Читать книгу Hooked - Liz Fichera - Страница 15

Chapter 8

Ryan

ZACK FISHER WOULDN’T STOP TALKING ABOUT Fred Oday. I cranked up the car stereo another notch.

Zack sat in my passenger seat. He’d needed a ride home, but I regretted my offer to drive him.

“Man, I hate to say it, but she’s badass,” Zack yelled over the music, reaching for his seat belt as I pressed my foot against the accelerator, hard. The Jeep lurched forward.

My hands gripped the steering wheel till all my knuckles turned white. First Henry Graser, and now I had to listen to Zack Fisher all the way home. All anyone could talk about was Fred Oday.

“Did you see her sand shot?” Zack shook his head like he still couldn’t believe it.

Yeah, I saw it. My jaw clenched.

“I don’t think she missed a single putt either.” He whistled annoyingly through his teeth. “And I used to think you were the best putter on the team,” he said even louder. “Not anymore, dude. Sorry.” He chuckled darkly, slapping his hand against the door frame.

I raced to the stoplight just past the school exit. The light turned red, and my foot pressed the brake when it really wanted to stomp on the accelerator and fly down Pecos Road.

“You think with her on the team we might actually take State this year?” Zack turned to me.

My expression stayed frozen till my gaze traveled to the rearview mirror. Then I shook my head and sighed.

“What?” Zack asked.

“Nothing.” I frowned. I wasn’t about to tell bigmouthed Zack that I was starting to see Fred Oday everywhere—at restaurants, in class, even in my rearview mirror. And she was in the passenger seat of a rusted-out van—at least, it looked like her. Dark hair, coppery skin, hair pulled back, forehead lowered. Always lowered. And for some reason, that ape of a guy Sam Tracy was in the van, seated behind her. It was kind of hard to miss him. His neck was as wide as a tree trunk.

“So, what do you think?” Zack prodded again.

“About what?” I mumbled as the light turned green. My fingers drummed against the steering wheel.

“About the team? About winning?”

I exhaled loudly. “I don’t know what to think, so just shut up. I’m trying to drive. Do you want a ride or not?”

Zack’s neck pulled back, and his eyes widened. “Sure. That’s cool.” His eye roll told me he would have preferred walking home. “You wanna hang at my house for a while?”

“No, I’ve gotta get home,” I lied.

I’d promised to stop by Seth’s house after practice. I didn’t know which would be worse: avoiding Seth’s questions about golf practice or listening to Zack’s nonstop babble.

When the light finally changed, I made my turn and checked the rearview mirror. Fred was gone, and I could think clearly again.