The Boyfriend League (2 page)

“T
his would be the perfect place for a baseball player to live,” I said during dinner that evening.

Mom had picked up Chinese food on her way home. Tiffany was the only one eating with chopsticks. She thought it was important to respect the customs of all nations, just in case she ever decided to enter the Miss Universe pageant.

My dad had been listening intently as I explained how the team was in need of host families. He always paid close attention to anything I said, because I was the one in the family most likely to talk sports.

He'd recently taken to shaving his head, because his hair had started thinning on top.
One day Tiffany had said, “Dad, what
are
you holding on to? Go for the Bruce Willis look.”

Since Tiffany is the fashion expert, he'd taken her advice. Unfortunately Dad more closely resembles Lex Luthor than Bruce Willis, and I'm still missing what little hair he'd had on his head before he took a razor to it.

“He'll be here more than three days,” Dad said.

Ah, Dad's three-day rule. Any relatives worth having as company know to limit their stay to three days. After that, they all get on his nerves.

“Well, yeah, but we're not related to him. I thought your rule only applied to family,” I said.

“Honestly, I think he just applies it to your grandparents,” Mom said from the other end of the table.

“I guess we have plenty of space,” he said.

We have four bedrooms upstairs: mine, Tiffany's, the junk room, and the official guest bedroom. Mom and Dad's bedroom is on the first floor, near the back of the house.

“Plus we have a great backyard,” I
reminded him. “Sports-guy heaven.”

Our backyard has a home plate and pitcher's mound properly measured off, a basketball goal with a half court, and a six-hole miniature golf course—all designed and built by my dad, the owner of Backyard Mania, a company that makes big-time sports equipment in miniature for people who want more than a swimming pool in their backyard.

Before I hit my teen years, I'd spent many summer days riding around with my dad, serving as his “assistant,” carrying his clipboard, giving my approval to the many projects he'd been hired to build. He even had a motto: “Every project comes with Dani's seal of approval.”

The past few years, though, I'd outgrown wanting to be his assistant. And he was okay with that. He may have even been relieved. He probably gets a lot more work done, because he doesn't have to make numerous DQ stops to satisfy my ice-cream addiction.

“Have you really thought this through?” Tiffany asked. “We won't be able to walk around upstairs in our underwear.”

Tiffany has a habit of not even wearing that much. She isn't exactly Miss Modesty. She says she's used to baring it all, because during beauty contests she often shares changing rooms with other girls, and so she's learned to be proud of her body and feel “comfortable with its natural state.”

“I have a bathrobe,” I said. “Or I could throw on shorts and a tank.”

“I don't know,” Mom said. “A boy in the house…” Her voice trailed off as though her thoughts were traveling into R-rated territory.

“It's not like we're going to date him, Mom. Worse than seeing Tiff without her clothes, he may see her without her makeup.”

“No way!” Tiffany screeched. “I don't leave my room without makeup.”

“Exactly. It would be kinda icky dating a guy who was living with us, who wouldn't always see us at our best. So, getting involved with him isn't even an issue.” Getting involved with one of his teammates, yes, but him, no. “The league is really desperate for host families this year. And it just seems like such a nice thing to do, give someone a home for the summer.”

“It's not like they're orphans,” Tiffany said.

She mentions orphans at every opportunity. Part of the Miss Teen Ragland competition involves answering a question about how you'd change the world or make a difference or improve yourself. For Tiffany, it doesn't matter what question she's asked, she always manages to explain how she'd help orphans. Maybe her generous heart and not her generous, uh, chest helped her win the past three competitions.

I couldn't help but think she'd gotten her chest plus mine. But that was okay, because I liked to think I'd gotten her brains plus mine.

I looked at my dad, the real decision maker in the family. Well, okay, Mom was the true decision maker, but I knew if I could convince him, he could persuade Mom. It was the reason they'd been happily married for twenty years. They had communicating and understanding each other down to an art. I'd never seen them argue about anything.

“For two months, Dad, it would be like you had a son. Someone to pitch baseballs to—”

“I pitch baseballs to you.”

“Someone to hit fly balls to—”

“I hit fly balls to you.”

“You'd have a
real
boy—”

“He's not Geppetto,” Tiffany said, “waiting for the blue fairy to touch us with her magic wand.”

Maybe not, but I knew Dad had always wanted a son. What father didn't? But that wasn't the issue. The issue was: I wanted a boyfriend this summer, and to have a boyfriend, I needed to meet boys, and the Lonestar League was guys, guys, guys.

