Chapter 2

Chapter Two

T he soothing rumble of my father’s old seventy-four Camaro tickles my ears. I smile at the bucket full of suds and wring out the hand towel before lifting my head in time to see my mom scratch the undercarriage on the massive dip in the driveway to the Quick Mart.

I wince.

A heavy elbow plunks down on my shoulder, and the lineman we all call Whiskey because his name is Jack, gargles out a laugh.

“Your mom need anyone to help her learn to drive that thing? Because I’m up for the—” I elbow his ribs before he finishes that last word.

“Dude, that’s my dad’s old car. Chill,” I say with a slight shrug and a look of disgust.

“Fuck. Sorry, man. I was just being clever and shit.” His mouth squiggles into a guilty semi-straight line, but I don’t let him off the hook. I scowl as I shake my head and leave him to finish washing the massive F-350 that pulled in for our fundraiser.

My mom rolls the window down as I approach, and it sticks about halfway. Dad was supposed to fix that. He was always fixing something. Our eyes meet over the rim of the glass pane and share a fond smirk.

“I know she’s not street-ready, as your dad would say, but I figured she could use a wash.” I nod and guide my mom to move the car into an open spot where some of my teammates are waiting to get moving on the next vehicle. A soppy rag flings soapy water across the hood within seconds and my mom gets out of the car, handing me a small cooler.

“Is this what I hope it is?” A tempered smile tugs up one side of my mouth as I peek inside and see the frozen watermelon balls. “Yes!” I whisper.

“You know, most boys your age would prefer something like hot wings or beer,” she says as we walk over to a nearby tree for shade.

“Yeah, well, I’d prefer those too if it weren’t a hundred-seventy degrees out with four hours of this fucking car wash left to go,” I laugh out. She grimaces at my F-bomb, and I whisper a quick apology before diving into the cool, sweet treat I have loved since I was a kid.

My mom crosses her arms with ease as she steps back and lets a soft smile settle in. I know what her reaction means without her having to voice it. For most of my life, I shared this snack with my dad. After long practices. During road trips. While helping him clean the garage. I’m not sure if it’s my favorite because I love the taste or because of the memories that come with it.

“I should probably get back to work.” I tip the cooler above my mouth and slurp up the slushy juice left behind before leaving the cooler with my mom. I kiss her cheek and jog back to the main driveway where Whiskey and Jody are now waving their shirts over their heads in an attempt to garner more traffic.

“You trying to repel people?” I tease Whiskey. He swings his twisted T-shirt around his neck and holds on to both ends while grinding his hips in the air. It’s vulgar and not even remotely sexy, but it is funny as shit. And somehow, it earns him a honk from an SUV full of girls.

“Yeah! There are my people. Come on, ladies. Get a wash!” He shimmies the now stretched-out shirt along his back as he approaches their vehicle. One of them rolls down the back window and waves a twenty at him, and he leans in so she can kiss his cheek. How he’s such a ladies man baffles me.

“Thanks, ladies!” He waves the cash in the air as he marches back toward Jody and me.

“We didn’t even have to wash that thing,” Jody mumbles to my side.

“Dude oozes charm. I don’t get it,” I say, high-fiving Whiskey when he reaches us. He beams with pride before announcing he’s going on break. I don’t think going on break this early is a thing, but whatever. He heads to our booster table to deposit the cash, then ducks inside the small store to cool off.

“So, that car. You said it’s your dad’s?” Jody brings my attention back to him. I nod, then glance to the right, where a dozen guys are towel-drying the Camaro, and my mom is handing over more money than we can probably afford. She knows how important it is to cultivate a leadership image in this community, especially with the booster families. It was always easy when we lived in the city. My dad was a firefighter, which comes with a level of built-in respect. Add to that the fact he volunteered to help coach on his off days, and our family was always held in high regard.

“I’m sorry,” Jody says, snapping me out of my haze.

I shake my head and give him a quick, tight smile. I haven’t talked about my dad much with any of the guys. I still feel out of place, even though we got to know each other better at camp. And bringing up your dad’s sudden cancer diagnosis and rapid decline isn’t really team-building material.

“Thanks. I’m good.” We nod at each other and turn our attention back to the busy traffic.

For the next hour, Jody and I manage to shmooze another two hundred bucks from idle traffic, people stuck at the nearby stoplight on their way to lunch or a weekend errand. I’m about to tap out for a short break and a water run when I spot a familiar face stopped in a beat-up Jeep about a dozen cars back. She was cute at the diner, but driving around in a bright-red bikini top, her dirty-blonde hair twisted up on her head, and shades resting on her sun-kissed cheeks? Yeah, she’s not cute—she’s fucking hot.

“Hey, I’ll be right back,” I say almost dismissively to Jody as I jog down the sidewalk toward her rumbling vehicle. Her pink lips tick up on one side as I approach.

I rest my arms on the edge of her passenger window and glance toward the light to make sure it’s still red. I’m relieved that it is.

