Battle of the Sexes

4. The Pitch

I spent days agonizing over whether or not to call Sam, fiddling with the card he'd given me. All I wanted was to see him again, look into those baby blues of his, and watch him smile at something I said.

But there were other things to consider, things that kept holding me back. 

First, there was Mom. Dating was strictly off the table, and an older guy? Even worse. Jess didn't give a shit about rules, of course, working around them like some kind of eel. But I wasn't good at that sort of thing – lying through my teeth or sneaking out of the house late at night. 

Secondly, there was Carmen. I hated to admit it, but I did trust her judgment. What if she was right about Sam? Then I would surely never hear the end of it.

Finally and most importantly, the fact was I was terrified of making that call. I was terrified of what might happen. What if he was a psycho? Or a moron? There was already the possibility of him being a Maver-addict, a big no-no.

Had he already used the Maverick's tricks on me? There had been the touching. The compliments. But that was flirting. Where was the difference? 

I couldn't tell. I wished I could borrow Rodrigo's book, but I knew there was no way that was going to happen. 

Wait.

What if I bought my own copy?

Whoa, the thought made me grimace. The last thing I wanted to do was contribute more money to that sleazeball. Then again ... wasn't it a worthy reason to want to know the enemy's tactics so I could better protect myself?

Besides, I could arrange it such that no one ever found out I had a copy. I resolved that day – Friday – to go to the bookstore again, by myself this time, just to buy one. 

Luckily, Carmen had a drama club meeting, so I didn't have to come up with a lie about why I didn't need a ride home. I could just imagine her saying, 'You're not going to meet that weirdo from the club, are you?'.

As soon as the bell rang to let us out after school, I rushed out of there ... only to find someone waiting for me.

Not Sam, as I might have hoped. It was a woman in a white blouse, navy pencil skirt and high heels. She had very short blonde hair, and pink stones in her ears. I wished I had pierced ears. Mom thought pierced ears were slutty.

"Abby! Over here!"

Was I seeing right? Was this lady waving to me?

I walked up tentatively, wondering if I was in some sort of trouble. Like CIA trouble.

"Hi, Abby," she greeted brightly, extending a hand for me to shake. "It's me, Nina Walters?"

My eyes went wide. "Nina?"

"Yes."

"What are you doing here?"

She got an apologetic look in her face. "I'm sorry. I know how unexpected this must be, but I was really hoping we could talk, face-to-face."

"How did you even find me?"

"Well, your city and your school were on your Facebook page so I thought I should just come down and we could chat."

Curse stupid Facebook. Or rather, curse myself for forgetting to set my damn profile to 'private'.

"You're not mad, are you?" she asked, her brows knitting together. "I didn't mean to come off all stalker-y, but my producers are riding my ass on this."

"I'm not mad. Just shocked. After all, I already said no."

"I wasn't entirely sure. You hung up so quickly. I figured maybe you just did that because you were scared or worried for some reason. I could hear it in your voice on the phone," she said that last part gently.