Honesty time.

I released a big sigh. “All right, so maybe I'd like to have a brother for the summer.”

Okay, not so honest.

“A boyfriend is more like it,” Tiffany said.

I glared at her. “Any chance you could move off to college next week? Don't they have summer classes or something?”

“I have three more months of representing the city as Miss Teen Ragland. I don't shirk my responsibilities.”

Whatever
. Her responsibilities are the reason I always have to bum rides with Bird.

I turned back to Dad and decided to just
say it like it was. “As I already explained, I don't want him for a boyfriend. I really want to host a baseball player this summer. Baseball is my passion. It would be a dream come true for me to have someone who lives and breathes baseball to live in our house. Think of the perspective on the sport he could give us.”

Dad glanced across the table to Mom, his blue eyes peering at her over the upper rim of his glasses.

Mom was the one Tiffany and I had inherited our reddish-brown hair from. I'd also inherited her green eyes—intensified. Mine were a brighter hue. Tiffany's eyes were the same blue as Dad's. It was the
only
thing she and he had in common.

Mom shrugged. “I suppose we could make it work with a young man living in the house. But there would have to be rules—”

“Whatever they are, we'll follow them.”

“There can be no hanky-panky—”

“Puh-lease!” Who said
hanky-panky
these days? “He won't be the one—”

“The
one
?” Mom asked, her eyes narrowing.

Why don't I just blow it here and now?

“We're just giving him a room, Mom. I promise. I wouldn't be interested in him if he turned out to be Johnny Depp.” I gave an exaggerated eye roll. “Well, okay, if he was Johnny Depp, I'd be interested. But seriously, what are the odds?”

Mom's mouth quirked at that, because she had a thing for Johnny Depp, too.

“All right, then,” she said, “you can have your ballplayer for the summer.”

Yes!
Deep inside I was doing a happy dance, but on the outside I did nothing more than smile. If my parents figured out the real plan was to get a boyfriend, they absolutely wouldn't go for it. Not that they had anything against boys, but Dad's always saying we shouldn't date until we're thirty. I'm not sure he's joking.

Now he nodded thoughtfully. “I'll talk to Ed Morton. He's the team manager, and I'm sure he can explain everything we need to do and get us the paperwork.”

“Bird wants to host a baseball player, too,” I told him.

She'd called earlier with the news her parents had given their permission for her to have a summer buddy, as she'd taken to calling him.

“Little do they know our ulterior motives,” she'd said, like some evil scientist, which had made me laugh.

“I'll let Ed know,” Dad said now. “I'm sure he'll be happy to give us a little extra consideration, since I helped design and build the field.”

He winked at me, and I knew it was a done deal.

H
is name was Jason Davis, and he took my breath away. Literally.

Following the advice on the proper application of mascara, which Tiffany had posted on her blog at the Miss Teen Ragland website, I'd just finished applying my third layer—“one for length, one for width, one for beauty”—when the doorbell rang. Since we were expecting Jason to arrive at any moment, I knew it had to be him.

I quickly looked at myself in the mirror. I'd decided my boyfriend plans required more than my usual T-shirts, so I'd done a little shopping. New Gap jeans and a red spaghetti-strap tank with tiny white polka dots and a wide swath of white lace along the dipping neckline and down
the center. My shoes were a corked wedge with a T-and-ankle strap. Really classy, I thought.

I'd taken a hot iron to my hair, but had only managed to straighten my straight hair further. But I didn't really have time for a do-over. Besides, my hair was a lost cause.

So, with a deep breath, I headed down the hallway and descended the stairs, trying not to clunk, but trying to get to Jason before Tiffany had a chance to impress him.

According to Stephanie, who was majoring in psychology, for guys it was all about physical attraction before anything else. “Think bright plumage,” Bird's sister had said. “For guys it's all about sex; for girls it's all about love. Venus. Mars. Who wants to have sex with a dog?”

“Another dog?” Bird had asked sarcastically, which had ended Stephanie's lesson on what was important to guys.

Which was okay with me, because I wasn't ready to jump ahead to the sex part. Long, slow kisses were more along the lines of what I was looking for this summer. Really long and really slow.

So, it was important that I impress Jason
before Tiffany did, so I'd have an in with the team. In theory, I guess he could take both of us when he hung out with the guys. But if he only chose one of us, I wanted it to be me.

I could see he wasn't in the foyer and, knowing Mom, she'd probably taken him to the kitchen for warm cookies and milk.

