The One That I Want(23)
Author: Jennifer Echols

I stared stubbornly up at him, my face on fire where his finger had brushed me, and burning with anger at what he had said and the situation the three of them had dragged me into.

“We had that whole talk when we were alone in my car,” he said, “and you didn’t get mad. I made fun of you for being rich and it didn’t bother you at all. Why are you getting mad now?”

“Because when we were alone, you were trying to be nice. It was just a joke. Your comment about my clothes was meant to hurt me. Why did you take a jab at me, Max?” He’d already made me crush on him and then asked out my best friend. He could not insult me too.

“It’s true, though,” he defended himself. “You want to look punk, but you don’t live that lifestyle at all.”

“Just because you think it does not mean you should say it. We have been over this.”

He was nodding before I got all the words out. “You’re right. I know. I shouldn’t have said it. I’m sorry.”

He was sorry, but he still hadn’t acknowledged he’d taken a swing at me on purpose. Had he been trying to get a rise out of me? Why would he do that?

“Don’t be mad, Gemma, okay?”

I sighed. He wasn’t going to explain himself, and now Carter and Addison were watching us. “Okay.”

“Say something funny.”

“Something funny.”

He pursed his lips, considering me. “Hmm. I’m not sure you’re back. Work on it.”

He placed his hand between my shoulder blades and pressed, pushing me into walking up the sidewalk with him. At his touch, tingles raced all the way down to my fingertips. I was so angry at myself for my body’s reaction to his that I could have cried.

“The pizza place is around the corner,” he whispered as we walked. “They have really good dinner salads with meat on them, so you feel like you’ve eaten something, but it’s, you know, still a salad. Healthier than pizza. If that’s what you wanted.”

“Thank you!” I exclaimed. That was exactly what I wanted. Good food, and a distraction from how far I’d fallen for Max.

We’d reached Carter and Addison on the sidewalk. Carter frowned at Max. “I didn’t catch what he said to you, Gemma, but I’m sorry on his behalf. Didn’t I tell you he makes girls mad?”

Addison cackled and put her arm around Max’s waist like that was the most ridiculous thing she’d ever heard.

“Yes, you did warn us.” I forced a laugh. “It’s okay. I’ll stop listening.” As if I didn’t hang on Max’s every word.

The restaurant was packed. My heart sank. I figured we’d have to wait forever for a table, which meant more non-conversation with Carter. Thankfully, the hostess found us a table in the corner quickly.

Maybe Max still felt bad for what he’d said, and he was trying to make it up to me. Maybe he just knew how to work a room. For whatever reason, he managed to keep the conversation going among all four of us until our food came, so I never had to rack my brain for something to say.

In fact, I felt so good after half an hour of the four of us being nice to one another, and with some avocado in my stomach, that I was able to do my part on the date by calling up Extroverted Gemma. “Addison said you guys ref soccer games on Saturdays and Sundays.”

“Yeah,” the boys said in unison, and they rolled their eyes in exactly the same way, which I found hilarious.

I said, “I take it you don’t enjoy it.”

“Well,” Max said, looking at Carter.

“It can be dangerous,” Carter said.

“Dangerous!” Addison exclaimed. “How? Do you have to break up fights in the men’s league?”

Max and Carter exchanged another look and both said, “Women’s league.”

I was still laughing as Max leaned toward Addison and pointed to his cheekbone, probably showing her the remnants of a black eye that I hadn’t noticed on the MARTA or in the car.

“And we’re there forever,” Carter said.

Max nodded. “The games start at eight in the morning, and the last ones end at ten at night. We don’t get scheduled for all of them, but they’re usually scattered through the day. Carter takes long breaks for lunch and dinner.”

“I can’t eat indoor soccer field food,” Carter complained. “I would starve to death. Max doesn’t care. He probably brings his own rabbit food.”

“I do sometimes bring my own salad,” Max said self-righteously. It was pretty weird to sit at a table in the edgy alternative section of Atlanta with two handsome boys who were arguing about salad. Clearly they could argue about anything. They were worse than Addison and me.

“If you think I’m underfed,” Max said, reaching for a slice of Carter’s meat-laden pizza, “you won’t mind if I—”

“Nuh nuh nuh nuh,” Carter said, thunking Max’s knuckle with his finger until Max backed off. Then Carter said, “And Max takes a break to coach his team.”

“Oooh, what team do you coach?” Addison asked.

I wanted to know too, but I was afraid to press it. Since Carter had brought it up, he must have thought it would embarrass Max. Max blushed a little, the faintest flush on each cheek in the romantic glow from the strings of lights overhead.

“I coach my little sister’s team,” Max said.

Carter had miscalculated. Addison and I said, “Awwwwww!” and Addison scooted a little closer to Max.

“How old is she?” Addison asked.

“Ten,” Max said.

“Do they wear pink socks over their shin guards,” I asked, “and bows in their hair?”

Max grinned. “I have tried to discourage this.”

“I’ll bet your sister’s friends idolize you,” I said. “You’re like Justin Bieber!”

Addison shrieked laughter, so Max smiled at her rather than me as he admitted, “I am the Justin Bieber of girls’ soccer, yes.”

“What a boost to your ego,” I said.

Carter laughed harder at this than I’d meant him to, then jumped on my comment. “Like that ego needs boosting.”

Max looked at Carter. “If my ego were easily boosted—”

“And it is,” Carter assured everyone.

“—I would embrace my status as the Biebs of soccer,” Max said. “As it is, my sister wanted to play, the league has a hard time recruiting coaches in the summer, and my dad has to work late some nights during the week, when they practice.”