Stealing for Keeps (Frost Lake High Book 1)
Stealing for Keeps: Chapter 20

“I think we can cross off soccer,” Claire says, dropping to the ground on her butt.

“Can’t blame me for trying.” I wink and take a seat next to her with the ball in my lap. “You weren’t too bad.”

She shoots me a knowing glance.

“I could coach you.” Again, I have to try. Claire plus soccer is like one of those weird mash-up dreams that combine people and places from different parts of your life and don’t make a lot of sense. Fun, but not realistic.

“I don’t think I could ever get used to people running at me and kicking at my shins.”

“That’s what the shin guards are for.”

“It still hurts.”

It sure does.

“How does your foot feel?” We took it easy since she just got cleared to start exercising.

“Good.” She rubs a spot just above her ankle.

“All right then. Up. On to the next activity.” I stand and take her hands.

She groans as I pull her to her feet. I don’t let go when she’s upright and our joined hands hang between us.

“I can’t run anymore. I’m out of shape.”

“This one doesn’t require any running. I promise.”

“Is it napping? Or eating? Those both sound like good hobbies.”

“You’re already good at both of those.”

“I feel like I should be offended, but it’s true.”

The wind blows, and the end of her ponytail whips into her face, getting stuck on her lips.

Laughing, I drop one hand and bring it up to brush it away. We’ve spent the past hour together in close proximity, but while we were focused on other things, I wasn’t thinking about how badly I want to kiss her. Now it’s all I can think about.

There’s a beat where it seems like neither of us breathes. She’s waiting like she knows what I’m thinking and is curious if I’ll do it or not. Or maybe I’m misreading it, and she’s horrified and temporarily too stunned to move or speak.

I step back, putting some much needed distance between us. “Come on. We don’t want to be late.”

* * *

The lights are off in the school library. The windows on the back wall let in a smidge of light through the overcast skies.

“I think we’re late,” she says as I close us in, quietly shutting the door behind us.

“Nope. Right on time. Mrs. Finch is at a teacher meeting. We have the place all to ourselves.”

“I don’t even want to guess how you know that.”

“I have my ways,” I say, grinning. It wasn’t actually that hard. I have a study hour in here, and I overheard her talking with one of the other teachers about going out for drinks after the meeting.

“What are we doing here?” Claire asks, a hint of nervous laughter disrupting the silence. “Besides breaking and entering?”

“We didn’t break anything.” I wink, then pluck a book off a shelf at random and hand it to her. “And we’re here to read.”

“We’re reading?” She glances at the cover.

“Yeah. Books. Fiction. Nonfiction.” I wave around the rows and rows of books. Like everything at Frost Lake High, the library is big and well taken care of. It has that same musty smell that all libraries have though.

“I know how to read,” Claire says, putting the book back on the shelf.

“Good. Now when’s the last time you did it for fun?”

Her mouth opens, and her head tips side to side while she thinks. “A while. You?”

“Just yesterday. Wyatt and I are making our way through the Bad Guys series.”

“Never heard of it.” She grins.

“I’ll loan you the first book.”

Laughing again, she moves ahead of me, staring at the shelves. I follow behind, browsing her more than the titles. She stops and pulls one out, then turns to me. “Is this where you learned all your moves?”

It’s a biography about Coach Collins. The picture on the front is of a younger him when he was playing for Arsenal.

I snatch it from her. “No. Soccer for Dummies.”

“That one I do need to borrow,” she says, continuing on.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“I think you just did,” she says, glancing over her shoulder and hitting me with one of her sexy grins.

I choose my words carefully, not sure the best way to ask but wanting to know, even if it isn’t polite. “Why haven’t you gone back to skate? I know you can’t compete, but you could still do it for fun, right?”

She selects another book off the shelf and then faces me, clutching the hardcover to her chest. “I don’t know. I guess doing it without a goal or purpose feels weird. I liked competing. The nervous energy just before, the rush of adrenaline when the music starts…”

“How long have you been skating?”

