Free Getting Caught by Mandy Hubbard Page A

wrap my arms around his chest, but my hands won’t meet in front. I have to come in so close to him that my chest is against his back, my cheek pressing against his shoulder.
    I know I’m going to get creamed, but suddenly I’m struck with another thought. “You are still Switzerland, aren’t you?” I whisper in his ear.
    He glances over his shoulder at me and cocks his head. The look is irresistibly hot. “Trust me,” he breathes.
    “Then, game on,” I say, right before Miss De Frisco’s whistle blows.
     

Chapter Eleven

Peyton
     
     
    The plush carpet in my bedroom no longer feels good on my bare feet. I think they might be raw from all the pacing.
    Dave should have been here twenty minutes ago. What’s with guys? Can’t they be punctual?
    Bryn is sitting on my bed, her leather sandals kicked off and her miniskirt-clad legs crossed in a rather unladylike position. I can actually see her green and pink polka-dot underwear. She’s leafing through a copy of Cosmo, her bright purple fingernails turning the pages. She upgraded from Seventeen last year and can’t stop talking about all the scandalous topics. “Seriously. Do you really think there are twelve types of orgasms?”
    “Ew,” I say. “I’m so not talking about that.”
    She shrugs and keeps flipping. I wonder if maybe she should be reading Ten Steps to More Natural Makeup instead of the orgasm article. Today she’s wearing fake lashes. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen fake lashes on anyone other than a supermodel.
    She leans over on one elbow and starts to pull the gum out of her mouth in one long stringy piece, and then she shoves it back in. Sometimes she can really grate on my nerves.
    “You seriously have to hide in the closet when he gets here,” I say.
    “I know, I know.” She waves a hand in the air dismissively. “Ooh, you should put this on your wall,” she says, ripping a page out of the mag.
    I roll my eyes, thinking there’s no way anything in that magazine would go on my wall, when I see what she’s holding out. The girl in the picture has hair the same shade of blond as mine, but hers is straight and silky. And she’s wearing a Harvard hoodie. She’s too perfect to be a student, probably just a model, but unexpectedly, I like it. I shove it into the frame of the full-length mirror next to my bed. Even with all of Bryn’s personality quirks, she always manages to surprise me—in a good way. “Thanks.”
    She nods and turns back to her magazine when the doorbell rings.
    “Closet!”
    She jumps up and takes the magazine and my rolling computer chair with her. I have a small walk-in, with a light fixture and everything, so she sits down in the middle and is flipping through the magazine again when I close the door. I wait a moment to be sure that I can’t hear the smacking of her gum.
    Then I rush out of my bedroom and take the stairs two by two. Tina is walking into the entry just as I arrive. “I got it,” I say, and she turns and heads back to her art studio without a word.
    When I open the front door, Dave Ashworth is standing on the other side, wearing a gray Green Day concert T-shirt and a baggy pair of dark blue jeans. He looks good, even though he’s not my type.
    But I know someone whose type he is. And that’s why this is going to work so well.
    I grab him by the shirt and yank him inside the door so quickly his eyes bug out. I poke my head out the door and glance over at Jess’s house. It looks empty. Whew.
    “Whoa. Jeez.” He smoothes out his newly wrinkled T-shirt as if I just ruined his prized possession. He must have actually gone to the Green Day concert instead of buying the tee at the mall.
    Ugh, seriously. Green Day? He has more in common with Jess than I thought.
    “I told you, Jess can’t see you. You were supposed to go to the back door.”
    “Hey, at least I drove my mom’s minivan. Whatever this is, it better be worth it. If the guys catch me in that thing, they’ll never let me live it