“You know, I’ve been thinking about those pancakes all day.” I squint as I tilt my head, the sun bright as hell and my cheeks raw from taking in too much of it all morning.

“You should probably eat at a few more places because our pancakes aren’t that good,” she says, the quirk in her lip remaining. It’s good to know we’re still flirting after that asshole Bryce showed up and ruined the vibe. I got the distinct impression from Peyton’s reaction to him that they weren’t together, but I wasn’t about to jump to conclusions.

“Maybe you should show me what’s good,” I say, laying it on thicker than I wanted to, but hell, that light will go green any second now.

She laughs and wraps her hands around the top of the steering wheel before stretching her arms straight.

“Maybe,” she hums, her mouth pulling into a tight, shy smirk. I want to kiss it.

I grip the edge of the door and lean back, glancing toward my teammates, several of them watching me shoot my shot. I laugh nervously as Jody leans his elbow on Whiskey’s thick shoulder and nods toward me. The hot breeze is cooking my skin, my ripped-sleeve T-shirt flapping against my muscles.

“You need a car wash? This thing looks pretty dirty,” I say, glancing down at the caked—on mud on the tire rims.

“This thing is always dirty,” she laughs out.

“It’s your lucky day, then,” I say, tilting my head in the direction of the mini-mart. “Don’t let those guys fool you. They actually do a good job. Plus, I’d personally see that you get the absolute best customer service.”

I quirk a brow and hold my bottom lip in my teeth to temper my hopeful grin. She chews at the inside of her mouth, her gaze taking in the ragtag crew over my shoulder before dipping down toward her purse.

“I only have a ten,” she says, slightly wincing.

“That’s ten bucks more than we have now,” I say, patting the window sill. “Come on. I’ll direct you in.”

I back away before she can change her mind. She shakes her head and laughs but puts her blinker on and slips into the right turn lane as the traffic begins to move. I jog to meet her as she pulls into one of the open spots, but I don’t get there in time to help her out of the Jeep. Maybe that’s a good thing, because as she hops out in short, tattered jean shorts, her tight stomach bronze from plenty of desert sun, my compression shorts get all kinds of tight and uncomfortable.

A few of the guys hold fists to their mouths as she passes by, and I glare at them with a warning expression. I swear to God, if one of them whistles or says some degrading shit right now, I will pop them in the jaw.

Peyton tugs her leather bag up her shoulder, reaches into it, and pulls out a ten. She pushes her sunglasses up on her head, the pink on her cheeks more pronounced now. Her eyes are golden brown, a new fact I add to the growing mental file I seem to be keeping on her.

“You guys really don’t have to do much more than spray the mud off,” she says over her hiked shoulder. Maybe she feels bad about only having ten bucks. I wasn’t actually kidding, though, when I said ten bucks is ten more than we’ve got.

“No, we’ll do it up right,” I say, taking the cash from her and handing it to one of the volunteer moms.

There’s an odd pause when the mom takes it from me, and her eyes shift to Peyton for a quick second before she mouths out a drawn-out, “Oh-kay.”

My stomach lurches a bit; I don’t want Peyton to think we’re thumbing our noses at her money. It’s not like we haven’t had a ton of people only donate five or ten bucks all day. I don’t get this lady’s reaction. Or the way the guys are still pacing around the Jeep like they’re admiring some museum exhibit.

“Take a seat in the shade. We’ll get you all set in a few minutes,” I say, sighing as I rush over to the hose and turn the spray on full blast.

I start to rinse off the back tires and nod at Jody to get off his ass and help. I’m closest to him and Whiskey so far, so I feel as though I can order them around more than I can the other guys. But seriously, most of them look like lazy fucks right now, standing around and gawking. I get it—Peyton’s hot. But we’ve also got a fucking car wash to run.

After a minute, more of the guys pitch in, and pretty soon, we’ve gotten all the mud from the undercarriage and rims, and a thick layer of suds is going on the body. I drop the hose and sink my hand into one of the buckets near Whiskey to help scrub the passenger door, and he chuckles at me as he kneels down next to me.

“I can’t believe you got her to donate money to our program, dude. You’re a fucking legend.”

I pull my brow in as I continue to scrub.

“Why? Because she goes to the old campus? I met her the other night, and she seemed pretty cool, so?—”

His hand covers the top of mine mid-swipe, halting me. My head swivels until I take in his hung-open mouth and tilted head. I must look really confused because he puffs out a short laugh and moves his fist to his mouth to cover his escalating laughter.

“Holy shit, you . . . bro . . . you don’t know?” His voice hushes quickly as he leans in. I’m starting to get really fucking irritated.

I shake my head with widened eyes.

“Know what, bro ?” I hold his stare for a beat, then lean back on my heels and toss my rag into a nearby bucket.

“Wyatt, that’s Peyton Johnson. As in, her dad is Reed Johnson. As in, the man. And now the most famous high school football coach in America, for the school that is our?—”

“Fuuuuuuuuuck,” I breathe out, this time falling to my ass. I rest my palms on my kneecaps and push my hand through my dirty, sweaty hair. I blink a few times before turning my attention to the Jeep, then I pinch the bridge of my nose.