“Since I was six. My mom signed me up on a whim, and I loved it. I begged her to let me take more and more classes until I was there every night after school. It’s all I ever wanted to do.” Her smile was dreamy as she spoke, but now it turns bittersweet. “Which I guess is why we’re here. I found a book. Now what?”

We sit on the floor in the very last row, our backs against opposite shelves and our legs sprawled out in front of us, knees touching. She has a fantasy book, and I have the Coach Collins biography.

The only sound is the occasional flip of the page, mostly by her. I’d usually be happy to learn more about my favorite soccer player of all time, but in this case, it comes at the expense of watching Claire.

Her blond ponytail hangs over one shoulder as she hunches over the book reading. Her lips are parted, and her long lashes flutter as her gaze slowly moves from left to right. She looks up, catching me watching her.

“What?”

“Nothing.” I turn my stare down to the early years of Jude Collins, but I only read a sentence or two before I replace myself glancing back up at her.

Her lips curve in a shy smile when we lock eyes again.

“How’s the book?” I ask.

“I don’t know. Someone keeps talking to me.”

I smash my lips together and hold the book up higher. I hear her laughter as I attempt to get lost in the book. My knee knocks against hers as I shift to get more comfortable. There are beanbag chairs and pillows at the front of the library that would have been more comfortable than the hard floor. But being back here with her feels like we’re hiding together in an epic game of hide-and-seek, waiting to be found. The excitement, the nerves, the heightened awareness of every sound and the beat of my heart.

I’m not sure how long we continue to sit there—long enough that my butt is numb when she nudges my knee with hers.

“How are things going with the team?”

“Oh, now you want to talk, huh?”

She gives me a shy smile.

“It’s good. Why?”

“Lacey mentioned that maybe the team wasn’t so accepting of you because of the kiss and rumors around school about us.” Her cheeks pinken, like maybe she’s remembering just how good of a kiss it was.

“Eh.” I shrug both shoulders. “I don’t know how much of it was me being the new guy and how much was about that kiss. Things are good now. They’ve stopped making my life hell.”

She looks appalled. “What did they do to you?”

“You really want to know?”

She nods and leans forward.

“It was mostly normal locker room pranks—taking all the towels and stealing my clothes while I was in the shower, hiding my practice jersey, swapping my cup out for an extra small.”

Her mouth drops open, and then a small giggle escapes. Everything feels heightened in the quiet, dark library. Like how much I want to pull her onto my lap and kiss her again.

“What else?”

I’m so focused on her lips that it takes a second for the question to register.

“What do you mean?”

“You said it was mostly pranks.”

“Let’s just say they made it clear they didn’t want me on the team.”

Her expression shifts immediately, concern tugging her brows together in the middle.

“It’s all fine now,” I quickly add. “Promise.”

We fall quiet again. She glances back at her book, and I do the same, not that there’s any hope of me reading anything. I want to keep talking to her, keep staring at her mouth.

“Hey, did you hear that?” she whispers.

I lift my head and listen intently. I start to say no, but then Mrs. Finch’s high-pitched voice breaks through the barrier of my current Claire fog. I glance at my watch.

“Shit,” I hiss, scrambling to my feet and pulling Claire up to hers.

She starts to giggle a lot like she did the other night.

I can’t help but smile as we crowd together, our books smashed between us.

“Well, this seems familiar,” I say. “Hopefully this time, I don’t get yelled at.”

“Let me.” She straightens, then laughs heartily like I just said the funniest thing. “I love that book. Have you read the sequel? It’s even better.”

She takes a step toward the end of the row and then motions with her head for me to follow. I don’t know how I feel about this, but she’s already blown our cover.

“No, I haven’t,” I say, not nearly as casual and convincing as she had. “I’ll have to pick that one up.”

We step out from behind the shelves. The librarian stands behind her desk at the front, looking at us over the top of her cat-eye glasses.

“Oh, Mrs. Finch,” Claire says brightly.

“What are you two doing in here?” Mrs. Finch asks, tilting her head to the side. It might be my imagination, but she seems to be eyeing me specifically with a look of skepticism.

