The Starter Boyfriend (3 page)

I smiled because I knew I should. “Hey, do I have time to take a quick shower?”

“Quick? So, you’re going out,” she said, arching a dark brow. “Not, I’m guessing, on a hot date?”

I blew out a laugh. Yeah, right.

“Believe me, Jennifer, you’ll be the first to know if I ever have a hot date—” Then I cut myself off, before the word
again
slipped out. Because there was that one time, when she and my dad had first gotten together, that I had
thought
Adam had meant a pizza invite as a date-date. Only to have him spend the meal griping about how much he hated his parents’ joint custody arrangement. And then expected me to pay half.

While I felt for him—divorce sucked—it didn’t quell my disappointment. Arguably worst of all was returning home to find Jennifer waiting expectantly, wanting the news. Had he kissed me? We were making our relationship Facebook official? It about killed me to blurt out those no’s and admit there’d be no second date because there’d never been a first.

To add to Jennifer’s over-the-top traits, she also, for some insane reason, thought me pretty, mega-popular, and batting away guys with spiral notebooks, softball mitts and tuxedo hangers. No matter how many times I’d told her the truth that I was really just another face in the crowd at school.

“Well, there is a party,” I explained now. “I promised I’d drop by for a while. It’s a girl from the team.”

“Is her name Saffron?”

The kitchen went wavy before my eyes. Wait—how—what? Even Jennifer knew about Saffron’s party?

My face must have radiated my shock and confusion because she continued. “Adam mentioned it. He’s going tonight, too.”

I stared at her, my thoughts knocking together that Jennifer and Adam must have had an unexpected meet-up at the dental office. Plus, it wasn’t out of left field that he would get invited. He saw himself as a fringe player, an independent type who moved between a few different crowds. But instead of coming off as unobtainable and almost a loner, he was also seen as available—an unattached guy to be added to an event. A hot unattached guy.

I’d been open with the team that I liked him. Correction, I
used
to like him. The crush that had ignited and glowed during random family events had been doused by our un-date, and the realization of how little attention he paid me at school. Like I was only good enough to hang out with when people our age weren’t around.

I knew my friends felt kind of bad for me when nothing took off with him, especially since so many of them had boyfriends. So maybe Flea was right. Maybe Saffron not only expected me at her house tonight, but thought she was doing me a favor by making Adam show up. After all, she had been spending a lot of time with Flea lately. Maybe this was her way of trying to make that up to me?

Maybe.

My eyes must have gone from blurry to totally crossed because Jennifer took a step away from the stove to point at the dining room table, as if continuing her explanation.

I glanced over to see a red-checkered tablecloth, plates, linen napkins, silverware and long stemmed glasses. Set for five.

“Adam and Chuck,” she continued, referring to Adam’s dad, “are here in the den with your dad. That’s how I know about the party. Adam told me.”

Wow. This new barrage of information hit me like one of Adam’s beloved monster waves. Not that I felt shock that my dad’s business partner was here—Chuck was as close to a best friend as my dad had—and not so much that Adam was going to the party, but that Adam was in our townhouse. Like, now.

I was a good twelve hours from a shower, with stringy hair, sagged-out clothing, and probably a serious case of raccoon eyes. Just because I wasn’t into him anymore didn’t mean I wanted him seeing me like
this
.

I turned toward the stairs, intending to take off with the speed I usually reserved for rounding third. Which was when I caught a glimpse of Adam. Crossing through doorway from the den, his shaggy blond hair falling with a mind of its own, and his brow all low, as if deep in thought.

“So, Courtney. What’s this about you and Randy Schiff?”

Chapter 3

I ran a hand through my lifeless hair in an idle attempt to somehow improve my crumpled look. Then I gave my all to Adam’s question.

Of course there was nothing between Randy and me—any more than there had been anything between Adam and me. (I couldn’t say that.) Besides, I was presently committed to a tuxedo mannequin. (Um, couldn’t go there, either.)

Going with an inspiration that fell somewhere between brilliance and desperation, I shook my head. “I hardly even know Randy Schiff.”

