Mutual Hatred - Love Game (32 page)

"So, Brandon, how is football going? Shelley doesn't talk to me much about it," she said.

"It's going great," he said politely after swallowing a mouthful of turkey, "We've got a CIF game tomorrow; it's round two."

"Wonderful," murmured Claudia.

It was silent for at least five more minutes until Mrs. Miller tried her hand at starting conversation.

"So how's the private practice doing, Sean?"

Uh oh.

Shelley and her mother exchanged a look. Work was the last thing they should have been talking about.

"Not so bad, although things might be different, maybe even better, if
someone
hadn't stolen my promotion," said Mr. Sinclair, gritting his teeth.

Now he'd done it. This surreptitious accusation was enough to spark the fire.

Brandon's dad slammed his fork on the table. "I beg to differ, Sean! It wasn't my fault the big guys wanted to promote me! Maybe you just weren't good enough!"

Things weren't looking too good either. The prospect of a quiet Thanksgiving dinner was suddenly so ten minutes ago.

"How could I be good enough?" Mr. Sinclair stood up angrily and threw his napkin toward the table, "What with you sucking up to the bosses left and right!"

"For your information, I did not suck up. I played my cards right and you didn't. Get over it." Mr. Miller was standing now, too.

"Perhaps you two should save it for later," Jana said irritably. "It's Thanksgiving!"

"No," snarled her husband. "If the immature grudge holder wants to fight this out, we will."

"
Fine
," said Shelley's dad evenly.

No one was quite sure what would happen next, but the two men left the room, probably to battle it out.

After that, no one seemed to be in the mood to eat anymore. Morgan was first; she got up and left the table, saying something about writing a novel. Jana and Claudia abruptly excused themselves to 'bake a pie.' Naturally, that left Brandon and Shelley.

"Let's go outside," said Brandon. He meant to make it sound like she had a choice, but it came out more as a command. He knew she hated being bossed around and he was expecting some sort of snappy retort, but it never came.

Instead, she pushed herself out of her chair and followed him to the front door. Halfway there, Shelley decided she wanted her coat.

"Where did I leave it?" she muttered, mostly to herself.

Brandon heard and grinned when he said, "My room. On my bed."

"Liar."

"Fine, fine. It's in the coat closet, of all places. Isn't that a totally random place to put your
coat
?"

He really was making an effort to redeem himself when it came to sarcasm. It was getting to the point of really annoying Shelley.

"Can you just go get it for me?" she asked.

"What do I look like, your humble servant?"

"You're not very humble," she retorted.

"I like to call it self-assured, thank you very much."

"Would you just get it for me?"

"Why should I?"

Shelley was beginning to get exasperated. "Because it was
your
idea to go outside in the first place, dumbass!"

He cringed. "No need to call me names. I was about to go get it."

Brandon sprinted off, presumably in the direction of the coat closet, and returned with it moments later. He observed her as she put it on.

"You put your hair up today," he said softly.

She faintly felt her ponytail. "So what?"

"I think it looks better down," he drawled, opening the door for her.

"Do you think your opinion matters to me?" she said as he followed her outside.

"It should. I
am
Brandon Miller," he scoffed, like she should have known.

He was only half joking, but she took him seriously.

"Does it really look better down?"

"I though my opinion didn't matter."

"Oh, it doesn't," she said quickly, "I was just wondering."

They stepped into the bitter cold of November. Shelley shivered as a gentle breeze shook the leaves off nearby trees.

"Cold?" asked Brandon. "I could always warm you up," he offered.

"Thanks for the offer, but I think I'll pass," Shelley said as she shrugged off his arm.

Brandon tugged at the elastic band holding her hair up. She caught his arm.

"What are you doing?" she demanded.

"Taking this goddamn hair thing out," he said lazily.

"I like it up."

It was a lie; she suddenly couldn't remember why she'd tied her hair in a ponytail in the first place. She hated having her hair up, especially because it was so long. It weighed her head down and sometimes gave her a headache.

Brandon seemed to sense this. "Stop trying to fight with me, Shelley."

"I'm
not
. Would you please just leave my hair the way it is?"

He wasn't really listening to what she was saying. Instead, he pulled the hair tie out and handed it to her.

She didn't say anything, just turned to walk in the other direction.

He grabbed her arm. "Why do you keep running away from me?"

"I'm not running away from you, am I? I rather consider I'm
walking
away," she said haughtily.

"You always have to be right, don't you?" he asked, eyeing her. "Always have to have the last word."

"Yes, well, if you've got a problem with it you can go away."

He did, but he stayed where he was. "How's Zachary?" he said casually.

"Fine."

Didn't she know that he hated one word answers? But that was beside the point; this conversation wasn't even about Zachary.

"You two been talking a lot?"

"Yeah."

There it was again!

"This isn't about Zachary, is it? You don't give a damn about him. This is about
you
," Shelley sneered, "Like it always is."

"Very good observation."

"What do you want?"

"Simple. You."

"You want
me
?" she asked, flabbergasted. "You could have anyone you wanted!"

"Flattery," he said as they walked, "Is the key to my heart. And baby, you flatter me so well."

"You're the last person I want to be with!"

"And yet you can't seem to resist me."

"I beg to differ!"

