Pucker Up Page 3

  “No,” I say, firm. “I need to figure out another way to get him to open up.”

  “Romance him. Make him want to tell you stuff. Be the girl the other girls weren’t.”

  I laugh out loud. This might be the funniest thing I’ve ever heard in my life. My braces, zits, and extra weight are gone, but every time I look in the mirror I always see the girl I was in high school. Like a ghost, the images haunt me: a girl who never measured up to her beautiful, popular step-sister. As for romancing? I’ve slept with one guy in my life, and that was the guy who took me to prom because his date backed out last minute. I was his backup. And I gave my V card to him. I don’t even know why anymore. Maybe because I wanted to see what the fuss was about. Maybe because I wanted someone to want me in that way. Looking back, it seems stupid now. Especially since it was awkward and awful and lasted for no longer than a minute. Then he took me home and never called or returned my calls. Now Emily thinks I can romance the captain of the hockey team at Saint Martha’s? It’s laughable.

  “There’s no way,” I say solemnly.

  “What? Who are you? You’re the most confident, stubborn girl I know.”

  “Emily, I’m confident about my intelligence, and I know that I’m driven and stubborn when it comes to most things in my life. But this? Look at me.”

  “I am looking at you. You’re totally hot.”

  “I know I’m not ugly, Emily. But I’m not the kind of girl who attracts guys like Clayton Ozmore. Besides the obvious differences, we would have zero in common. I wouldn’t even know how to talk to him. It would be awkward, and I’d get nowhere. He’ll see right through me.”

  “You’re right. So give up and forget about the paper.” She shrugs her shoulders and leans back on her bed to rest against the off-white wall.

  I glare at her. I needed her to say that to me, and she knows it. Nothing like telling me to give up to make me fight harder. “You know I won’t.”

  She grins at me. “I know. So, suck it up, buttercup.”

  I groan loudly before walking to my closet. I remove my sweater before hanging it up. Then I start tossing some of the clothes on the floor by Emily’s bed into her hamper. “All right. I can do this. I just need a good reason to start up a conversation. And I need to find out where he hangs out so I can run into him.”

  Her face lights up, and I scrunch up my nose. “Why do you have that look on your face? The last time I saw that look, you convinced me to go cliff diving, and I broke my leg in two places. I haven’t been swimming since. And now I’m scared of heights.”

  “The hockey team goes to the gym every other morning. At least that’s what Monique told me.”

  “Jack said the season’s over.”

  “Yeah, but just because the season is over doesn’t mean they park their asses on the couch and eat their weight in fried chicken until the next season rolls around.”

  The mental image that pops in my head is clear, and yes, it doesn’t make sense.

  “They still train for the remainder of the year. And they probably do camps through the summer, too. I happened to see the team at the gym both times I went there this year.”

  “Both times, huh?”

  She grimaces at me. “Whatever. I’m more active than you are.”

  She has a point there. She plays intramural soccer and she’s pretty good, but she’s not the kind of girl to work out at the gym, and she’s definitely not the kind of girl to get up and do it first thing in the morning.

  She clears her throat. “We’ll get up early tomorrow and go to the gym together. You can sidle up next to him and ask him how to use the equipment. You know, like bend over in some spandex and ask for help. Or ask him to spot you.”

  “Bend over in spandex?” I can’t keep the disdain from my voice. “This is me, Emily. Does that sound like something I'd do?”

  “No, which is why you need to do it. If it gets him talking to you, who cares?”

  I care, actually.

  She hops off her bed and jumps over her laundry basket to get into her closet. “And I have just the pair.” She pulls down a stack of clothing and yanks free a pair of black leggings from the middle. When she tosses them at me, the clothes she pulled down fall onto the floor. She doesn’t bother to pick them up. When I stare at them, she glares at me.

  “Wear those. And don’t wear underwear.”

  “Hold on. I am not wearing your pants without underwear. Especially if I know you wear them without underwear.”

  “I never wear them without underwear,” she says innocently.

  “Is that the truth?”

  She takes a breath and shrugs. “Not, it’s not, but they’re clean. Just trust me. You don’t want panty lines.”

