Curvy Girls Can't Date Quarterbacks - Kelsie Stelting Page 0,21

display taut muscles and a reddening bruise. “I’ve got proof.”

She laughed and tugged his shirt down for him. The rest of us gave each other a look. Was there something going on here we didn’t know about?

“Back to business.” Callie nodded toward me. “Any advice?”

He ran his free hand over his wet hair. “Most of the guys are going to Waldo’s for shakes.”

“With the cheerleaders,” Callie finished.

“Bingo,” he said.

“And Merritt?”

“Still all over him.”

My heart fell. He and Merritt might have split up, but Merritt wasn’t going down without a fight.

Carson gave me an encouraging smile. “We’ll figure something out. In the meantime...” He raised his head, looking around. “Becks! Hey!” He waved him over.

Oh sweet baby Jesus... Beckett was a vision haloed by stadium lights. Sweat glistened in his hair and shined on his cheekbones. He’d taken off his jersey and shoulder pads, showing only a skintight undershirt hugging all of his muscles. Ginger’s blankets might not be enough to wipe up all the drool.

Beckett grasped Carson’s hand. “Good game, man.”

Carson leaned in and clapped Beckett’s shoulder. “Same. That forty-yard run was boss.”

Beckett smiled toward the ground, not wanting to claim glory for anything. He seemed to realize we were there and sent us a smile.

Was it me or did his eyes linger a little longer on me?

“See you in school?” he asked us.

We all nodded, and he walked away.

Man, the way he walked away. Could we make football pants a daily part of the Emerson Academy uniform? It would definitely fit the ad meliora mindset. Tight pants counted as better things, right?

Carson studied me thoughtfully. “I’m going to come up with something.”

Callie nodded. “So are we.”

Ginger put her arm around me. “We’ve got you covered.”

Now it was me looking toward the ground. As my cheeks heated, the image of Beckett fresh in my mind, I couldn’t help but hope they were right. For the sake of the dare…and my heart.

Thirteen

Zara gave us her address and made us promise not to share it with anyone. The farther we drove into the hills of Brentwood, the better I could understand why. She lived in the richest part of Brentwood, which made me wonder: why didn’t she attend Brentwood Academy? I mean, they were our rival school. We always competed for the top two spaces in the state in terms of GPA and ACT scores.

As I slowed at the wrought-iron gates behind the others’ cars, my eyes widened. Cameras swiveled to follow my car, and I could see a security guard on a monitor, nodding us past.

I took it all in as we drove down the long, winding drive toward a modern house that seemed to be more windows than walls. We parked our cars in a massive garage, and Zara said, “Welcome to mi casa.”

Jordan gulped. “Gracias.”

If Jordan lived in Seaton, I couldn’t imagine the reaction she could be having to all of this—and we were just in the garage.

Ginger gave Zara a nervous smile. “Where’s the hot tub? On the moon?”

Zara rolled her eyes, laughing. “Come on, I’ll give you a tour.”

She walked us past the kitchen, offered something from a fridge full of prepared food and drinks, then showed us her room. It was the size of my family’s living room, kitchen, and dining room combined, with a giant canopy bed.

“You can change in here or in the bathroom,” Zara said, pointing to the en suite bathroom. From here, it looked bigger than my room.

“Is there a guest bed in there?” I teased.

“No, but I have a couch in the closet.”

Of course she did.

I’d heard about girls changing together in the locker room—had even been subjected to it in freshman gym class—but I couldn’t imagine all of these girls getting bare in front of each other. That was what you were trained to do as a plus-size girl—cover up. Turn around. Hide. Don’t expose anyone to your body in case it made them uncomfortable. Never mind how that secrecy made you feel like your body was something to be ashamed of. According to our society, your body wasn’t for you. It was for you to show everyone else.

I sighed and grabbed my suit from my bag. “I’ll take the bathroom.”

Zara shrugged and pulled her shirt over her head. I watched in awe as she sauntered to her closet in her bra, rolls and stretch marks exposed. How was she so comfortable in her own marred skin?

My skin was turning green with envy as I walked to the bathroom and