A shy high school senior jock and a closed-off girl battling an immune disorder fake a relationship to win a social media contest.
Being shy isn't easy, especially when you're the new kid at school. Scotts Valley's football program is subpar compare...
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Brody waited near the edge of the track where I started my laps. The wind fluffed up his bangs, and he sent me an adorable, sheepish smile. "Hi."
"Uhh, hey? You're running with me again?" He'd waited for me every day before practice, Mondays through Thursdays. I loved his company making the laps end faster, but he'd put a mountain of carbs and cheese into his stomach.
"Yeah, if that's okay?" he asked as our shoes patted on the track. "Coach said it's fine. My stomach is stuffed."
"You ate half the pan." Looking down at my feet, by the difference in our strides, my jog was a slow burn warm-up for his racehorse legs.
We remained silent until passing a quarter lap, where Brody coughed. "I've been thinking about your offer...to help me talk more openly."
Talk more openly with girls. He hadn't forgotten. Thankfully, we were jogging, so I could blame the heat rising in my face. "If you don't—"
His laugh cut me off. "No, I appreciate it. I'm so awkward, Paige."
Brody's honest admission stunned me silent. How was he so casual? My pulse sprinted. The question of how he believed he was awkward teased the tip of my tongue, but I held it back. Why Brody was shy didn't matter, only how he felt. The uneasiness dulling his eyes screamed volumes.
I sucked in a breath. We were doing this.
"So, how?"
"Umm." Starting with the 'What's your favorite color?' questions felt lame. "How about we just practice some conversations? Give me a fake name, pretend I'm a stranger, and the more we do, maybe the more comfortable it'll feel?"
Role-playing was probably as bad as my earlier texts. The longer he considered the suggestion, the more I wanted to snatch it back. The bumpy, cracked red clay track had never looked so interesting.
"But," he spoke a hint above a whisper. "I like your name."
Oh, gosh. An ache struck my heart, then it jumped off its steady tempo. I was burning up, making my sweat situation worse. This boy did not need help talking to girls. I needed help not melting into a blob of goo from how sweet he was. Cavity level of sweetness.
"For pretend." I thought for a few steps. "Stella."
"Stella?" His eyebrows shot up. "You're not a Stella."
He was teasing, so I pretended to frown. "I could pull off a Stella." Sticking my hand out, I greeted him with a sugary tone, "Hi, I'm Stella."
He stared at my extended fingers for a few strides. The corner of his mouth twitched. He was fighting not to smile and shook my hand. Our connection bounced, but his fingers warmly brushed my wrist.
Still pumping his hand, I whispered, "Say your name back."
"Right." He squeezed my hand. "Brody."
"Nice to meet you." I giggled. He was stiffer than a starched shirt.
