Gimme Everything You Got - Iva-Marie Palmer Page 0,104
Lawler’s desk. She lets me put some on sometimes. Do you want to use it?”
I took the bottle with a grateful nod. The glass felt thicker even than the bottle of Charlie perfume my dad had given me for Christmas, as if to prove the contents were more expensive and exclusive.
“Thanks,” I said, spritzing it on, not sure if I liked the scent but touched by Dana’s generosity.
Everyone worked fast, and then Tina and Dawn helped me step into my dress. Dawn used her Donna’s Bridal skills to make sure everything was fastened and lying smoothly. Franchesa handed me my dyed pumps.
“Wait,” Sarah said, picking at my upper arm with her fingernails. She knocked off some chalk that had congealed. “Okay, you’re good.”
I looked in the mirror. I was good, or at least good enough. No one was going to put me in a beauty pageant, but hopefully Polly and my dad would be so busy as the guests were arriving, they wouldn’t know how close I’d come to missing their big day. And hopefully Joe wouldn’t be too upset I was late once I told him the story.
“You guys are the best teammates,” I told everyone, hoping the comment would cover everything, from getting me ready to painting the field to being willing to play the boys in the first place.
Bobby was waiting for me at the front of the school, pacing with his head down. When I came out, he said, “All right, your chariot awaits.”
Tina whispered in my ear, “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” I tried not to let my imagination determine the details of what that could mean.
We walked to Bobby’s car, and he opened the door for me so I could duck inside. “I’ll keep your gym bag so you don’t have to lug it with you,” he said, taking it to put in his trunk.
“Are you mad . . . about earlier?” I asked as he slid into the driver’s seat.
He paused for a second and squinted as if thinking about it. “You know, I shouldn’t tell you this, but they deserved it.”
“They really did,” I said.
“Their athletic director was a real piece of work,” he said. “He basically hung up on me. I should have tried the nuns.”
“I have a friend there who knows the nuns,” I said, wondering if Joe could pull some strings. “They do sound cool.”
Bobby seemed to consider this. “Maybe. But I don’t think that team respects a woman’s opinion. Even a nun’s. It’s a shame.”
“Well, then I’m extra glad we got them back,” I said. “For the nuns.”
Bobby put the car into gear. As he backed out, he gave me an approving look. “I can barely tell I gave you a black eye. By the way, I still feel terrible about that.” he smiled. “You look really pretty.”
“Thank you,” I replied, the words catching on my jumping, unsteady heartbeat. He’d called me pretty, and it was like tearing wrapping paper to see the gift you’d been wanting forever.
I told him where to go: Chateau D’Amour, a big, white-pillared banquet hall on Ridgeland, not far from his apartment. When he pulled into the circular drive that led to the front steps, I saw Joe waiting for me. The spikes were gone—he’d combed his hair neatly across his forehead—and he was wearing a dark suit. He looked extremely cute. He also looked worried, but his face brightened when he saw me in the car window.
“Your date?” Bobby said.
“My friend,” I said. “Joe.”
Bobby hopped out on his side and opened my door, helping me emerge in the long dress. His hand, callused from all the weight lifting he did, sent a chill up my arm. I felt faint, and I unintentionally squeezed his hand as I stood up.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to talk to your stepmom and dad?” he asked. “Give your cover story some help?”
I hated the question for the way it reminded me that Bobby was my coach, not some lusty suitor. “No thanks, I think I’m okay.”
“Have a good time tonight,” he said. “I’ll see you Monday.”
I made my way toward Joe, conscious that both he and Bobby were watching me. When I reached him, he said, “Wait, your coach drove you?”
“Bobby, yeah,” I said, trying to act like this was no big deal, and like I wasn’t still thinking about the ride. “Because I was late.”
“Huh,” Joe said. “So . . . the game? Tell me everything!”