The Dating Playbook Series Boxed Set Page 5

  “What are you doing home?” I ask.

  “I’m working from home today,” she says. “Are you getting ready to head off for a class?”

  I shake my head. “No classes on Fridays.”

  “Lucky duck,” she says. “When you get dressed, I need to take your picture.” She’s already dressed in a pair of jeans and a black sweater with her jean jacket on and a chunky red necklace, sipping what I’m conservatively betting is her fifth cup of coffee.

  “For what?” I ask distractedly, hunger my motivation for coming downstairs.

  A slight wince flashes across her face before she pushes a strand of wavy russet hair behind her ear. “Your first day of school picture.”

  I grin. “It already passed.”

  “I know.” Her eyes turn downcast like they do when she discusses her weight and admits she wishes she were forty pounds lighter—something she’s eternally uncomfortable with, though my mom’s beauty is so far beyond a dress size. I instantly regret giving her a hard time. “I’m sorry. I didn’t forget. I had to be at the school early.”

  “I’m just giving you a hard time. Can we do it Monday? I don’t want to wash my hair.” It’s true what they say about parents taking fewer pictures of their kids as they have more. Our walls will attest to it. For every three pictures of Maggie, there’s a picture of Paxton, and for every five pictures of him, you’ll find one of me. I know it wasn’t intentional. Mom and Dad both work but strive to be there for us. When I played softball, they attended nearly every game, and when I sold Girl Scout cookies, Mom volunteered to walk in the rain with me. Dad even finagled his way into meeting the board chair of the local aquarium, which is how I got my volunteer position with the zoologist team.

  “I have to leave here at five in the morning for a conference on Monday.”

  “And it sounds like I’m going to be washing my hair today.” I grab a casserole dish filled with chicken and rice from the fridge.

  Mom laughs. “If you can get ready by four, that would be best. Pax has the starting lineup coming for dinner tonight. If I can bribe you with helping me, we can spend some quality one on one time talking about your first week at college. I’ll be in your debt for at least twenty-four hours.”

  “The starting lineup?” I stop shoveling leftovers onto my plate and look at my mom.

  “Since Pax made team captain, he wants to start having dinners so the team can bond. But, their house doesn’t have the space, and he’s so excited about this year….”

  “You’re a softy,” is what I say when I really want to tell her this is a horrible, terrible, awful idea. Seeing Lincoln right now with my nerves so frayed is guaranteed to be trouble.

  She smiles. “So, we have a deal?”

  “Thirty-six hours and a pedicure.”

  “Deal.”

  “No. Wait. You accepted way too soon.”

  Her grin is salacious. “I know. I was going to offer a week.”

  “You’re cruel.”

  She laughs. “And you call me a softy.”

  I return to filling my plate as I nod. “I need to leave for the aquarium soon. Think you can take the picture before I leave? I should be home around three to help you cook.” I glance at our dining room table that’s made to seat eight. “Where’s everyone going to sit?”

  Mom shrugs. “I don’t know. Pax told me he’d send a headcount last night, but he never did. I’m going to head to the store while you shower, and I’ll call him on the way.”

  “Maybe I’ll go to Poppy’s once the food is ready.”

  “Only if you take me with you.” She grins. Mom’s lips are always tilted upward—an eternal optimist who finds humor in every situation. “Seriously, though. You can’t leave me. Invite her over.”

  “There won’t be any room. Their egos will fill every square inch of this place.”

  She cracks a smile. “Be nice. You know how hard your brother worked for this. And you should be here. You know your support means a lot to him.”

  “You just want help with dishes.”

  “I’d be willing to throw in a manicure. I’ve seen your nails. They would thank me for it.”

  I glance at my short, bare nails as I retrieve my plate of food from the microwave. “It’s the saltwater. It eats the polish.”

  “At least they’d look pretty for a couple of days.”

  “You’re lucky I like you.”

  She kisses my cheek. “I like you, too, kiddo.”