  I sigh at her and hold them up. They look pretty flimsy. The thought of wearing spandex makes me cringe. I might be slim now but that doesn’t take away the stretch marks I have or the little pocket of flab that stares up at me when I look down at my stomach. But I have no experience in getting a guy’s attention, and she’s certainly someone who gets her fair share. Since we started school here, she dated five guys before settling on the current one. Not one of those relationships were because she chased the guy. They all came after her. It’s not surprising, though. Emily is beautiful. Short and thin with golden hair and big brown eyes and a perfect button nose. She has one of those laughs, the kind that carry and make you smile, too. It’s one of the reasons I knew from day one that I would like her. She laughs without holding back, and it’s kind of the way she approaches life: heart on her sleeve, everything out in the open. I appreciate that and respect it because I’m that way, too. And she was probably one of the few people in high school that never teased me or called me Chubby Charlie or Miss Piggy.

  “Stop thinking so much,” she says. “Trust me, and together we’ll get your story, okay?”

  I nod as she comes closer and wraps her arms around me. “You got this, buddy. If you put everything into this like you did trying to get Jack to say yes to you, then you’ll have your story. I promise.”

  “By next Wednesday?”

  “What the fuck?”

  “I know, it’s hopeless.” I slide out of my seat and drop to my bed. My head hits my soft pillow when I fall backward. “We can do this. I can do this. I am a rock. I’m an immoveable force,” I chant. But I don’t believe a word I tell myself. Not even after I write a complete monologue of the conversation I intend to have with Clayton. On paper. In my day-timer. I have it mapped out. It will be perfect, and it will result in my getting every detail I need in one single conversation.

  What can I say? I’m optimistic.

  But in reality?

  I’m probably screwed.

  Chapter Three

  A pillow hits me square in the face. I startle, my heart racing, as I spring to a sitting position. For a feather pillow, it packed a punch. “Emily, what the hell?”

  “Rise and shine. I let you sleep while I showered. Now it’s time to get up and get dressed.”

  I shake my head and run my fingers through my snarled hair. Sick with anticipation and nerves, I didn't sleep well last night. I tried calling my dad a couple of times to tell him the good news about my article for the paper, but it went to voicemail. It always goes to voicemail. I haven’t actually spoken to him in almost five weeks. And I’ve left him six voicemails.

  I fell asleep around four-thirty. My body aches from lack of sleep, and my eyes are burning. But I've survived on less before, and lack of sleep isn't going to stop me from doing what I have to do today. Neither is my fear of talking to jocks.

  Emily wears blue spandex and a workout bra. Her long hair is tied up in a messy ponytail. I've never seen her this put together—or this alert—in the morning. Today, it seems we've reversed roles, and it doesn't sit right with me.

  “You showered to go to the gym?”

  She shrugs. “Of course, I did.”

  I glance at the clock. “It’s five to six.” Emily actually woke befor
e me and my alarm clock. I should put this momentous day in my calendar.

  “Early bird gets the worm. Jocks take over the gym at six o’clock sharp. They stay for maybe an hour, so we need to move.”

  “Six o’clock? Really? You didn’t tell me this last night.” I wipe the sleep from my eyes before springing from bed. She tosses me her leggings and a sports bra. I hold them up and groan...and then when her back is turned, I sniff them to make sure they’re clean. I put them on, but also throw on a T-shirt, too.

  “What are you doing?”

  I look down at my clothes and fail to see the problem.

  “You’re not wearing a baggy-ass shirt with a seventies action figure on the front. Not happening. Just take the shirt off and wear the bra.”

  I prop my hands on my hips like Wonder Woman in the poster above my headboard. “Well, I’m not wearing a bra by itself, so what else would you suggest?”

  She fishes out a fitted top instead. I don’t feel comfortable in it, but I let her have her way. I’m still pulling at the fabric and trying to stretch it out when we get to the gym. Every time Emily catches me, she slaps at my hands, and I force myself to stop for a few minutes, but instinctively, they keep going back to pulling at the fabric that lies against my stomach.

