the field and began passing the ball back and forth. I smiled at them, thinking about the Beckett I'd come to know.
He seemed just as careful now passing the ball back and forth with Carson as he was with his photography. Even though it was only a warm-up, I could tell that he took it seriously.
“How long has she been staring?” Jordan asked.
I glanced over and saw her sliding into the seat next to Ginger. My cheeks flushed warm even in the cool evening air.
“Not too long,” Ginger answered, passing a blanket over.
“Oh my gosh!” Jordan cried, ignoring the blanket. “Did you see Beckett? He totally just looked over here.”
I aimed my gaze at the thirty-yard line again, and my lips parted. He was definitely looking at me. And now he was walking toward me.
“What’s happening?” I asked, flustered.
“I have no idea,” Jordan said.
“But he is definitely coming this way,” Ginger said.
“No way,” Jordan breathed. “In the middle of warm-up?”
My heart beat faster the closer he got, and people around us were murmuring now, wondering what Beckett was doing.
That became evident as he leaned his arms along the bleacher railing and said, “Hey, Cupcake.”
Behind him, I could see Merritt glaring at the both of us, but I kept my eyes on the most important thing right now. Beckett. I stepped a little closer and said, “Hey, quarterback.”
He grinned.
“You know,” I said, glancing toward the field, “you should be warming up.”
“Oh? That?” He batted his hand, then got serious. “Probably. But I can’t start this game without you wishing me good luck.”
Someone a few feet over whistled loudly, and another couple of guys our age cooed.
I could hear Coach Ripley yelling at Beckett to get back to the field.
But I still couldn’t wipe this silly grin from my face as I said, “Good luck, Beckett.”
Pretending to be disappointed, he shook his head. “That's not how you wish someone good luck.”
“Oh really?” I asked.
His eyes smoldered on mine, and it suddenly became very apparent how Beckett Langley wanted me to wish him luck.
I was more than happy to oblige. I knelt in front of the bleacher railing, kissing his perfect lips.
Everyone around us cheered, and he said softly so only I could hear him, “Now, that's how you wish someone good luck.”
Twenty-Nine
“Do I look okay?” I asked, standing in front of the mirror at Zara’s. They’d dressed me in a pair of her skinny jeans and a shimmery top that I never in a million years would have picked for myself. This outfit said look at me—something I’d been trying to avoid my entire high school career. But now? I turned in the mirror, seeing the way the jeans clung to the curves of my hips. Maybe I deserved to be seen.
“You look hot!” Jordan said. “I wished I could fit into those pants.”
Zara grinned at her. “It wouldn’t be fair if you could wear them with that ass!”
Jordan shook her head, laughing. “Whatever, girl.”
“It really is perfect,” Ginger said. “Especially with your hair like that.”
Callie grinned at me in the mirror over my teased and curled hair. She’d worked magic with a curling iron.
Zara nodded. “Beckett isn’t gonna know what hit him.”
I scanned them over, each looking amazing in their own outfits. “The club isn’t going to know what hit it.”
They were coming with me, because there was no way they’d miss this moment in history. If Aiden was right, Beckett would be asking me to homecoming tonight, in front of everyone. My life would change, forever.
“We should head out,” Ginger said. “We’ll be late if we don’t get there soon.”
At that, we all grabbed our bags and began walking down the stairs from Callie’s room. It had been a rapid transformation, going from the game to Callie’s house to get ready, but I was glad I had some time to look nice and center myself after the big win tonight. The whole school went crazy after Beckett scored the winning touchdown in overtime. I couldn’t wait to celebrate with him tonight.
We rode in Zara’s Rolls Royce, but I felt like I was inside a spaceship with all the amenities her car offered. And I thought my Audi was nice.
Music poured through her speaker system from all sides of the car, and the bass felt as strong as my heartbeat. By the time we got there, I’d had all the pump-up music I needed. But nothing could have prepared me for the way Beckett looked waiting outside the club. For me.
He’d