"Say what you will, my dear, but sooner or later you're going to have to admit it. If you don't like me, why are you taking a walk with me? Morgan's in her room, you could have followed her," he countered.

"If I was writing a novel, I'd want some privacy," she retorted.

Brandon laughed. "You know she's not writing a novel."

Shelley feigned surprise. "She isn't?"

Brandon shook his head. "Shelley, Shelley, Shelley. Stop being stubborn and face reality."

"And what's reality?"

"I think you know the answer to that."

"Enlighten me," she challenged.

"Fine, but you're not going to like it. Don't say I didn't warn you," he said.

"Just get on with it!"

"Sometimes it's easier to admit something to others than it is admitting something to yourself. But in your case, I think you're willing to be honest with yourself, but it's harder for you to be honest with others because that would mean that they were right."

"And what would I be admitting to myself?"

Brandon stopped in his tracks and turned to face her. "You like me, Shelley Sinclair, but you're too scared to admit it because you don't trust my feelings."

"And why should I?" she cried in return. "Most of the time I can't even tell if we're friends or not!"

"Oh, we are," he assured her. "If I haven't made my intentions clear before, I'll tell you straight out now. I want to be more than friends."

She would have believed him, but something she saw in his eyes changed that.

It was amusement.

He was probably doing this for a reaction, she thought privately. He didn't like her; this was just Brandon messing around with her again.

Still, he'd spent a lot of effort trying to win her over; she had to give him that. If he didn't like her, why would he be trying so hard?

Shelley bolted back to his house. Now she was thankful for something-they hadn't gotten very far, so the run wasn't too far.

The downside of Brandon being a football player was that he was a fast runner. And with her in her high heeled boots and him in his tennis shoes, he was clearly going to overtake her. Brandon caught up with Shelley just as she was approaching the Millers' lawn. He grabbed her arm with force.

"Stop running," he said.

"Well you've stopped me from running literally, so I suppose you're talking about me figuratively running away from you," Shelley said flatly. "Leave me alone."

"So that's it?" Brandon asked.

"What do you
want
me to say, Brandon? That I like you too and I think we should mate-I mean, date? I'm sorry, but I've let this go on far too long. From the beginning, I tried to maintain a coach-player relationship with you, but you kept pushing for more. We
can't
be anything more than friends, Brandon. I haven't been professional at all, and I take the blame for any hurt feelings I may have caused. But you have a game tomorrow, and I suggest you stop pining after me long enough to prep for it. I will have no sympathy for you if you let your feelings affect the way you play," she warned.

With that, she whirled on him and stormed inside the house, leaving him standing out in the cold. He could have gone in after her and demanded something, but she was right.

There were times you were supposed to listen to your heart, but this wasn't one of them. She was right; he needed to concentrate on football. They'd win the game tomorrow, and all the ones after that. They'd win the CIF championship. And maybe, just maybe, Brandon would win Shelley's heart too.

After all, she couldn't complain anymore, there wouldn't be any excuses left. She wouldn't be his coach, he wouldn't be her player. Maybe she'd stop following the rules for once and do what was right.

And if it wasn't the right thing, hopefully she'd at least help Brandon beat Chelsey. Because he'd be damned if Chelsey won at her own game.

- - - - -

Once safely inside the Miller home, Shelley leaned against the wall, catching her breath as she unzipped her boots. The run had been a short distance, but her boots were definitely killer.

She'd managed to elude Brandon this time, but she didn't think he was so easily pushed away. After football season was over, he'd start up again, trying to get her to 'admit her feelings,' she thought bitterly. Oh, for the love of the game, why couldn't football be a year-round sport?

Ah, but then she'd have no life, her rational side pointed out.

Shelley heard footsteps approaching. She glanced up, thankful that Brandon hadn't come inside yet, and saw Morgan.

"So you and Brandon have a nice chat?" her eyes twinkled mischievously.

"You could say that," Shelley said vaguely. "You get a good start on your novel?"

Morgan gave her a pointed smile. "Yeah, I'd say hopefully I'll be finished writing it in oh, say, twenty years."

"Be sure to autograph a copy for me," Shelley deadpanned.

Brandon chose to return to the warmth of the house just then. Quietly opening the door, he stopped when he saw Morgan and Shelley laughing in the foyer. Shelley looked so cheerful, so spirited, that he couldn't imagine how someone could just switch moods like that.

It was Morgan who noticed him first. She gave Shelley a nudge, but Shelley only gave him a cold glance and walked away. Morgan looked a little confused as she interrogated her twin.

"Did you screw things up again, little brother?"

"Why does everyone assume that when something goes wrong, it was my fault?" he complained.

"Because it usually is," Morgan pointed out.

"All I told her was that I wanted to be more than friends, and she totally flipped out on me!"

Morgan sucked in a breath. "I was right, you did screw up."

"What the fuck? It's not like I insulted her!"

"You're pushing her too hard," Morgan said soothingly. "The harder you push, the harder she'll push back."

"That sounds sort of sexual. Anyways, where did you hear that, her mother?" Brandon said petulantly.

Morgan gave him an indistinguishable smile. "You could say that, yes."

"Oh, I never got to thank you for getting those tickets to the concert. So, uh, thanks. How did you get those, anyway? I heard they were sold out."