  In the gym, Emily leads me to the change room. There are a handful of girls in there. One is completely topless, showing off her boobs with pride as she roots through her locker for a bra. I can't help but stare. Her body is perfection. Not a single stretch mark. But that's not why I'm staring; I’m envious. Not necessarily of her body, though it's a nice one, but I'm envious of how confident she is in her own skin. She doesn't appear to care one bit that other people can see her naked and vulnerable. When she catches me looking, she grins. Like she likes it. That's why I'm envious.

  Because I never thought to bring a lock, we toss our jackets in a shared locker. After we change out our shoes, we're ready for business. While Emily fills her water bottle, I pace, peeking in a few doors with windows: spin class, Zumba in the cardio room, and yogis in downward dog. “This place is huge,” I tell Emily when I make my way back to the fountain.

  “I know. The hockey team usually lifts weights first thing in the morning on Tuesdays. I got their schedule from Anita.”

  I have no idea who Anita is, but thank you, Anita. “Awesome. Okay, this is going to work.” It has to.

  “Let’s split up. I’ll text you if I find him,” Emily says. She starts to walk away, but I grab her arm and pull her back.

  “You can’t. I might not recognize him. I could barely see his face in that Facebook photo.”

  She sighs. “Okay. We’ll do it together.” She sashays to the left. Even in gym clothes, it's like she’s walking the catwalk. I try to mirror her walk but trip on my shoe laces. When we reach the glass door, we peer inside. We try to be casual about it, but the longer we stare, the more conspicuous we look.

  “Hurry up, Emily. We’re being obvious.”

  “Okay. Wait! I see him.”

  “Where?”

  She’s about to point, but I slap her hand down. “What’s he wearing?”

  She smiles wide and keeps her eyes on me before training them to the left to watch Clayton from her peripheral. “Yellow muscle shirt. Plain. There’s some writing on his chest in white but I can’t read it. Black shorts over biker shorts. Black sneakers. Sexy black hair. Thick jaw. Tall. Maybe six-three. God, he’s glistening.” She lays her hands on the glass with splayed fingers. “It's like his body is sparkling under the florescent lights.” She licks her lips.

  I pinch her and she yelps. “You’re being obvious.”

  “Don’t pinch me!”

  I turn and put my hand on the door. I see him now, and I understand the lip-licking. He’s yummy. Not in a handsome Abercrombie and Fitch way, though. More in a primal, me Tarzan kind of way. His hair is messy but sexy. His face is covered in scruff. He looks massive, especially since the guy working out next to him seems to be new to the gym and barely reaches his pecs. Clayton’s wide jaw clenches as he curls up weights, first in his left hand and then in his right. His tattooed biceps pop and his shoulders round, and I feel a flutter in my stomach. Yes, he glistens. And the lights also make his blue eyes stand out, even from here. I'm not a girl who enjoys tatts. I much prefer a clean-cut kind of guy, but this guy…there's a tingle between my legs that has me doing Kegels.

  Insecure Chubby Charlie rears her unbeautiful head, forcing me to turn on my heel and hurry down the hall. I hate that, after all my hard work, she still makes me doubt myself so much. Emily runs after me, stopping me by the fountain. A guy is bent down, lips parted, taking a drink. We wait for him to leave before she starts reassuring me.

  “Maybe this isn’t a good idea.”

  “Oh, no you don’t! Don’t be a pussy. He’s just a guy.” She’s quiet for a moment, the wheels spinning in her mind. “Just pretend he’s Jack.”

  “Jack! What are you talking about? He’s the furthest thing from Jack you could find.”

  “Well, literally he’s not, but figuratively, he absolutely is. This sex-on-a-stick hottie is the gatekeeper to a job you want more than anything. So, go and get that job.”

  “I’m just not the kind of girl who can get a guy like that to spill his secrets. We both know that.”

  “I’m not sure why you’re so self-conscious about your appearance, but you need to get over it. You’re beautiful. And you’re quirky and kind. He’ll like you. Just be yourself. Trust me. You are not that girl anymore. And regardless of the way some people treated you in high school, I always knew you were awesome. I never doubted you for a second. Don’t doubt yourself now.”

