That Boy: A Small Town, Friends-to-Lovers Romance (That Boy Series Book 1)

I’m sitting in my room, curled up on my window seat, reading a great book. I’m having a hard time putting it down because I’m dying to find out if Madison will end up with Chase and if they’ll be able to solve the mystery and return the stolen diamond before the Mafia hit man gets them. I only have a few chapters left, and although I want to peek at the ending, I could never do that.

It would ruin a perfectly good story!

Just as I am getting to a really steamy part, where Chase accidentally walks in on Madison while she is in the shower—accidental, my ass—my phone rings.

It’s Lisa. Dang it! She is so chatty. I might never get her off this phone!

She is regaling me with the story of Christmas at her father’s crazy relatives’, and I am half-listening, half-reading when a huge snowball splats on my window, scaring me to death and causing me to drop both my book and the phone. I bend down, pick up the phone, and put it back up to my ear just as another snowball hits my window.

“What was that?” Lisa cries in my ear.

“Sorry. I dropped you. Someone is throwing snowballs at my window. It scared the crap out of me.”

“Well, who is it?” she snaps impatiently.

I glance out and see Danny holding a football up in the air, grinning at me. Phillip has so many clothes on that he looks like the Michelin Man.

“It’s Phillip and Danny. I think they want me to come play football with—”

“Strip football?” Lisa screeches, interrupting me. “I’m coming over. Now.”

I hear a click in my ear and know that she has hung up on me.

Kind of rude, don’t ya think?

But I will probably forgive her because she has a huge crush on Danny, and the idea of seeing him with no shirt on is almost too much for her to handle.

I think it’s hilarious.

I mean, he’s just a guy. Okay, he’s a hot guy.

I open my window and yell to the boys, “Be right down.”

Strip football.

Sounds indecent, I know.

But we don’t strip, like, naked or anything.

Well, at least not completely.

Strip football is a game we created a few years ago. It is usually played on a sunny day when there is snow on the ground. The rules are a bit sketchy at best, mostly because Danny and I tend to make them up as we go. The basic gist of it is, if you mess up—like miss a well-thrown pass, get intercepted, fumble the ball, or miss an important tackle—you lose an article of clothing. Danny and I tend to argue—okay, so we fight—during this game because what constitutes a bad play or pass is a bit of a gray area.

And, well, Danny and I both always think we’re right.

That’s where Phillip comes in.

I am convinced that the United Nations should send Phillip to the Middle East. In under an hour, he would have a peace treaty signed with all parties thinking they got the best deal. It is simply due to his fine negotiation skills that Danny and I don’t kill each other.

He is truly amazing. Smart, too. Somehow, I think, since he never gets involved in the arguments, he always stays warm and dry while Danny and I are running around in the snow with nothing on but a T-shirt, jeans, one sock, and, if we’re lucky, maybe a mitten.

The fun part about playing the game in the winter—we have played in the summer, but the game is over pretty fast—is that you have lots of layers to strip off before you’re out of the game.

Our moms used to yell at us because they were afraid we’d freeze to death. It’s a major embarrassment to be called inside by your mom. Much worse than losing outright. But, thankfully, they gave up on us, assuming we were old enough to come in the house before frostbite set in.

I quickly put on multiple layers. First, a swimsuit and then a T-shirt, bike shorts, sweatshirt, sweatpants, snow pants, jacket, socks, boots, and mittens. I pull my hair back in a ponytail and throw on a baseball cap, and then I add sunglasses and a scarf for good measure.

You have to be very careful about how many layers you put on because there is a fine line between perfect and too many.

Too many layers, and you can’t bend your elbows or knees.

And, if you can’t bend them, it makes it very difficult to throw, catch, and run. Then, you can end up stripped so fast that the extra layers didn’t really do you any good in the first place.

When I get outside, I see that it’s not just Danny and Phillip who are going to play, but some other guys have shown up, too.

As you can imagine, strip football is a bit of a novelty game and is developing quite a following. You’d think, since there is stripping involved, that it would be a coed game, like strip poker, but this game is for guys only.

Well, except for me. And it’s more of an I’m a manly, macho, tough guy, and I can stand to be out in the cold weather, playing football with practically no clothes on kind of game.

The boys have already split into two teams by the time I plod over through the snow. We had a beautiful white Christmas, and there’s about four inches of new snow blanketing the grass.

