How to Hook a Hottie by Tina Ferraro

Author:Tina Ferraro
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 9780375846526
Publisher: Random House Children's Books
Published: 2008-01-07T16:00:00+00:00

Eleven

Lexie wasn't ready when I got to her house, which meant I was forced to wait on the doorstep with her mother. I figured it was as good a chance as any to show Mrs. H. that I was a top-notch employee.

“Lexie's coach reminded everybody that deposits are due for the qualifying competition. I don't know if you paid already, but I thought I'd mention that if you or Mr. H. are unable to make the trip in May, I will be eighteen by then, and legally able to chaperone.”

Mrs. H.'s gaze iced me. I shivered inside my coat—nothing to do with the freezing temperature.

“Just an FYI,” I added.

She let out something like a snort. I figured I'd better get back on more solid ground, so I mentioned Lexie's broken laces and waited for her to tell me she had already bought twelve new fashion pairs or something.

“If you think it's so important,” she answered, “pick her up some new ones yourself. I'll throw you a few extra dollars next payday.”

My brow furrowed. They sold some plain old white laces at the rink. But those were hardly up to the elevated standard of what the other girls wore.

“Mom,” Lexie said, cruising through the door. “New laces, remember? Did you buy them?”

I glanced at Mrs. H. Surely she'd take credit for assigning me the job. Instead, she shrugged. “Kate's taking care of it.”

Then before either of us could respond, Mrs. H. closed the door—practically on Lexie's heels.

Wow.

As if nothing out of the ordinary had just happened, Lexie started toward my car. “I don't like the stupid ones they sell at the rink,” she yelled back. “They're ugly.”

“Yeah, well, if we stop anywhere, we'll be late. And we don't want penalty laps.”

I felt a little bad for her. Her mom had practically shoved her out the door. But then she made a face at me, and I did the only thing I could do. I ignored it.

•

Dal stood behind the rental counter, shoving pairs of rental skates into cubbyholes, his triceps flexing with each haul.

I'd seen his arms plenty of times, and when I thought about them at all . . . well, I really didn't. Most days, I just looked away. But today, it was like someone had pushed my Pause button. I could only attribute their recent developments to all his hours with a hockey stick.

“Hey,” he said, turning toward me.

I shook myself from my musing. My brain must have totally been on overload. Why else would I ever have looked at Dal's arms like . . . well, a hot guy's?

“A pair of your finest white laces, if you please,” I said, and smiled big. “Size seventh grade annoying.”

Amusement flickered in his eyes as he reached under the counter and slid a pair toward me. I passed him a ten and watched him count back my change.

“I'm not sure if you know, but we have a bit of a situation,” he said as I pocketed the bills.

“Mark.”

“Yeah. He was by here earlier.

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