  She’s right. I’m not that girl anymore, but it’s so easy to let old insecurities creep in when it comes to my appearance and to guys. I just have to get over it. Mind over matter. I’m able to powerwalk through everything else in life, why can’t I tackle this with the same amount of effort? The truth is, I can. I just have to decide to do it. So I do.

  We enter the weight room together. She picks up some dumbbells in the far corner and starts to curl them in front of the mirror. A guy sitting on a bench puts down the weights in each of his hands and watches her ass. Slowly, I make my way over to Clayton. The small guy beside him leaves, and I take his spot on the mat, also near the weights. I have no idea what to lift so I try to pick one up, but it falls back onto the metal cradle. Too heavy. A loud bang rings out, and he glances in my direction. I force a smile and try to act confident. “Oops,” I say, trying to act flirty. His lips twitch into a tiny smile.

  Another girl is stretching across the room, and I remember stretching before workouts in gym class, so I figure maybe I should do that instead. I start with my arms, leaning to the side with one arm over my head. Clayton does his thing about three feet or so away from me. From the ground, he lifts a bar with fat weights on either side up and over his head. They look heavy. I’m breaking a sweat just watching him, but his face is even and his body and clothes are dry. I’m already warm.

  After I stretch out my arms, I spread my legs wide and bend over to touch my right ankle. I’m not limber, and my muscles strain to the point of throbbing pain. I hear someone gasp and someone giggle. Through my legs I see a girl watching me with her mouth agape. I straighten up. Is she looking at me? She turns away, and I decide I’m just being self-conscious. I need to stop. For once, I need to listen to Emily. I'm not that girl from high school. So, I bend over and keep stretching.

  Someone clears their throat. Then I feel a tap on my back. I straighten up and am shocked to find Clayton facing me. He’s red in the face. He bites at his lip and clears his throat again.

  “Hi,” I say, trying to sound calm and unaffected.

  “Um…I don’t know how to say this…but you might want to turn around.”

  “What?” I twist at the waist and try to look at my ass.

  “When you bend over you can see through your pants.”

  It’s my
turn to gasp now. A guy to his left is chuckling. “Should have let it be. Nothing better than a little vag in the gym.” He winks at me.

  “Oh, my God!”

  Mortified, I cover my ass and back away, aiming my back to the wall, but I trip over a set of weights and tumble to the floor. People laugh, some more obviously than others. I want to run from this place or die. Either will do.

  Emily starts for me, but Clayton crouches down and offers me a hand. I stare at it like an idiot before the stinging sensation on my ankle draws my attention elsewhere. I’m bleeding through my sock. I pull the white fabric down and frown at the cut. It’s not major, but I’m sure I’ll have a bruise around it in the morning.

  “Are you okay?” he says, tucking the ends of his hair behind his ears.

  “Mmm hmm. Yep. Right as rain.”

  He offers me a hand and I take it. He pulls me up, and I stare straight at his pecs before my eyes draw upward to his lips and then his bright eyes. “Umm, do you have a Band-Aid?” Do you have a Band-Aid? I want to hit my forehead with the heel of my hand. It was the only thing I can think to say.

  He chuckles before nodding. “Yeah, I think I can find you one.”

  Or...maybe it was a stroke of genius.

  He motions for me to follow him out of the gym. Alone. On the way, he grabs a sweater hanging on a hook by the door. “Here,” he says, handing it to me. “You can use it to...uh...cover...”

  I’m going to kill Emily. “Thank you,” I whisper. I throw it on quickly. The hem falls to my thighs and when I push my hands through the extra-long fleece sleeves, they bunch up at the bottom.

  Clayton leads me down the hall and through a door. Inside, there is another door with a card reader. He pulls out a card and swipes it, and the door opens. I hesitate when he waves me in, but then I realize it’s just a room, much like a locker room, only there is a stretcher in it and lots of medical equipment.

  “You have a card for this room?”

  He shrugs. “Yeah. All the players do.”