The teams seem to be split—juniors versus seniors—with Phillip, Neil, Joey, and me on one team and Danny, Dillon, Kevin, and Brandon on the other.

We huddle up and start on offense. Joey plays quarterback and makes a perfect throw to Phillip. Phillip catches it but fumbles it, and off comes a coat. The game continues like this. Every few plays, someone loses an article of clothing. I’m doing pretty well. I have only lost my jacket, cap, and scarf. Phillip, who I knew was way too bulked up, has lost all three of his jackets and is now performing much better.

Our team is also winning—twenty-one to fourteen!

Lisa shows up with Katie. The two of them are dressed like they are going to some posh ski resort in Aspen or somewhere. Katie has on trendy, furry boots, and Lisa has some sort of sparkly stuff on her cheeks. I swear, they are such girlie girls! It cracks me up!

They keep working on making me that way, and apparently, they’ve had some success because, just the other day, I bought a pair of jeans with rhinestones on the pockets.

Mom loves them!

They also tell me that I must wear at least mascara and lip gloss every day.

So, I do. And I am getting pretty proficient at eye shadow as well.

Did I mention that both of them decided to try out for cheerleading last year and made it?

Of course, I don’t hold that against them. They both tried basketball with me as freshman, and it was kinda sad. I would much rather be a cheerleader than a benchwarmer, too.

And they feel it has definitely raised their popularity factor.

They have Lisa’s trunk open and are getting out what, upon first glance, appears to be full tailgating paraphernalia, but it is really just two lounge chairs, a table, and a couple of thermoses full of hot chocolate with, knowing them, a little Peppermint Schnapps.

That will earn them bonus points with the boys.

I politely ask them if they would like to play with us, knowing full well, there’s a snowball’s chance in hell that they will.

This is when Danny, for no apparent reason, starts purposely picking on me.

Well, actually, there is a reason.

Lisa drives him nuts.

She really hoped that, once she became a cheerleader, she would have a shot at dating Danny, but it hasn’t happened so far. And, between you and me, I don’t think it ever will. Even though she’s now a cheerleader, she’s still not Danny’s type.

But Lisa is an eternal optimist, and Danny is currently girlfriend-less.

Stranger things have happened.

So, Danny starts throwing the ball to Dillon, who I’m guarding—and, shh, sorta crushing on right now. He is so cute!

Oh, sorry.

So, I’m a tall girl, but Dillon is about six-four.

Yes, Mom was right. The boys have finally caught up. Anyway, he’s a full six inches taller than me, so, aside from my being distracted by his cuteness, Danny’s passing the ball to him so far above my head that I have no chance to defend it.

And it’s really pissing me off.

Soon, we are losing by a score of twenty-one to twenty-eight, and I’m left with just my socks and boots, snow pants, and swimsuit top.

Danny throws a great pass to Dillon in the end zone.

And, well, you know what they say; desperate times call for desperate measures—or maybe a little creativity.

Dillon jumps up and catches the ball, but he lands just outside the out-of-bounds line.

Really! I swear.

Okay.

So, my fingers might be crossed behind my back, but whatever.

I say, “No good. Out of bounds.”

“No way!” Danny raises both of his arms straight up in the air. “Touchdown.”

I shake my head at him. Dillon isn’t exactly sure where he landed. I was really the only one who saw.

Danny comes bounding down toward me, looking for Dillon’s boot prints, which I have already conveniently obscured.

“TD.” Danny smirks. “What’s it gonna be this time, Jay? How about the swimsuit top?” he teases, daring me to take off my top.

Like that would ever happen—other than maybe in his dreams.

I walk up to him and hand him the football. “In your dreams, sweetie. He was out of bounds. No touchdown.”

“Prove it because the field judge—me”—he smiles a fake smile—“saw him land in bounds.”

He is so competitive and a liar, I am sure. He couldn’t have seen.

“Oh, yeah? Well, the line judge didn’t have a clear view,” I say, nodding toward Phillip. “The side judge over there was watching the cheerleaders.” I point at Neil, who’s flirting with Lisa and Katie. “And since there is no instant replay”—I give him a curt smile—“I’m just gonna have to call a do-over. It’s only fair.”

“You’re a cheater,” Danny says, squinting his eyes at me.

I raise my eyebrows at that boy and say, “Yeah? Well, that’s better than being a liar.”

I mean, really, it is.

Phillip finally comes over to intervene, and I get my way.

Yes!