He took a long stride toward me in his fairly standard outfit, solid board shorts and a white muscle tee. His tan, which at summer’s end had achieved a radiant and consistent bronzed tone, was uneven and fading now. A pink patch occupied the ball of his nose, supported by a spray of freckles across his cheeks, working to make him look less like a cover model for
Surfer
magazine, and more like an approachable, regular guy. Of the recklessly hot variety.

When he stopped before me, he felt close. Too close. Making me really, really wish I’d snuck in a shower.

“Yeah?” he said, doing this head tilt so he could stare right into my eyes. Once upon a time, I’d thought this was personal and calculated and endearing. Until I realized it was just
what he did
. “Weird, Courtney, because I’ve gotten three texts in the last hour, people saying you and Randy are together now. And that’s more texts than I usually get in a whole day.”

I had given Flea the green light to spread the story, but the speed in which it had traveled astonished me. And why would people think to tell Adam? Sure, the girls on the team knew I used to like him, but to everyone else, we were merely connected by our fathers’ partnership.

I whooshed a dismissive hand through the air. “It’s nothing. He and his mom just came into the shop today to order a tux. Then he and his girlfriend broke up over the phone, and his mom got the bright idea to ask me to step in.”

“Of course his mother suggested you!” Jennifer called out from the kitchen. “You’re beautiful, sweetie, and any mother would be thrilled to have you date her son!”

My whole body cringed, but I looked her way and forced a laugh because it felt safer than risking Adam’s reaction to me being called “beautiful.” After a few beats, hoping he’d wiped an
you’ve-got-to-be-kidding-me...her
? frown from his face, I caved and glanced back his way.

“Randy didn’t say another word to me,” I pushed on. “And that was that.”

Adam must have taken my word for it because he turned his back on me. “So, Jennifer, how long until dinner? It smells incredible.”

“Oh,” she said, squealing. “Aren’t you the little charmer?”

My gaze bounced between the two of them. Sure, charming with her! For me, he saved secret frowns and the sight of his back.

Whatever. I headed for the staircase, thinking that maybe the best thing I’d done for my social life wasn’t getting the job with Phillip. It was getting over my crush on Adam.

* * *

A fast but effective shower later, I was sitting in my favorite jeans and capped sleeve t-shirt across from Adam at the dinner table. Our fathers were at the heads, with Jennifer by my side. She dominated the conversation with talk of the Sunset Beach Country Club wedding ceremony and reception, and all the trouble she was having getting the right doodads, baubles and widgets for the table centerpieces. I sat silently, taking small bites to minimize boob and lap spillage, just happy the spotlight was off me.

My dad sucked in his cheeks, making his long, narrow face look even, well, longer and narrower. “We’re only sorry to hear,” he steering his words at Adam, “that you’re not going to be able to make it this time.”

My gaze raced to Adam.
What
?

The plan called for Chuck as best man, and Adam as one of the two ushers. I’d had no idea it had changed. Why, I even knew Adam’s tuxedo measurements since Jennifer and I had gotten as far as reserving the monkey suits before she’d called off the first wedding—which was how I’d met Phillip and learned he had a job opening in the first place.

“Yeah, sorry,” Adam spoke with his usual cool, but there was an undercurrent of strength or maybe determination in his tone. “It’s the same weekend as the surfing championship in Oceanside, and I just found out this morning that I qualified.”

“Adam, that’s fantastic!” I heard myself cry.

If we’d been on the same side of the table, I would have knuckle-bumped him. Or hugged him. This was huge. This was fantastic! He lived to surf, getting up at 0-dark-hundred to catch waves before class, delivering pizzas afterwards to earn competition fees. Which was why he didn’t like to party. Kept him up too late, threw off his body clock, made him feel sluggish. He was all about his connection with the waves and his board, and going pro was his heart’s desire.

“His mother and I are very proud of him,” Chuck said, patting Adam’s arm. “We’re just sorry, Bill and Jennifer, that it coincides with your wedding.”

“What can you do?” my step-mom-to-be replied. “It’s clearly a wonderful date for wonderful happenings.”

I kept on smiling, probably to excess, probably all goon-like. I couldn’t help myself. In a world where mothers left without explanation, refrigerated cookie dough had gone from being comfort food to a possible source of salmonella poisoning, where friends up and turned on you, how great was it that someone I knew who deserved a big break was getting it?