The stairs ended at the foyer, the wall beside the stairs forming one side of the hallway that led to the back of the house. I couldn't see into the hallway from the stairs, but I'd perfected a swing-around. I grabbed the end of the banister for momentum and swung into the hallway—

Bam!

I slammed right into a big, muscular Jason! He staggered forward toward Tiffany—to whom he'd obviously been talking—and I crashed to the floor.

Technically, maybe he didn't knock the breath out of me. Maybe I knocked it out of myself. But who wanted to admit she'd been clumsy and too stupid to not look before she swung around the corner?

“Dani!” Tiffany said in a tone that clearly
implied, “Are you an idiot or what?”

Which was usually the line I applied to her following almost any comment she made, so it sorta stung to have her use that tone with me. I was way smarter than she was.

“You okay?” Jason asked.

And time stopped. Just like that. It froze, like a drop of suspended dew, just hanging from the end of a rose petal, and it was like I had an out-of-body experience.

He knelt beside me, his brow furrowed over the bluest eyes I'd ever seen. A deep royal blue. He was near enough that I could see a black ring around the outer edge of the blue and that little circle just seemed to make the blue all that much richer.

His face was perfect. Strong jaw, a little indentation in his chin that somehow managed to give his face personality. He looked tough, and yet he
didn't
look tough.

His dark hair was a buzz cut, probably because he played baseball during the hottest months of a Texas summer. His sideburns ran the length of his ears and served as a dark frame for his face.

Please, please, please, Tiffany, don't talk him into going for the Bruce Willis look.

He even smelled good. Like leather. I wondered if I'd be able to smell him in the guest room after he left.

And I was so not supposed to be thinking these kinds of thoughts! I'd promised Mom I'd have no interest whatsoever in Jason, but I could see now that I'd made a vow that was easier said than done. Who would have thought he'd be
this
hot?

As though someone had snapped their fingers, time started again.

“You okay, honey?” Mom asked.

“Gawd, Dani, get
up
,” Tiffany said.

“That was some hit you gave Jason,” Dad said. “Maybe we need you to try out for the football team. Lord knows we need a good tackler if we're going to State this year.”

I wanted to die, absolutely die. Dad was talking about putting me in shoulder pads and a helmet. Rough-and-tough wasn't exactly the image I wanted to project.
Please think he's joking, Jason. Please, please, please think he's joking.

But truthfully, I could see Dad seriously
calling the high school football coach before the evening was over. “Hey, Johnson, have I found some talent for you.”

“I'm not going to try out for the football team,” I grumbled as I struggled to sit up. “Sorry about knocking into you.”

Jason grinned—a wonderful, sexy grin that made one side of his mouth hitch up a little higher than the other. “I have three brothers. Getting shoved makes me feel right at home.”

He took my hand, and I felt a delicious spark of electricity cascade through me. He pulled me to my feet. I couldn't help but be disappointed by how quickly he released his hold. I wondered if he'd felt the same sensation, and if so, if it made him as aware of me as it had made me of him.

“So, Jason, how was your trip?” Mom asked, as though sensing something brewing that shouldn't be.

“It was fine,” he said. “Thanks to MapQuest, I didn't get lost once.”

“That's wonderful,” she said, like it was a major accomplishment and she was really
proud of him, and I realized that maybe we all felt a little awkward with a stranger settling into the house.

“We want you to make yourself right at home while you're with us,” Mom said.

“I appreciate it,” he said.

Could the conversation get any more banal? I wondered if he felt like he was in a bad episode of
Meet Your New Mommy
.

“I have a pitcher's mound in the backyard,” Dad said. “Maybe you'd like to try it out after supper.”

“That'd be great,” Jason said.

“Maybe we could get in a few pitches before dinner,” Dad offered, with much more enthusiasm. The blue fairy had indeed arrived and made his wishes come true.

“Actually, hon, later would be better,” Mom said very diplomatically. “I was getting ready to set an early dinner on the table. I hope you like pot roast.”

“Yes, ma'am, I do,” Jason said.

“I rarely cook, but I thought tonight was a special occasion, deserving of extra effort. Tiffany, why don't you help me in the kitchen
while Dani shows Jason his room?”

I couldn't believe it! Mom was actually handing me a few minutes alone with Jason.

“I'll be happy to show you your room,” I said, sounding like the bellhop at a fancy hotel, noticing for the first time the large duffle bag on the floor at his feet.

He reached down and picked it up. “Lead the way.”

“So, you're a pitcher,” I said inanely as we started up the stairs.

