Hookup Master by Jules Barnard

Author:Jules Barnard [Barnard, Jules]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Fresh Fiction

Chapter Six

Inspired by the Bitchin’ Eighties party, I grab a sparkly off-the-shoulder top and pair it with cuffed boyfriend jeans and my platform tennis shoes. Heels would look better, but my baby toe still hurts like crazy.

My heart is racing, and I’m a shaky mess. I’m so nervous about my date with Zach, which is just nuts, because I know this guy. We’ve been good friends for over a year, but this evening—him coming to pick me up, which he’s done a thousand times before—is different. It means something—to me, anyway—and I’m praying it means something to Zach too.

I swipe on lipstick and a knock sounds at the front door. One last glance in the mirror, in which I fluff up my hair, frown, pluck a loose thread from my top, then close my eyes and spin around. There’s no use trying to be perfect. He either likes me enough or he doesn’t, and no amount of primping is going to change that.

I fumble with the lock and open the door.

“Hey,” Zach says, his eyes skimming my body. “You look beautiful.”

I let out the breath I’ve been holding, until I notice how stiff his shoulders are. He seems nervous too, and I can’t help but feel wrecked all over again. How can we have a normal relationship? Are we crazy for thinking this could work?

“You ready?” he asks.

“Yeah, let me grab my purse.”

Zach walks behind me as we exit. I reach around him to lock the door, and sense him watching my every move. And that has me fumbling the keys when I’m not normally uncoordinated.

Zach drives to the Last Stop, a local bar/restaurant everyone goes to for after-hours food. Our conversation on the way there is almost nonexistent because of all the tension in the air.

We order our meals and Zach’s gaze lands on my hands. He reaches across, touching the thin gold bangles on my wrist, then scoops up my fingers in his.

It’s an easy gesture. A normal date thing to do. But Zach and I aren’t simply two people going out on our first date. Somehow his holding my hand feels natural—this boy who’s never touched me unless he was razzing me. The press of his hand isn’t playful, it’s loverlike, sending warmth to my chest and face.

“Tell me about your family. Your parents,” he says, still studying my fingers, which appear childlike inside his.

Um, okay. He’s never asked about my family before. “You already know my dad was born and raised in the Philippines. My mom is originally from Cornwall.”

“How did they meet? What are they like? I don’t even know if you have siblings.”

He doesn’t say it in an accusatory manner, but there’s a part of me that takes offense. “You’ve never asked.”

His eyes catch mine. “I know.”

Was it intentional? I stare at his blunt fingernails, the wide surface of his masculine hand. Intentional or not, he’s asking now.

“My dad came to the US on a scholarship to study engineering at Cal Poly. He was

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