Total pages in book: 185
Estimated words: 180510 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 903(@200wpm)___ 722(@250wpm)___ 602(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 180510 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 903(@200wpm)___ 722(@250wpm)___ 602(@300wpm)
CHAPTER NINE
Colten Mosley, starting as pitcher for the varsity baseball team as a freshman, was a sight to behold. He exuded so much confidence, and nobody loved that confidence more than Heather Peterson, his girlfriend who was a year older than us.
I hated her. That was a given.
My relationship with Colten flickered on and off more than the dying florescent light in the laundry room. It was easy to blame Colten. He was guilty of so many things.
Too cute.
Too nice.
A stellar athlete.
Coach Mosley’s son.
And he played the piano like Hélène Grimaud.
Of course, nobody our age knew who Hélène Grimaud was, except Colten. Our neighbor said he played with a similar “expressive freedom.” Whatever that meant.
After the team’s first win of the season with their freshman pitcher, Heather Peterson squealed while throwing herself into Colten’s arms the second he emerged from the dugout with his lucky glove and shit-eating grin.
“Baby!” She just had to call him baby.
I rolled my eyes, taking slow steps descending the top of the bleachers with a cherry Tootsie Pop in my mouth, squinting at him as he stared at me over Heather’s shoulder.
That was the first time he winked at me.
That asshole had the nerve to wink at me while hugging her to his sweaty body. I knew they’d already kissed. Heather had told Ronnie as much, and telling Ronnie was the equivalent of announcing something over the PA system.
The only thing I hated as much as Heather Peterson was that wink. The first of many. And he always did it over the shoulder of some girl hugged to him like a bear in a tree.
After games.
The homecoming dance.
In the school parking lot.
Just outside of the locker room.
The problem with Colten Mosley’s stupid wink was I never saw him do it to anyone but me. Not once.
“Thanks for coming to my game,” Colten yelled as I scuffed my sneakers along the dirt toward the parking lot.
Halting, I turned slowly, bringing my sucker out of my mouth with a POP!
“Baby, I’m going to talk to Jenna and Ronnie. Meet you at my car.” Heather blew him a kiss before blowing me off without so much as a smile or a “hi.”
Colten stopped his dusty cleats mere inches from my sneakers as he eyed me with a smug satisfaction. He had an older girlfriend who called him “baby,” and she had her driver’s license. So what?
“Watts.”
“Mosley.”
“Need a ride home?” he asked.
“My mom’s picking me up.”
“Heather and I could give you a ride.”
I scoffed. “I’d walk home before I’d get in the car with that psycho.”
“Psycho?”
“She backed into the dumpster behind the school last month. Ronnie told everyone she barely passed Driver’s Ed. And she rear-ended Mr. Leach at the four-way stop after last Tuesday’s softball game.”
“You think you’re going to be a better driver?” Colten stole my Tootsie Pop and sucked it into his mouth—the same mouth he used to kiss Heather Peterson.
“I start Driver’s Ed next week. But I already am a better driver. My parents let me drive everywhere. My dad lets me drive his truck. I’ve backed his fishing boat onto the trailer in and out of the loading ramp a million times. It’s a stupid question and you know it.”
Colten rolled my Tootsie Pop in his mouth while canting his head to the side. “Are you wearing lip gloss?” he mumbled over the sucker.
I rubbed my lips together. “No. It’s from the red sucker, stupid.”
“Looks like lip gloss.”
So what if I was wearing lip gloss? Heather wore a whole paint palette on her face.
“Never seen you wear makeup before.”
It irked me that he had to point out all the ways I was different than the other girls … the girls who hugged and kissed him. The girls who cheered from the fence by the dugout and squealed while throwing themselves into his arms. The girls who called him “baby” and dissed me because I was younger.
“We’re the same age in case you’ve forgotten. If you can play varsity baseball and suck face with the worst driver in the whole school, then I can wear lip gloss or an entire mask of makeup for that matter, without you making such a big deal of it.”
Colten pulled the Tootsie Pop from his mouth. “I know.” He shrugged a shoulder before bringing the sucker to my lips, a mischievous glint in his eyes daring me to put it back into my mouth.
“Colten!” Heather called.
My lips parted, accepting the sucker. His grin spread wider than I’d ever seen it.
Two seconds after brushing past me, he turned. “My mom’s making chicken enchiladas tonight. She felt bad for missing my game, so she promised to make my favorite dinner to make up for it. You should come.”
“Three’s a crowd, Colten. I don’t think Heather wants to have dinner with me.”
“Who said I was inviting Heather?” His tongue slid out to wet his lips before he rubbed them together as if he needed to hide his grin.