  I arrive at the Northwest Aquarium of Science fifteen minutes before my shift begins. I’ve been volunteering here four days a week for the past three years. It’s one of my favorite places here in Seattle. I trade my tennis shoes for the heavy all-terrain boots I wear while I’m here. They’re especially necessary for today since I’ve been scheduled for feedings. My boots have a permanent fish stench and feel like led weights as I tie them around my calves.

  “Hey, Rae!” Jordan calls, her voice chipper as she makes a beeline to the mini-fridge and pulls out a sandwich and smoothie.

  “You okay?” I ask, watching her fingers tremble as she tears open the sandwich. Her dark hair brushes her shoulders in soft waves, and her dark blue-gray eyes are bright.

  “Yeah,” she says around a bite. Jordan’s been volunteering here for over a year since transferring to Brighton. She’s a year older than me, studying marine biology, and has a passion for sea turtles that is unrivaled.

  “Are you on feedings, or are you off?”

  She points a finger at me as she finishes half her sandwich. “I’m with you.” She flashes a wide smile, filling me with relief. Working with Jordan is easy and fun. We talk about animals, science, school, the weather, Florida—everything unrelated to Lincoln. “I’ve just got to get some food into me really fast.”

  “It’s busy today,” I say, putting on a blue fleece jacket with the aquarium’s name embroidered on the right breast with a couple of sea otters playing in the letters. Hannah steps in from the front observation area, her bottled blonde hair pulled up into a high pony.

  “Final vacation rush,” Hannah says, heading to where we keep the large inventory of stamps we use in place of stickers to prevent trash.

  Even better.

  The four hours are swallowed faster than I’d expected, my thoughts of Lincoln and the regret and intrigue from last night only peppering my thoughts during the few brief lulls. Most of my time is spent preparing food for the animals with Jordan at my side, and the rest is spent answering questions and educating guests on the efforts we’re investing in keeping oceans and rivers clean.

  I find Mom in the kitchen, her hair haphazardly pulled back with a large claw, as she stares at an opened recipe book. She looks up as I get closer, her blue eyes shockingly wide. “Good. I need you. I need to quadruple this recipe.”

  “Quadruple? How many are coming?”

  She shakes her head. “Too many. Ready to start chopping?” Her gaze dances from mine to the produce covering the counter from the sink to the stove. “I didn’t use any of the clear plastic bags for produce. It earned me a stink eye from the lady who checked me out,” she tells me, pride reflecting in her tilted lips.

  “Did you remember your reusable shopping bags?”

  “And risk getting a forty-minute lecture from my favorite youngest daughter?” She staples her hands to her hips, but her gaze doesn’t provide the same level of confidence as she scans over the vegetables again.

  “You forgot, didn’t you?”

  Her hands slide from her waist, and her chin drops back. “I had them in the trunk. I tried.”

  I shake my head, trying to hide the outline of a smile I feel my lips sliding into. “What do you want me to start with?”

  She makes an apology with her face as she scrunches her nose. “Onions.”

  “Pax owes me so big.”

  She nods. “I told him he does.”

  “Where is he?”

  “Practice. But he’s coming over right after to help.”

  Mom would do the same for me, so would my brother, and that knowledge leads me to the cutting board where I place the first of several onions and begin chopping while Mom prepares pans and then takes out her own cutting board and begins slicing peppers.

  “I like your eyeliner,” Mom says.

  “Do you? Dylan told me I looked like a raccoon,” I tell her, referring to Poppy’s little brother.

  She tips her head back and laughs so hard her eyes close. “You know better than to listen to boys about fashion or beauty advice, especially ones who can’t drive.”

  “I was concerned because it’s the ones too young to drive who are actually honest.”

  Her laughter grows. “He only said it because it makes your eyes stand out. Trust me, it’s beautiful. Next time I have a board meeting, you’ll have to show me how.”

  I nod. “It takes a few times to get the hang of it.”

  “Is that your polite way of telling me it’s tougher than it looks?”

  I try to hide my smile with a small shrug. Mom’s never worn much makeup. Blush, mascara, and a red tube of lipstick are her essentials. “I’m sure you can do it.”

  “How much do you think they can eat? Do you think I should estimate each of them to eat a pound?” Her thoughts are set to hostess mode, something my mom takes very seriously as everyone who comes into our house always leaves with a full stomach. “Two?”