We do the down over, and Danny does the exact same play.

I told you! He’s after me!

But, this time, I’m expecting it, and I jump up as high as I can in front of Dillon and manage to just tip the ball away from him.

“That wasn’t your fault, Dillon,” I tell him. “Danny loses something on that one. It was a terrible throw.”

Dillon is on my side instead of his teammate’s on this one because all he has left on are his jeans and his boots, and he really doesn’t want to give up a boot.

I jog back up to midfield and tease Danny, “That didn’t work out quite the way you planned, did it, Danny boy?”

He hates to be called that. His mom called him that when he was little.

“So, what’s it gonna be, Danny? Your shirt or a shoe?”

That boy gets a nasty look on his face, but then the look changes, and he smiles a wide, slightly evil smile at me.

Devil Danny is back, I think, and he’s standing right in front of me.

I glance at Lisa. She can barely contain her excitement. I mean, this is what she has been out here braving the cold for.

Danny stands in front of me and very, very slowly pulls his T-shirt up over his chest. He is doing a striptease just for my benefit. Although I’m willing to bet that Lisa will warp things in her mind and be convinced that he is showing off for her.

Most of me wants to collapse in a fit of giggles when he gets the shirt off and swings it above his head like a lasso. But I have to admit, when he takes his shirt off, even though I have seen it a million times, it kinda takes my breath away.

Just for a minute.

Somehow, he is still tan, and the sweat on his naked chest glitters in the sun, just like it glitters in the snow all around him.

That shouldn’t be that much of a surprise really. I mean, Danny pretty much glitters all the time. His last name is really quite appropriate.

God, he has a great chest!

I know Lisa, Katie, and I will discuss it in excruciating detail later. It’s not even that Danny’s all that big, but the muscles in his arms and shoulders are just perfect, and his body is lean in just the right places. That brings us to that faint little line of blond hair running from his chest, down through that beautiful six-pack of abs, and to God knows where else.

Don’t even want to think about that.

I realize that Danny has tossed his sweaty shirt on my head. I take it off and fling it over to Lisa, who catches it and cuddles it with affection.

I stand there and grin at that boy. “Chilly, honey?”

“Absolutely not, darling. You?”

We always pretend to love each other after a fight because it makes Phillip happy. In these games, it seems that Danny and I always argue until we are cold enough to call a truce and gang up on Phillip.

Later in the game, Danny hands off the ball to Brandon, who promptly fumbles it. With this fumble, he is down to only his jeans and one wet sock. I’m sure his feet are quite cold.

Brandon wants to call the game, but Danny fervently tries to talk him out of it because their team is winning. If a player bails out, that team automatically forfeits the game regardless of the score.

I just smile, watching him try to convince a freezing and shaking Brandon that he’s not really cold.

He tells him, “It’s all mental,” and, “Tough it out.”

“No way, man. I can’t take it any longer,” Brandon finally says.

Yay! We win!

Our team huddles up, and we hoot, holler, and high-five each other.

“Do you see my sweatshirt?” I ask Phillip.

My teeth are chattering now that I’m not running, and I realize how cold I am. Phillip bends down and lifts my sweatshirt up out of the snow where Dillon carelessly flung it. It’s all wet and cold.

We both sadly look at it.

Then, he does the sweetest thing.

He says, “Here, Princess,” and takes his own warm sweatshirt off and pulls it over my head.

Now, I know everyone gets all hyped up over Danny, but Phillip, who is his workout partner, is a few inches taller than Danny and carries more weight. Quite honestly, Phillip’s muscles are bigger, and I kinda like them even better. I get a little peek at his abs because, when he pulls up his sweatshirt to take it off, his T-shirt rides up with it.

Yummy. Very yummy.

You know, being friends with cute boys does have its benefits.

Phillip wraps those muscular arms around me and rubs his hands up and down the sides of my arms, trying to warm me up. He’s saying something to me about a great team, but he’s standing so close to me that, for a minute, I kind of get lost in his eyes.

I swear, he’s so sweet that, if he wasn’t my friend, I think I might kiss him.

“Thanks, Phillip,” I say, blinking away that thought. “I think we need to hit the hot tub!”

“Come on.” He grabs my hand and drags me behind him. “Let’s get a head start.”

When we’re halfway to my house, he yells, “Last one in the hot tub is a loser.” He looks back at Danny and his team and says, “Oh, sorry. I forgot. You already are!”