Reckless: A Bad Boy Sport Romance Read Free Page B

phone could have died. Or maybe he's stranded somewhere and he's trying to get help. You know what a piece of crap that car is.”
    Sighing, I turned back to the mirror, gazing helplessly at Tabitha through our reflection. My best friend adjusted her black collar choker and fluffed out the ruffles of her layered Victorian dress. She would have been a dead ringer for a teenage Wednesday Addams if it weren't for her twin plaits of kinky flaming-red hair.
    “I sure hope so. He wouldn't stand me up on prom night, would he?” Even as I said it out loud, I didn't believe it. “Honestly, I don't care if he's not coming at this point. This whole prom thing isn't really his scene, anyway. I just wish he called to give me a heads up –”
    “Chill out, Brooks. You're psyching yourself out again.” said Tabitha reassuringly. She unscrewed a studded tube and smeared on another coat of black lipstick. “Let's try to make the most of it. I mean, look at me, I'm not here with anyone, and I'm doing just peachy.”
    “You're right.” Forcing a smile, I smoothed out the gauzy chiffon fabric of my seafoam-green gown. I took a step backwards, twisting my body from side to side to make sure no tags were sticking out of the sequined bodice. “Let's get out of here and hit the dance floor before the DJ starts playing the slow jams.”
    “Fine, but if he starts playing Chris Brown, I'm out of there,” said Tabitha, pursing her lips.
    “What have you got against –”
    “Don't even get me started, but for one, his music is god-awfully pedestrian. And I can't quite put my finger on it, but I've always had a bad feeling about the dude.”
    “Okay, hater,” I rolled my eyes, laughing. “Come on.”
    We fanned away the thick puffs of smoke wafting out from under the stalls and pulled open the door.
    A chilly rush of air blew over me from above. Shivering, I stepped away from the overhead vents and swept my eyes across the room. I could hardly hear myself think from the tunes thundering out of the jumping speakers.
    Gold and silver streamers were hung from one ceiling light to another. The retracted bleachers gave way to a massive space on the gym floor, which was filled with dozens of fancy chairs and dressed tables with centerpiece bouquets of black and white balloons. A square was sectioned off in front of the stage for the dance floor, which was teeming with my grinding and chest-popping peers.
    Tabitha and I squeezed past the handsy couples and found ourselves a spot on the dance floor. My shoulders couldn't help but groove to the killer beat, but I kept my eyes peeled. As I danced, my eyes drifted from the students parading down the red carpet stretching out from the entrance to those waiting in line for their photo-ops with the Hollywood backdrop.
    Debbie Mitchell had her boyfriend, Lance Derby, cornered by the punch bowl. Her words were drowned out by the music, but judging by the way she was baring her braces and thrusting her fingers in his chest, it couldn't have been a pleasant conversation. I twirled around smoothly, jiving with Tabitha with my back against hers. Daymond Armstrong, one of the football players, had his tongue down the throat of his date, who wore a short frilly pink dress. As her head swiveled into view, I could tell that the woman had to be at least 5 years older than him.
    “Brooklyn! Brooklyn, there you are!”
    Whitney Fang, my co-captain on the squad, cut through the group of band girls and danced towards us.
    “What's up, Whitney?”
    “Okay, so I've been poking around,” Whitney cupped her hands over her mouth, straining her voice over the music. “I'm not, like, a hundred percent on this, but I'm pretty sure you're winning that crown this year!”
    “Oh, okay. Cool.” I pressed my lips together in a tight smile, peering around her.
    “'Cool'?” Whitney repeated indignantly. Her jaw fell open. “Do you have any idea how many girls in school would kill just to be nominated?”
    I didn't need to