The Saint. Kathleen O'Brien
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All the guys were here. Joe and Carter and Jeff and Mark…and even Cullen, their star quarterback, who had said last night that if his girlfriend Jana thought he was gonna be her trained lapdog, she could by God kiss his cleats. Now he was on his knees, scrubbing hubcaps, the worst job of all. In fact, as far as Eddie could tell, the boys were doing every bit of the work. The cheerleaders were just bouncing around in their wet T-shirts and waving posters to pull in the cars.
What a bunch of suckers they all were. Eddie, who had been stretched out on the leather bench seat of Doug Metzler’s Cadillac, vacuuming linty bits of petrified French fries off the floor, finally got sick of the smell and rolled over with a sigh.
And found himself staring up at Binky Potter’s breasts.
Binky had leaned in to wipe down the Caddy’s windows, leaned right smack over him. Oh, man. She was the finest girl out here—and not just because she had the best body. She was pretty, too. All the guys were after her.
But she was his. She had been his girl for two whole months tomorrow.
He swallowed hard and decided it was all worth it—French fries, heat, sweat, stink, everything. Nothing on earth could have prevented him from being here today.
“Well, cowboy, what you looking at?”
Grinning, Binky leaned down an inch or two more, just close enough so that her necklace tickled his upper lip. He’d given her that necklace. It was a silver lariat—their little joke, because she always called him cowboy. Of course, he’d never been within spitting distance of a cow, and if anyone handed him a lariat he’d be more likely to hang himself with it than rope a steer, but so what? It sounded sexy as hell.
He caught the tip of the necklace between his teeth. “I’m looking at you, hot stuff,” he said, tasting the cold sting of silver against his tongue. “Wasn’t that what you had in mind?”
“Don’t flatter yourself, cowboy.” She pretended to try to pull away, but the lariat merely pressed lightly against his teeth, so he knew she didn’t mean it. A drop of sudsy water was making its slow path down the firm mound of her left breast. If he leaned forward, he could lick it off….
His jeans suddenly seemed to become a size smaller.
He lifted his chin. His nose grazed the wet edge of her shirt. But he couldn’t quite reach the drop of water.
Which, of course, was the story of his relationship with Binky. Close—so close. But then…nothing.
“Hey, Eddie, guess what? I was at Morrison’s the other day, and guess what I saw?”
Morrison’s was Heyday’s most expensive jeweler. Binky loved jewelry. And nothing fake, either. She liked the real stuff. Eddie’s jeans began to fit better as he thought of his empty wallet. He let go of the lariat.
“I don’t know. What?”
“The cutest little earrings. They match my necklace exactly. Little ropes that dangle. Little ropes for big, strong cowboys to tie things up with…” She leaned down and kissed his chin, which meant that the soft flesh of her breasts momentarily pressed warm against his chest. “Anything you’d like to lasso, cowboy?”
He felt so hot and tingling all over he could hardly think straight. Hell, yes, he’d like to lasso her. Of course, she’d said the same thing when she had first seen the necklace. Some small, clear part of his brain told him that if the necklace hadn’t secured her, the earrings weren’t going to.
But it would be worth a try. He still had $27.50 left from last week’s pay. If that wouldn’t cover the earrings, well…maybe he could get another lawn job. Mrs. Tremel had said something the other day about needing help.
“Hey, get your tongue out of her cleavage, Mackey. Mr. Metzler wants his car, and besides, Coach is watching.”
At the sound of Cullen’s voice, Binky jerked back. Eddie twisted into a sitting position, banging his elbow hard on the steering wheel. Coach McClintock was cool, but even he wouldn’t stand for Binky draping herself all over him like a human blanket.
“Hi, Coach,” Binky said, twisting her lariat around her index finger and smiling so that every one of her dimples was showing. “Don’t be mad at Eddie, Coach. It was my fault he took so long on the car.” She tossed her blond ponytail. “I distracted him.”
Coach McClintock laughed and turned back to Mr. Metzler without a real answer. Eddie growled and, putting his hands behind Binky’s bare knees, tugged her toward him.
“Stop flirting with him,” he said. “You’ve got a boyfriend, remember? Besides, he’s too old for you.”
Binky ruffled his hair with her pink-tipped fingers, but she was still staring at Coach. “Yeah,” she sighed. “But he’s just so hot, you know?”
Cullen, who had come over to work on Metzler’s tires, picked up the hose and, putting his finger over the nozzle, aimed it in Binky’s direction. “Down, girl,” he said.
Binky squealed and dodged the spray gracefully. It fell short, and lay on the hot, dirty pavement, shining in little oily rainbows. You could almost smell the steam coming up around it. Binky stuck out her tongue at Cullen, blew a kiss to Eddie, then headed over to chat with her friends.
Eddie watched her go with mixed emotions. He could get more done if she weren’t within touching distance. On the other hand, he wasn’t that crazy about being alone with Cullen. The other boy had said something earlier about needing a favor. Eddie had a pretty good idea what kind of favor it was.
“So, Mackey. I was wondering.” Cullen didn’t look up. He stared hard at the tire he was washing and talked out of the corner of his mouth. He’d probably seen some gangsters talk that way on television. Cullen was a genius with the football, but his brains didn’t work all that well off the field.
Eddie ducked his head and fiddled with the vacuum hose, trying to wind it back around its canister. He didn’t say anything. If only someone would come up right now and interrupt them, God, what a break that would be. But Coach McClintock and Mr. Metzler seemed deep in conversation, and everyone else was working on cars.
“I was wondering,” Cullen started again. “You know, about English. About the paper.”
“What paper?”
Cullen finally looked up. He had a strong-boned face, and when he was irritated he looked mean. “What paper? You trying to be funny? Don’t get the roles mixed up here, Mackey. I’m the funny guy. You’re the smart guy. Remember?”
Eddie hesitated. Cullen was big, handsome and athletic, and he had the world’s most extensive repertoire of sarcastic put-downs—which he loved to use on geeks who weren’t cool enough to be on the football team, like Eddie.
Eddie felt like telling Cullen that Coach McClintock wanted Eddie on the team next year. That might shut him up a little. But Eddie wasn’t sure yet whether he was going to say yes, so he forced himself to stay silent.
Everybody liked Cullen, though, or at least pretended to. His dad owned the local imported car dealership, and that meant he had a fancy house, a fancy car, a gorgeous girlfriend and the coolest clothes. The only thing he didn’t have was a passing grade in English.
“Tennyson,” Cullen said with a grin, as soon as he realized Eddie wasn’t going to attempt a comeback. “Five hundred words. Not too perfect, don’t want Mrs. G to smell a rat, right?” He laughed. “A C paper, that’s all. Do I get a discount for a C paper, Mackey? I should. You can write a C paper in your sleep.”
“I don’t know, Cullen. I’m pretty slammed right now. I’m mowing about a hundred yards and—”
“I already flunked English once, Mackey. I don’t intend to flunk it again.” Cullen’s face hardened and became all jutting bone. “What is it? You want me to pay extra? Because it’s summer school? Getting kind of greedy, aren’t you?”
“I