Page 57 of Rock Bottom Girl
“What other thing?”
“We’ve shared exactly two kisses now. Both of which have resulted in some serious brain frying. I liked it. Both times.”
“I don’t want a pity fake boyfriend,” she insisted, her jaw tightening.
“There’s no pity, and stop being a dumbass. I’ve been doing some thinking recently, that maybe it’s time I settle down…sometime. In the future. Eventually.”
She closed her eyes and then opened them. I liked the inky line of her lashes. “I don’t think you’re speaking English.”
I gave a little shrug. “I don’t know. I mean, maybe if I help you with your teaching and coaching, you could help me navigate a monogamous relationship. Like a practice run.”
“You want me to help you practice being in a relationship?”
“Yeah. You’ve done long-term relationships before, right?”
She stared at me for a long minute and then nodded slowly.
“Good! See? It’s a mutually beneficial fake relationship. I keep Amie Jo off your back and help you not suck as an employee here, and you can get me into relationship shape.”
“I can’t decide if this is the stupidest idea I’ve ever heard or if it’s marginally less terrible than letting Amie Jo publicly crucify me at the next pep rally.”
“Your choice, sweetheart. Though I should warn you, the district takes their contracts pretty seriously. If you go back in there and tell Eccles it was all a lie, well, let’s just say neither one of us can afford an unpaid suspension.”
She mouthed a string of four-letter words, and I tried not to laugh.
The bell rang inside.
“Dammit.” Marley trudged up the steps toward the door. She paused, her hand on the handle. “Jake? How many of those contracts have you signed?”
“Counting this one?”
“Yeah.”
“One.”
25
Marley
Thanks to a mishap with the field hockey equipment in the storage room, I was late for practice. I’d managed to get my foot stuck in a volleyball net and fell into the cage, knocking the door open. Sticks and balls went everywhere. I fell two more times before I managed to wrangle everything back into its home.
Sore, battered, and psychologically exhausted from the day, I climbed the concrete steps to the practice field.
I don’t know what I expected to find—perhaps a wrestling match between disgruntled teenage girls or a homicide in progress—but it sure wasn’t my team lined up and applauding me.
The surprise was so sharp that I turned around and looked over my shoulder to see who they were clapping for.
“Let’s hear it for Coach Cicero,” Vicky shouted through megaphone hands. She had a voice that carried whether it was in study hall or the library or across fifty yards of grass. She could have made a living out of announcing sports for teams that couldn’t afford audio equipment.
The girls whooped it up, and I approached cautiously, not trusting their enthusiasm. They encircled me, and I braced for an attack or at least some spitting and pointy elbows.
“Did you see Austin’s face today? It was like Hawaiian Punch red,” one of the girls squealed.
“You should have seen Coach stare down that ass Coach Vince this morning. He came at her like a bull in a field, and she was all ‘ho hum, you bore me,’” Angela said with…was that respect or sarcasm?
“And then Mr. Weston is all ‘let’s calm down now,’” Morgan E. said, doing a decent impression of his rumbly baritone. “You guys are, like, dating, right?”
“He’s so gorgeous,” Phoebe swooned.
