Page 9 of The Goalie and Santa's Little Helper

“You didn’t have to do that to prove something. I know you want the white one.” Frankie loves sunsets, and the design looks like her style. That’s why I predicted she’d pick it. Not because it’s white, and I’m a pervert. But it is white, and I am a pervert. I can’t really ignore the facts.

“I can always use another sweatshirt. The shore gets cold.” She shrugs and holds the hoodie against her chest after the man hands it to her.

“Perfect,” she says. She fishes a credit card from her back pocket, but as she moves to hand it to the man, I push her hand down and meet her gaze.

“I got this. I insist.”

She blinks, and I’m not sure whether it’s because she’s surprised or is buying time to come up with an argument.

“Fine,” she relents, putting her card away and leaving me to close out the bill at the stand as she marches toward Mazy.

“I’ll take the white one in medium too,” I say. He chuckles, probably amused at what a sucker I am. He snags the shirt for me and runs my card while I roll it up and tuck it under my arm.

The sound of tuning guitar strings reverberates throughout the amphitheater as I turn and scan the crowd. I’m not standing quite as tall as before, but I’m not giving up yet. I pull my phone from my pocket when it buzzes. It’s Anthony, messaging to get two more beers and meet him on the other side of the lawn. Apparently, he found Gemma, and she said we could sit with her and her friends on their blanket.

Great.

I send back a thumbs up and fill my lungs with one more deep breath to ready my ego for one last try—at least for tonight. I spot Mazy and Frankie standing in the beer line and breathe out a quiet “Thanks” to the universe for putting me in the right place at the right time for once. I step up behind them and softly clear my throat.

“Are you following me?” Frankie flips around so we’re toe-to-toe when she glares up at me.

I offer a tight-lipped smile and let my head fall to one side as I hand her the shirt she really wanted. She takes a half-step back as her eyes drop to it, and her lips part with a quick breath.

“Olive branch?” I give her a sheepish smile.

She takes the shirt and unrolls it to expose the design.

“It suits you,” I say, keeping the devilish smile from before in check and instead meeting her gaze with my own to convince her of my sincerity. “And I mean because it’s really pretty.”

She sucks in her lips, seeming to be fighting a smile.

“Thank you,” she utters.

I lean in, but not as close as before.

“You’re welcome.”

Our eyes dance for a moment, Frankie working hard not to let her mouth betray her by curling up at the edges, me keeping mine shut so stupid words don’t fly out of it.

“Cute shirt!” Mazy squeals, taking it in her hands and holding it up to fully inspect it.

I order four beers while her friend has her distracted. I hand Frankie two of them, and when she reaches into her pocket for her phone, I assume to send me cash, I shake my head.

“Let me buy a cute girl a cute shirt and a drink,” I say, loud enough Mazy hears it this time. She holds her palm over her mouth and stares at her friend with wide eyes.

“I hope you know this doesn’t mean you get to be late for your shift tomorrow,” Frankie says as I walk away.

I spin around and walk backward so I can keep my eyes on her for a few more seconds. I’m going to endure two hours of country music, but the last fifteen minutes made it all worthwhile.

“Santa’s never late.” I wink, then pray she doesn’t roll her eyes and call me a cheesy loser. When she holds the lip of her beer against her mouth in a poor attempt to shield her grin, I turn back toward the crowd and scan the sea of heads in search of her brother’s blue ballcap. I spot him and weave my way through the crowd, eating my own stupid grin well before I have to face him. But I keep an eye on the cute girl in silver and blue jeans swaying her hip about a hundred yards away for the rest of the night.

4/

frankie

The freshman fifteen is legit.

I’ve been away at college for five months, and in that time, my jeans have gotten a little tighter, and a few of my favorite sweaters hug my chest with a little more . . .curve.As a girl who has always worn B cups but got to buy her first Cs, I haven’t minded the extra weight up top so much. But as I try to slide into my holiday skating dress for the photo booth, those extra curves are making the cut a little more revealing.

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