The team manager had sent Dad an information sheet with everything he needed to know about Jason—emergency numbers, health information, but nothing that was really important. I mean, it didn't provide vital stats like eye color, hair color, or girlfriend status.

“Yeah. Didn't play that much this year because I'm a freshman. I'm hoping that spending time on a collegiate team, playing through the summer, will improve my arm.”

I almost said something really corny, like I didn't think his arm needed improving, based on the way the sleeves of his burnt-orange T-shirt were hugging his biceps. But I refrained,
since we'd just met and he might not know I was joking. Besides, it wouldn't have really been a joke because he was way buff.

“So, do you know the guys on the team?” I asked.

“I know a few, either because they're on my college team or our team played theirs.”

“It must be hard to play on the same team as your rivals,” I said as we reached the landing.

“I don't really think of it that way. Teams are redefined for the summer.”

“Oh, yeah, I guess so.” I unexpectedly felt stupid, and I didn't know why. He hadn't said anything to make me feel that way, but I just couldn't think of anything clever to say. I pointed toward French doors. “That's the game room, but we don't have any games in there. Just the TV. You can set the TiVo to record whatever you want.”

“Thanks, but I don't think I'll have much time for TV.”

Was that because he planned to hang out with the guys? I hoped so, since I wanted to tag along.

“Oh, okay. Whatever.” Why was I so tongue-tied and nervous? Was it because the reality of having a guy moving in with us had finally hit me? He was going to be
living
upstairs, across the hall. “Your room is over here.”

He followed me down the hallway, and I stopped in front of the guest room and did a Vanna White arm extension. “Our official guest room.”

He looked inside. “Awesome!”

I'd known he'd like what I'd done to the room before he arrived.

My bedroom is sort of a living scrapbook. I could look at it and have so many memories come to life. The walls are decorated with pennants and pictures of baseball players and baseball caps for every team my dad and I have watched together. I'd selected a few of my favorite posters and pictures and put them in the guest room, hoping to make Jason feel more at home.

He walked inside and set his bag on the bed.

“I love that picture of Nolan Ryan,” he
said, pointing to a framed photo on the wall. “The guy was raining blood, and he still didn't stop pitching.”

It was one of Ryan's most famous photos—blood on his uniform after taking a ball to the mouth during a game. He'd had to change shirts several times as each one became soaked with blood.

“It's even autographed,” Jason said, the awe evident in his voice.

“It's not personalized.” Which was a silly thing to say, since he could obviously see it wasn't.

“Still,” he said.

“Yeah, still.” I could hear him saying, “Hey, guys, let me introduce you to my conversationally challenged host sister.” But I tried again. “There's a shop at the mall that has all kinds of autographed memorabilia. Maybe you'd like to go there sometime.”

“My budget is seriously limited.”

“You can look without buying.”

“Where's the fun in that?” He turned around and looked at me really intently.

At my eyes. He must like my eyes! He
looked away, then looked back at me. He couldn't keep his eyes off my face. His brow furrowed slightly, and it looked like he was biting back a smile.

“Guess we should go eat, huh?” he finally said.

“Oh, yeah.” I sounded startled. So uncool.

“Is there someplace I can wash my hands?”

“Bathroom.”

Jason hitched up that one intriguing corner of his mouth. “Where is it?”

“Oh, right! It connects the two bedrooms on this side of the hall, although the other room is the junk room, so you don't have to worry about anyone walking in on you. Tiff and I are across the hall and have our own bathroom.” Although normally I used the guest bathroom, because Tiffany was always drying things in ours. “For your private bathroom, you can either go through that door there or come into the hallway and get to it that way.”

I felt like I was rambling. I wanted to yell, “Someone shut me up!”

“Okay, I'll use the door in here, and meet you in the hallway when I'm done,” Jason said.

“All right.” I shrugged. “I'll wash my hands, too.”

I really didn't know why I was so nervous. Maybe it was the way he kept looking at me, like he was trying to figure something out. Could he see through me? Did he know I wanted to impress him, use him to get close to his teammates?

I went into the bathroom across the hall, the one between Tiffany's bedroom and mine. Putting my hands on the edge of the sink, I leaned toward the mirror. “Could you be any more boring?”

Then I realized what he'd been staring at. It wasn't my eyes. It was a little ring of black dots where my mascara—while it was still wet—had touched above and below my eyes. I looked like some sort of Cirque du Soleil performer.

“Great! Just great!” I muttered.

You get only one chance to make a first impression. This wasn't exactly the impression I'd planned to make.