Leah on the Offbeat (Creekwood #2)(15)

She shoots me an awkward wave, and I start walking toward her—but I’m intercepted by Alice Spier.

“Leah! I love your boots.”

I look down and shrug, smiling. “How long are you in town?” I ask.

“Not much longer. I’m actually driving up, so I’m leaving tomorrow and picking up my boyfriend in New Jersey.” She checks her watch. “Okay, Simon, where are you?”

“He just texted me. They’re coming out now,” Bram says.

Moments later, Simon, Nick, and Abby slip in through the side door, out of costume but still in makeup. For once, Nick and Abby aren’t holding hands. Actually, Abby’s holding Simon’s hand, with Nick trailing behind them. People keep stopping him to talk, and every single time, he looks sheepish and uncomfortable. Nick Eisner is truly an awkward cinnamon roll of a leading man.

Simon spots the cake box immediately. “Is this cake? You got me a cake?” Garrett nods and starts to pop the box open, but Simon’s beaming too hard at Bram to notice.

“Actually,” Bram starts to say, but Simon kisses him on the cheek before he can get the word out.

“Dude, it’s from me. Where’s my kiss?” Garrett says.

I look at him. “Wow.”

“Okay, Burke.” He grins and digs for his keys. “You ready to roll?”

I point out my mom, and Garrett’s entire face falls.

“I guess you don’t need a ride anymore.”

“I guess not.”

He lingers, holding his car keys, and he doesn’t say a word for what feels like an hour. I sense my mom watching us with interest.

“So . . . ,” I say finally.

“Right. Hey.” He clears his throat. “So, I was wondering. Do you want to come to the game tomorrow?”

“The game?” I glance at him.

“Have you ever seen us play?”

I nod. It’s funny—soccer’s the one Creekwood sport I’ve actually watched. I even used to enjoy it, back in sophomore year, when I had a crush on Nick. And it wasn’t just about staring at his ass. It was weird. I started caring about the game, to the point that Simon used to call me an undercover jock.

“It’s against North Creek,” Garrett adds. “It should be a pretty sweet game.”

“Oh. Um.” I glance back over my shoulder. I really don’t want to talk to Garrett in front of my mom right now.

He’s still talking. “I’m sure you’re busy, though. That’s totally cool. You’re probably going to the Saturday matinee of the play, right? Seriously, no worries.”

“No, I’ll come,” I say quickly.

He looks startled. “To the game?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh. Okay. Sweet.” He grins, and my stomach twists weakly.

“So, what was that about?” Mom asks, voice lilting, as we walk to the car. Even in the darkness, I can see that she’s smiling.

“Nothing.”

“Nothing? Are we sure?”

“Mom. Stop.” I sink into the passenger seat, turning quickly toward the window.

For a moment, we’re both quiet. The parking lot is clogged with traffic and pedestrians, and Mom drums her hands on the steering wheel. “That was such an awesome play.”

I grin. “It was the blizz.”

“I still can’t believe Nick’s voice. And you know who’s adorable?”

“Who?”

“Abby Suso.”

I almost choke.

“That girl is pure charisma,” Mom barrels on. “And she just seems like a total sweetheart. Like, I’d honestly love to see you with someone like her.”

“Mom.”

“You don’t think she’s cute?”

“She’s Nick’s girlfriend.”

“I know that. I’m just saying. Hypothetically.”

“I’m not talking about this.”

Mom raises her eyebrows.

“Oh, hey.” Her tone is suddenly cautious. “Question for you.”

“Okay.”

“So, Wells’s birthday is tomorrow.”

“Is that the question?”

“No.” Mom laughs. “Okay. So, I was thinking the three of us could grab brunch together? He has a golf thing in the afternoon, so maybe late morning.”

I gape at her. Birthday brunch. With Mom’s boyfriend. I don’t know, maybe this is normal for some families, but Mom never makes me get brunch with the boyfriends. And yet, here she is, just casually presenting it as if it’s just another fun family Saturday. With Wells, of all people.

“Um. I’m going to Bram and Garrett’s soccer game, so . . .” I shrug. “Sorry.”

I stare out the window, eyes tracing the curve of the sidewalk. There’s hardly anyone on the road tonight. You wouldn’t think that would make a car feel smaller, but it does. And even though we aren’t looking at each other, I feel Mom’s eyes on me.

“I wish you’d give him a shot.”

“Who, Garrett?” I ask, my voice jumping half an octave.

“Wells.”

My face burns. “Oh.”

I glance at Mom, who’s sitting rigidly straight, chewing on her lip. She looks vaguely distraught. I don’t entirely know what to make of it.