Jennifer waved her fork in the air. “So tell us, Adam, is there a grand prize for the winner? Money? Trophy? Credit at a surf shop?”

“Trophies, yeah. And the top three get partial expenses paid to the international competition on the Gold Coast in Australia.”

My dad nodded impressively at Adam’s dad, while Jennifer did a butt-in-chair version of the
hokey pokey turn-yourself-around
. I wasn’t a pillar of propriety, either, as an involuntary noise, part moan, part “wow,” escaped from my mouth.

Then I covered it with my hand. Just to be sure I did nothing Neanderthal again, I kept my mouth and my throat closed for the rest of the meal. Making it kind of hard to chew, swallow and breathe, but you know, first things first.

* * *

“This party tonight,” Jennifer said as Adam and I helped clear the table. “Is it to celebrate the girl’s birthday?”

I figured it was more likely to celebrate her parents being away, but no way I was saying that.

“Might have something to do with Homecoming next week,” Adam responded in a perfectly believable tone. “Lots of people like to make a big deal out of it.”

I glanced at him appreciatively. No reason to set off her bells and whistles that underage fun was about to be had.

“Is it going to be,” Jennifer said, then paused to do an exaggerated head and neck dance, “all
Surf City U.S.A
.?”

I cringed. Jennifer tried so hard to be cutting edge. Too hard. I knew Adam would be strangely baffled, so I looked his way. “She heard that on a sitcom.”

“Cool.” A hint of amusement flashed in his eyes. “Here’s a new one for you, Jennifer, hot off the beach: definitely drop knee.”

I felt the blood rush to my face. Drop knee was a bodyboard move, but I’d never heard it used as slang, not even by the surfer crowd. He was punking her, and I didn’t know how I felt about that. I got super busy brushing crumbs off the tablecloth into my hand.

“Definitely drop knee,” she repeated, turning toward the kitchen.

I lifted my head. I wanted to give Adam a hard time, to tell him to go apologize to Jennifer. I mean, yeah, she was embarrassing and gullible, but also a sincerely good person. But then he smiled—wide and guilty. Which touched something inside of me, making me remember why I used to have a crush on him.

Anyway, no harm, no foul. Jennifer would probably use the phrase once or twice and forget about it. Beside, she was such an influential spokesperson and saw so many people in her rounds as a pharmaceutical rep, she might even give it wings. The important thing was she’d never know he was pulling her leg.

“So hey,” he said, the smile falling away. “Are you driving to this event of the century tonight? Can I catch a ride?”

I did a little eye roll. “Yeah, I guess misery loves company.”

Doing goodbyes with the grown-ups later, Adam gushed again about the food to Jennifer while I told my dad when I planned to be home. He was always way cool about me going out, giving me the “I trust you to be responsible” line, which I am sure was true since he trusted me to be responsible with so much of his own life, but sometimes I wondered if it wasn’t a cop-out, a way to avoid more implied obligations of his life.

He did have one rule he strictly enforced, though, and that was no driving alone after midnight. This went back to a rule from his days at St. Ansgar’s, where it had been drilled into his head that midnight was the official bewitching hour for unescorted girls. As silly as I thought this was—kidnappers and bogeymen did not keep regular hours—I rather liked the thought that went into it, and had long ago done a cross-my-heart-and-hoped-to-die pledge to obey.

“I’ll be home before midnight,” I promised my dad, then gave Chuck a quick good-to-see-you hug, before heading out the door.

Soon Adam and I were buzzing down the Pacific Coast Highway under a royal blue sky, KROQ turned down low since they were running a block of commercials.

“What’s with you going tonight, anyway?” he asked, shifting in my admittedly small passenger seat. “I thought you avoided these kinds of things.”

I shrugged. We’d discussed our general dislike of parties last summer at the office picnic, while tying my right and his left leg together with rope for some stupid race. It had seemed easier than owning up to the emotionally scarring intimacy of the moment.

“I kind of have to. I got the word from Flea that I’ve been AWOL too many times and people might stop missing me.”