“This is his Jeep, isn’t it?” My eyes are squeezed shut, the pounding headache almost instant. And it’s not because I’m dehydrated. It’s because I’m a dumbass.

“Pretty sure with a plate like QB14EVA, yeah. This is the Jeep,” he says.

I let my hand smear down my face as my head falls forward.

“Dude, I saw that Jeep in the Sports Illustrated story last year,” I utter.

“You mean this Jeep,” he corrects, landing a heavy hand on my back. “And we all saw it.”

“That’s why everyone was so weird,” I breathe, bringing my face out of hiding. I’m covered in dirt, and suds, and car wash stink. My shirt is half-soaked, and my shorts are stuck to my thighs from the puddle I’m sitting in. I hop up to my feet but stay crouched as I hold a palm on my chin.

“I guess we better make this thing look nice,” I finally say.

Whiskey coughs out one of his unhealthy-sounding, raspy laughs, then struggles his way to a stand before holding a palm out to help me up. I get to my feet and spot Peyton through the Jeep windows. She’s standing alone under the same tree my mom and I were an hour ago and looking at her phone, probably posting on social about how she got the pathetic new Vista High quarterback to wash her dad’s Jeep for ten bucks.

“You know what? Actually, nah. Let’s kill it. We’re done here. Everyone? Drop your rags,” I say, holding my hands out as I step back. There are a dozen guys scrubbing around the Jeep, and within seconds, they’ve all stood up and backed away. I feel their confusion as they glance at one another, and I know this is a moment I need to seize. If I’m going to lead them and earn their respect, I can’t fawn over some celebrity quarterback who probably couldn’t give a shit about our team. Especially when he’s our rival.

So what if his daughter is the hottest girl I’ve ever seen?

Making my way through the pooled suds on the concrete, I step up to the booster table and shake my head at the volunteer mom, who clearly knew the details I was missing.

“Dude, I made a mistake. I need her ten back.”

The woman’s mouth curves into a knowing smirk, and she slips the bill from the metal cashier’s box and hands it to me.

“You’re getting it now, kiddo.” She reaches forward and pats my cheek with her other hand. I catch the name on her jersey as I walk around the table—Arenas. She’s Jody’s mom.

“Hey, so there’s been a mistake,” I announce while still several paces away from Peyton. My voice is loud enough to get the attention of the few people waiting around for their cars to be finished. Peyton’s eyes flash from her phone screen to me, and for a second, I consider backing off because of the way her eyes widen, and her cheeks flush even more. I hold firm, though. I won’t be a dick, but I can’t start my season off like this.

I hand her ten back to her, and she takes it timidly, her head cocked to the side a smidge.

“We gave it the rinse you asked for. Sorry for the soapy film left on it, but I didn’t realize you don’t just go to Coolidge. You’re the enemy’s queen. No hard feelings?”

She holds my stare for a few solid seconds, and it’s somehow quiet enough around us that I hear her breathe. The air draws in sharp, and she holds it in her chest while realization shifts her eyes from stunned circles into jaded, resentful slits. She wads up the ten spot in her palm and then throws it at my chest.

“I bet you thought you were better than Bryce, but it turns out . . . you’re just like him.” Her eyes burn into me for about half a second before she brushes past me, her bare shoulder scorching against mine on her way back to her Jeep.

She climbs in with ease, her arm flexing some pretty impressive muscle tone as she swings herself up. The Jeep rumbles to life, and she pivots to look me in the eyes before dropping her sunglasses back down and driving over the concrete barrier along with a half dozen bushes in the median separating the Quick Mart lot from the rest of the shopping center. She roars down the street seconds later.

“Man, fuck that. You’re nothing like that pussy Hampton,” Whiskey says about Bryce. “You’ll prove that in a couple of months, though. And it won’t be in their fancy-ass stadium, either. It’ll be on our shitty turf.”

He slaps my back and coughs out a laugh with his joke. The disparity between our two schools is pretty massive. Sure, Vista’s new. Our buildings are nice, the carpet’s clean, and the desks are a lot more comfortable than the old ones I was used to at my last school. But the money Reed Johnson has poured into the Coolidge football program is renowned. As is his affection for his senior quarterback, which is exactly the reason my mom moved us to the north side of town. Am I better than Bryce Hampton on the field? Yeah, I’m pretty sure I am. But proving that to a coach who is locked in with all sorts of bias is hard, and me and Mom have had enough hard shit for a lifetime.

Clearly, Peyton didn’t intend for her words to rile up anyone but me, but within minutes, I already feel the push from the rest of the guys to take the throne for our team. They’re with me even more than they were after camp—after I had to go head-to-head with that sheltered little prick Bryce in drill after drill this summer.

I’m also pretty sure Peyton wasn’t talking about our football skills with that sharp diss she left behind. And while her mini-speech did me wonders in terms of my QB reputation, it made me feel pretty hollow inside.

It also made me like her a little bit more.