Gag me with a test tube.
"Your pad turned off? I've been trying to call and text you for, like, an hour already."
I notice sweat glistening on his forehead as he stands under the florescent light. "What did you do-run all the way over here from your house?" He lives in North Estates, the fancy gated community, with his rich parents-a spoiled only child. Maybe six miles away.
"Biked. Good training, going up your street."
I stifle a grimace. I believe he's trying to flex his muscles under his football jersey. I wrest my eyes from his gorgeous-hunk body and repeat in my head: I can resist . . . I can resist . . .
He moves to stand a little too close to me and it sends my pulse racing. Stop that, I tell my heart. Like my heart's gonna listen. I take one giant step back without asking "Mother, may I?"
Ryan continues. "I'm on my way to summer camp. Starts today."
"Camp?" I just can't picture him singing "Kumbaya" or making a potholder out of those stretchy loops of yarn. I guess he spots my confusion.
"Football camp. Maybe blondes really are dumb-at least about some things."
I've heard enough of his dumb blonde jokes this year to fill one of those illustrated little gift books you find on the discount download rack at Booksalot. I can see the title now: "One Hundred Dumb Blonde Jokes to Impress Your Friends." Or maybe there is such a book and he bought it. Lauren says he throws jokes at me because I intimidate him. If he calls me dumb, then maybe he'll feel a little smarter. But I know the real truth-it's because I'm his greatest challenge. Catching a sixty-yard pass with two opponents at his heels-piece of cake. Catching Bria Harrison in a moment of embarrassment and imbecility? Going all gaga over the hottest catch at school? Priceless. And not gonna happen. I refuse to give Ryan Mitchell any encouragement. I have standards to uphold. Really, I do! This subtle war has been going on between us now for a year-ever since Avery dumped me and Ryan saw his opportunity to make his move-like spotting a break in the defensive line on his way to the end goal. Well, I know who's going to win.
"So, what's all this?" he asks with a sweeping gesture of his hand.
"Crystals. From my mom's lab." I sneak a peek at his face and he's feigning interest. Okay, I'll let him have it.
"Here's the thing," I say. "These are samples of doped crystals-"
Ryan laughs. "Since when do crystals do drugs?" His laugh is really nice and warm, I hate to admit. It rumbles down deep into through my body like a warm fire on a cold night. I steel my heart and focus. Focus, Bria. My objective: not to impress him so much as to helplessly befuddle him. I continue.