  I shake my head. “I have no idea.”

  “I should get more bread.” She sets her knife down.

  “What? Are you really leaving?”

  “I’ve only got six loaves.”

  “Six?! Mom! You’ve lost your mind.”

  “You and Pax eat an entire loaf,” she says.

  “But we aren’t normal.”

  She pauses, her eyes glazed with humor that makes her lips twitch. “Your words, not mine.”

  I shake the smile off my face. “Believe me, we’ll have plenty.”

  “I trust you. I just know these guys can eat, and they’ll be carb loading. I’ll be back.” She grabs her purse from the bar. “When you finish chopping the veggies, you need to put them on the cookie sheets and roast them for thirty-five minutes. The oven’s already pre-heated.”

  I don’t bother trying to argue with her again, knowing the words will be wasted. Instead, I point my knife at her. “Don’t forget your reusable bags. Put them in the passenger seat, so you see them.”

  She smiles. “You know me too well.”

  I focus on finishing up the vegetables and trying to keep the concern of seeing Lincoln on the outskirts of my thoughts as the kitchen becomes far too quiet.

  Why couldn’t I have just relaxed last night? There’s no way he sees me as anything but uptight after my reaction to him. I did the exact opposite of what I wanted to, and regardless of how many times I try to figure out why, I can’t.

  A heavy sigh breaks through my lips as I run a clean towel over the counter, gathering the small vegetable debris into a pile.

  “Hey!” Pax calls.

  “Rae Rae!” Arlo follows him into the kitchen, a bright smile on his face, his brown hair combed to one side.

  Behind him enters the guy who’s been peeling away each of my conscious thoughts—Lincoln. His brown eyes are carefully composed, watching me with so little emotion I can’t even begin to surmise his thoughts.

  “Mom wasn’t kidding when she said I owed you,” Pax says. “What can we do? How can we help?”

  I blink through the muddled thoughts that have tied my words into messy jumbles and focus on the pile of crumbs I was gathering. “I don’t know, honestly. I think we’re supposed to start on the sauce. Mom ran to the store. She was worried we wouldn’t have enough garlic bread.” I turn my back to them, moving to the cookbook Mom moved to the stand Paxton had bought her as a Mother’s Day gift several years ago. “We’re quadrupling the recipe,” I say absently as I scan over the directions.

  Pax appears beside me, likely reading the text twice as fast as I am since the words aren’t digesting, my thoughts too scattered to absorb anything.

  He grabs two large pans hanging over the island, setting them on the stove before turning toward the fridge. Pax, like Maggie and I, is proficient at cooking, a skillset my mom insisted we all learn and then was enforced when he moved out with three guys who didn’t know a spatula from an ice cream scoop.

  “You coming to our game tomorrow?” Arlo asks.

  It takes a few seconds too long to realize the question is aimed at me. And another moment to pull in enough breath to formulate a response. “Yeah. I’m going to be late, but I’ll be there.”

  “Late?” Pax’s eyebrows lower.

  “Work,” I say.

  “Coffee shop?”

  I nod.

  “That place is dead after four. Get off early.”

  He’s right, Beam Me Up is a ghost town most evenings. “Can’t. They’re running new specials to increase traffic in the evenings.”

  “Your idea?” Pax asks.

  “One I’m regretting. Over summer break, it seemed like a great idea, but now that I have homework, I realize I should have just brought a book with me.”

  Pax laughs, stirring the contents he’s poured into the two pans as Dad appears, a folded newspaper in his hand. He looks tired, wearing a pair of jeans and a cherry red hoodless Brighton U sweatshirt. His dark hair is silver around his sideburns and starting to weave through the top, more prominent in the beard he recently started to grow.

  “You should double major in business,” he says. “You have a keen eye for the inner workings of companies.”

  I pull in a quick breath, looking skyward for a second to gain my patience. “I don’t want to run a business.”

  “What if you ran the aquarium?” Dad counters, leaning on the bar near Paxton. “I’m just saying you should consider it. It would be a good backup plan in case you decide you want to try other things.”

