and I knew the door had come back and smacked whoever was on the other side.

“You OK?” a deep voice called out.

My face was hot as fire. I knew it had flushed a deep red. I didn’t bother looking up. Wincing, I got to my knees and started gathering my papers and folders, just wanting to disappear into the floor I’d landed on.

“Here,” the deep voice said, handing me my binder. “That was a rough fall. Are you OK?”

Feeling braver than I actually was, I peered up from beneath my hoodie and let out a pitiful whimper.

Logan Walker was kneeling in front of me, holding out my binder.

CHAPTER4

Logan

Iwas startled when she ran into the door I’d been coming out of. At first, I didn’t know who it was. Then I saw strands of black hair fall out from beneath the hood of a dark hoodie.

Feeling like it was my lucky day, I bent down to help her. I’d spent yesterday going over the ridiculous playbook Jeremy and Anthony had dropped off to me. The tasks within in it didn’t seem too bad at first, ranging from a simple encounter to getting her phone number to getting her to agree to go on a date. But as the list got longer, it became complete shit. The last two tasks practically made me want to vomit.

Get her to fall in love. Fuck her.

I’d spent the night going over in my head exactly how I was going to approach her. Luck would have it that she approached me. On accident, of course, but that was beside the point.

“You OK?” I asked for the second time.

This time, she lifted her head to look at me. I drew in a sharp, quiet breath. I couldn’t remember a time when I’d ever looked into her eyes. They were the most startling emerald green I’d ever seen before. So big and bright. Beautiful really. And her face … flawless porcelain.

Since she never lifted her head long enough for anyone to really see her, I’d imagined she had a face full of acne or something. But no. Her face was smooth and blemish free. Her lips were full, pouty, and pink. And those eyes. Thick, sooty lashes made the green really pop.Damn.Her blurry online photos hadn’t done her justice.

“I’m Logan.” I offered her my hand to help her up.

She snatched her binder from my other hand and completely disregarded me, opting to get to her feet on her own.

“I know who you are,” she said, her voice soft. Her head was ducked again, so I couldn’t see her face. Nervous little thing, she was.

“I know who you are too,” I returned, wanting to sound like I knew what I was doing. Confident. Like I had swagger and knew all the girls.

“I’d hope so,” she muttered. “We’ve only been going to school together since kindergarten.” She pushed past me without a backward glance.

“Hey, wait up!” I took a few long strides and caught up to her.

So she was a smartass andnotsociable. I guess I knew about the nonsocial part. I wasn’t prepared for her snark. Most girls swooned over me, batting their lashes. Not Grace. She shoved right past me like I was something gross on the ground she needed to get away from.

She didn’t bother looking at me as she strode through the hall. She kept her head down, her small stature moving more quickly than I’d expected.

“Grace,” I said her name, reaching out to pull her to a stop.

She flinched away from me, seeming to draw into herself more, appearing tiny as she continued trekking away. “Grace!”

“What do you want? An apology?” She stopped, turning to snap at me.

I halted in my tracks and took a step back.

“I’m not going to give you one. You flung the door open in the middle of the hallway during rush hour. If I ran into it and it smacked you, it’s your own fault.”

“I wasn’t looking for an apology, but now that you mention it,youpretty much ran intome.I’d think that alone deserves at least anoops.” I stared down at her, wondering what her deal was.

Girls I usually interacted with never snapped at me like rabid dogs. They giggled, wiggled their bodies on mine, touched me, batted their lashes. Grace? I think she’d rather shoot me dead than even look at me.

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