“The door was open, and I wanted to see if you had this one.” Claire lifts the book.

Mrs. Finch cracks a smile, and the tension leaves her face, smoothing out the lines around her eyes. “That is one of my favorites.”

“I saw it on your recommended reading list.”

“You did?” The librarian seems surprised.

Recommended reading list? I look between them.

“Oh yeah. I look at your list every month, but this is the first year I’ve had time to finally read some of them. Is it okay if I check it out? I meant to come by earlier—”

“Of course.”

While Claire steps forward, I stare at her, jaw dropped. She lifts her brows at me and practically skips forward.

I’m still staring at her in awe when Mrs. Finch’s gaze slides to me. “And, Mr. Keller, would you like to check out that one?”

“Yeah. That’d be great.” I move up to stand next to Claire.

“Oh, good choice.” Mrs. Finch beams at me.

When we get out into the hallway and are several feet away, I look at Claire. She has a pleased smile on her face as she walks next to me.

“Impressive,” I say. “Recommended reading list?”

“It’s in the monthly newsletter.”

“Must have missed that.” I shake my head, then hold up my rented book with my coach’s face on the cover. “If any of the guys see me with this book, they’re going to give me so much shit.”

She pulls her phone out of her back pocket and snaps a picture before I know what’s happening.

* * *

“Yo, Disco!”

I swivel my head around as I continue to pull my practice jersey over my head. Today, we had a brutal practice followed by a conditioning session that had multiple guys throwing up. It was not pretty.

We had another away game last night, and you’d think from the way Coach punished us that we played badly or lost. We did neither. We finally found a rhythm. We were connecting passes, being patient with the ball, and staying in control.

Rowan walks toward me. His jersey is balled up in his hands. Vaughn is with him.

“You have plans?” Rowan asks. “We were going to grab pizza.”

“Oh.” My brows scrunch together. “Right now?”

“Yeah. Immediately.” Rowan’s expression is pained. “I’m starving, and the only cure for one of Coach’s hell workouts is greasy pizza with extra cheese and pepperoni.”

Vaughn has his keys in hand. “There’s a place a few miles from school. I’ll drive.”

“I can’t,” I say, checking the time on my phone, then hurriedly grabbing a clean T-shirt. Practice went twenty minutes long, which means I’m already late to meet Claire.

I invited her over for my second favorite hobby: video games. Wyatt is almost as stoked as me that she’s coming. She’s good with him, and he adores her.

“Got a hot date?” Rowan asks with a smirk.

“Did you finally ask Jenn out?” One side of Vaughn’s mouth lifts. He and the rest of my teammates in my English lit class seem to think I have it bad for Jenn. I haven’t corrected them. Jenn is great, but my obsession with Claire has made it hard to focus on anyone else.

They’re both already grinning and hooting without waiting for my answer.

“We’re not together,” I say finally. “I didn’t ask her out.”

They both continue to stare at me like they expect more of an explanation.

I consider telling them the truth: I’m meeting up with Claire because I’m helping her replace a new hobby to fill the void of skating. But something stops me.

Maybe it’s the thrum of anticipation that’s been pulsing under my skin all day when I think of spending more time with Claire. Or maybe it’s that I don’t want Vaughn to get the wrong idea. I like Claire. I like being with her, watching her try new things. She’s tough and determined, and she really hates losing. But that’s all it is. As much as I have thought about what it’d be like to kiss her again, I’ve not acted on it.

And then there’s Vaughn. Things are good between us, but I have a feeling that my growing friendship with him balances on a thin wire that would easily be broken if he knew I was into his ex.

“I have family stuff tonight,” I lie.

“Ah.” Rowan lifts his chin and then lets it fall into a nod slowly.

“Next time,” Vaughn says, stepping over to his locker. “And, uh, you better get on it with Jenn. She’s not going to wait around for you forever.”

I chuckle, gut twisting with guilt. If he knew the only girl I was waiting around for was Claire Crawford, I don’t think he’d have the same advice.