  “Aren’t you already taking a thousand credit hours?” Pax asks.

  “She could fit in one more,” Dad says, grabbing a beer from the fridge.

  I can’t, but admitting that makes me feel like I’m failing, and the year has only just begun, so instead, I pivot the conversation from my impending task list to Paxton’s game. “Tomorrow is Eastern Washington, right? They’re supposed to have a new defense model. I heard it was pretty good. Did you catch their scrimmage?”

  Arlo scoffs. “No. They won’t even know what hit them. Their defense is cleaner, but we’ve got speed.”

  Pax points his wooden spoon at Arlo. “Exactly. We’ve got speed, and they’ve got issues with their teammates, a war for starting quarterback has disrupted their offense. It’s going to be a cakewalk.”

  “Being ranked in the top twenty-five poll, you guys are going to get a lot of publicity this year,” Dad says.

  I can sense Paxton’s nerves and unease. “They’re going to try and slow you down, but Arlo’s right. You guys have speed, and it will force them to play your game, which will create mistakes and tire them out.”

  Dad snaps, pointing his beer in my direction. “Exactly. Make them play your game. Don’t play theirs.”

  “Hey, Dad, what’s that on your face?” Pax asks. “It looks like you skinned a chipmunk and glued it to your face.” He reaches forward, trying to rub the scraggly hairs that Mom has been encouraging him to shave for several weeks.

  Dad leans back, a playful smile pulling his cheeks northward as he rubs his nails against the rough hair. “Don’t be jealous of your old man.”

  “Jealous?” Pax scoffs. “I was trying to give you some helpful advice before they put your face on TV tomorrow during the game.”

  Dad runs his hand over his chin once more, then rubs along his neck which has been slightly red since he began growing the beard. “How’s school going for you, Lincoln? Your transcript’s impeccable. I think you’ll have your choice of law schools come next spring.”

  Lincoln drops his head back, the movement so slight I doubt anyone would notice—anyone except those of us who are so well versed in his minor details that the movement seems significant, a population that’s larger than I like to consider and heavily female. He clears his throat. My eyes travel over his short hair, scanning over the gray hoodie that’s pulled up to his forearms, revealing corded muscles and roped veins that make my heart accelerate and my mind race. “That would be an ideal opportunity.”

  Dad nods. “Absolutely. You’re on the right track.” He raises his beer. “You guys help yourself to anything to drink. I’ve got to get some work in.” He spins, making his way down the hall in the direction of his office, a space that was added to the house a few years ago when my parents graduated from only ever having enough money to make ends meet to having more than they’d ever had plus a cushion.

  “I should get some homework done. You have everything covered?” I ask, glancing at Paxton.

  “I think so.”

  “Mom should be back any minute.” I glance at the clock, confirming the fact.

  “Need a study buddy?” Arlo asks. “I’ll tutor you in exchange for—”

  Pax points the wooden spoon at him again. “Finish that sentence, and you’re going to be limping tomorrow.”

  Arlo chuckles playfully, loving the response he evokes so easily with minimal effort.

  The doorbell rings before he can add more fuel to the fire, and I take the distraction as an excuse to make a quick exit to the confines of my room where I instantly struggle with a new wave of regret for taking the excuse to be alone when every cell in my body wishes to remain near Lincoln.

  My bright yellow volunteer shirt catches my eye in the thick-framed mirror that hangs near my closet, making me cringe as I take in my reflection. I’m still in my clothes from the aquarium, my hair pulled back into a pony that makes me look young and tomboyish. I toss the tee into my hamper and grab a simple gray T-shirt that gathers on one hip. Gray is the starring color of my wardrobe, a hue that often reflects my thoughts and mood as I struggle to ever be on one side of the line or the other, preferring to stay safely in the middle.

  Laughter filters up the stairs and through my closed bedroom door, feeding my curiosity and the desire to go back downstairs. I shut it out with my earbuds, flipping on a playlist Maggie sent me recently. I grab my books and sit at my desk, trying to make progress in the heap of homework and reading assignments that have me considering dropping a class.