Free Beauty and the Running Back by Colleen Masters Page A

sure what that means…

 
     
    Jessa
     
    My hands are shaking as I desperately clear my room of
anything that’s too girlish or immature. Dean is going to be here any second
for our “study session”, which means that before long we’re going to have my
entire house to ourselves. For hours. Something tells me that we’re going to
end up here, in my bedroom. At least I hope so.
    The doorbell sends a shudder of anticipation down my spine,
and I all but sprint out of my room to answer it. But my mom is one step ahead
of me. I watch from the second story landing as she opens the door and welcomes
Dean inside. My fingers close tightly around the banister as he steps in and
takes a look around, his eyes finally swinging up to meet mine. I’m surprised I
don’t topple right down the stairs in my eagerness to be back in his arms.
    “There he is,” I hear my dad say from the kitchen. He
appears in the foyer beside my mom and Dean. Each of my parents is wearing
their Sunday best for this church thing, even if it’s only Thursday.
    “Hey Coach,” Dean offers, “Mrs. Cahill.”
    “What’re you still doing up there, Jessa?” Dad asks,
spotting me on the landing. “Come on down here! You have some tutoring to do.”
    I come down the stairs and join the party. It’s so strange
to see this man who I’ve been sneaking off to run my hands all over standing in
the middle of my house. And to have my parents be none the wiser.
    “There’s some iced tea and leftover baked ziti in the fridge
if you kids get hungry,” Mom says, her hands clasped together in front of her.
This is the first time we’ve had anyone over since we moved in, and she’s super
excited to bestow some Southern hospitality.
    “I’m sure we’ll be fine,” I tell her, “You guys are only
going to be out for a couple of hours, right?”
    “Yeah, but studying is hungry work,” Dad says, “And we’ve
got to make sure our running back stays well-fed, don’t we?”
    I try not to scowl at my dad. At least not overtly. It’s
just that his Affable Gentleman act grates at my nerves, especially since I
know first hand how quickly that act can fade away when he’s angry. I just wish
he was on as good behavior around his family as he is with his favorite
football players, is all.
    “Thanks again for setting this up, Coach,” Dean says as my
parents head for the door, “I really appreciate it.”
    “Not at all,” Dad replies, waving goodbye, “Anything you
need, Crash.”
    Even if anything includes your youngest daughter? I think to myself. You have no idea just how generous you’re being, Dad.”
    And just like that, Crash and I are alone in my house.
Together. It’s only been a handful of weeks since we even first spoke, but I
feel like I’ve been waiting for this moment forever. We listen as my parents
drive away, though I can barely hear their car engine over the sound of my own
rapidly beating heart.
    “So…” I begin, shifting back and forth on my feet, “Would
you… Uh… Like a tour of the house?”
    “Yeah. I would like that,” Dean smiles, his eyes hard on my
face.
    I turn and begin to lead him through the ground floor,
starting in our old-fashioned kitchen, where he stumbles upon an old picture of
me and my sister hanging on the fridge. I’m four years old in the snap shot,
with platinum blonde hair and an oversized tee shirt. Allison is six, her
chestnut hair hanging in loose curls. We’re standing knee-deep in the ocean,
holding up a starfish we’ve stumbled upon. It’s amazing how misleading pictures
can be. What you don’t see in this shot is the fight Mom and Dad had later that
night that cut our beach vacation short. The sleepless nights Allison and I
would spend huddled in our room, listening to the sounds of their arguing.
Maybe someday I’ll tell Dean all about this, too. But not yet. Not today.
    Dean studies the photograph, letting a smile spread across
his face.
    “Is that you and your sister?” he