Breaking Her (Love is War #2) (10 page)

PAST

SCARLETT

"A pom-pom girl?"
 
The words sounded as ridiculous coming out of my mouth as they had coming out of his.

Dante shrugged, opening the locker that his 'pom-pom girl' had decorated for him.
 
"I don't know what to tell you.
 
It's a tradition and that's what they're called.
 
I sure as hell didn't come up with it."
 

Somehow that didn't make me feel better, especially when he pulled a plate of cookies out of his locker as he said it.
 
He snagged the plastic wrap off, grabbed one, and took a big bite, closing his eyes as he chewed.
 
He'd always had a sweet tooth.

He offered me one and I turned it down with a glare.
 

"Another surprise from your pom-pom girl?" I asked him with a curl of my lip.
 

"I assume.
 
Sure you don't want one?
 
They're really good."

"I'll pass," I said dryly.
 

I didn't understand the tradition.
 
Personally I found it degrading.
 
Cheerleaders assigned to football players for the sole purpose of serving them.
 

"Why do they do it?" I asked Dante, who had finished the first cookie and was on to the second.
   

"I have no clue," he said absently.
 

I studied him.
 
I didn't believe him.
 
Dante dissected everyone and everything.
 
He was always looking for motives.
 
"I don't believe you."

That made him pause and look at me.
 
"Okay, fine.
 
I think they do it for attention.
 
I think they do it for popularity, social standing, a new boyfriend, a random hookup.
 
You name it.
 
They become pom-pom girls for the same reason they become cheerleaders.
 
They want to get close to the football players."
 

"And you're okay with this random pom-pom girl getting close to you?" My tone was icy with disdain, enough so that it hid my anger, and my hurt.
 

"There's no chance of that, so I'm indifferent.
 
I won't be rude to the girl, but c'mon, who cares what she does?"

"You ate her cookies."

He smirked.
 
I'd amused him.
 
"I like cookies, and I don't turn down food.
 
I'm pretty sure you know that."
 

I was opening my mouth to speak, to say something scathing, in fact, when a petite little blonde came bouncing up in a cheerleader uniform.
 

She didn't even look at me.
 
She hadn't come for me, obviously.
 
She was after Dante.
 
Her vacant, smiling eyes aimed up, up, up adoringly at him.
   

"Hi, Dante.
 
I'm Brandee."
 
She drew out the e.
 
"And I'm your pom-pom girl.
 
I'm here for anything you need, from food to laundry, to after practice massages.
 
I'm great with my hands."
 
She giggled.
 
"Anything you need, I'm your girl."
 
She giggled again.
 
"I'm here for you, day or night, so don't hesitate to ask."

She'd had the luck to be assigned as a pom-pom girl to the hottest guy in school, and she was sure as hell going to give it her best shot.
 
You had to almost respect it.
 

Except that I didn't.
 
I hated it.
 
And her.
 
And football.
 
And cookies.
 

I was just about to get myself into a whole lot of trouble when Dante stepped in.
 

He threw a muscular arm around my shoulder, pulling me close, squeezing me hard enough to trap my arms.
 

I glared at him.
 
I knew what was up.
 
He was worried I was going to hit her.
 

Because he knew me.
   

"Hi, Brandee," he said.
 
He didn't smile but his voice was light, casual.
 
"I won't be needing anything, but thanks anyway."

She pouted, looking genuinely crushed.
 
Her sulky lower lip seemed completely unfeigned.
 
"Really?
 
Not anything?
 
Did you hear my list?
 
I give a killer massage."

"No, thank you.
 
I have a girlfriend, if you didn't notice."

She barely spared me a glance.
 
"It's not like that.
 
It doesn't have to be girlfriend stuff.
 
This is just pom-pom girl stuff.
 
You know, the stuff you
need
on game days."

Whore
, I thought at her.
 

As though sensing my thoughts, Dante squeezed my shoulder firmly.
 
"No, thank you," he said again, voice slightly less polite than the time before.
 

She flushed, biting her lip.
 
It was degrading enough that she wanted to wait on him, but the fact that she had to ask him for it had to be a tough pill even for an empty-headed pom-pom girl to swallow.
 
"You don't even need me to clean your uniform for you?"
 

"Nope.
 
I don't.
 
You're off the hook."
 

She didn't look happy about that.
 
"What about food?
 
What's your favorite?
 
I'm a great cook."
 

"I'm all set on food too.
 
I'll make it real easy on you—I don't need anything at all."
 

She was persistent, I'd give her that.
 
"Not even sweets?
 
You didn't like the cookies?"
 

That made him hesitate and look down at the plate of cookies he'd clearly been enjoying.
 
"They were great, but you don't need to make me anymore."
 

"You really thought they were great?" she beamed, flirting right in fucking front of me.
 

Dante's arm squeezed me tighter.
 
"Yeah, they were great, so thanks, but like I said, I don't need anything else."

She was smiling like she'd gotten what she wanted.
 
"Wait until you try my cupcakes.
 
And my muffins are to die for.
 
Just you wait.
 
I won't disappoint you."
 

She flounced off.

Dante held me back from going after her.
 

"What a little whore," I grumbled at her back.
 

"Stop.
 
C'mon.
 
She's not worth it.
 
Calm down."

I shrugged his arm off and he let me.
 
I glared at him, then at the plate of cookies he still held in his free hand.
 
I knew that he was going to keep eating them.
 
He'd basically been a human garbage disposal for food since we were twelve.
 
He ate everything.
 

But he seemed particularly keen on these cookies.

I grabbed one, taking a bite.
 
I wanted to see what all the fuss was about.
 

And it was good.
 
Peanut butter, with just the right amount of crunch and chew.
 
I wasn't even a big fan of cookies, but little miss pom-pom's were pretty awesome.
 

Dante grinned at the look on my face.
 
"She can bake.
 
You have to give her that."

I didn't want to, and I hated the way he said it, like he admired the skill.
 

I decided right then and there that I would learn how to bake, for the simple reason that I could not stand the thought that Dante might have a need I couldn't fulfill myself.
   

For a solid month I spent more time with Gram's housekeeper, Mrs. Stewart, than I did with Dante.
 
It drove him crazy, which I saw as icing on the cake.
 
Kind of literally.
 

Mrs. Stewart was nice and happy to teach.
 
She'd been a trained pastry chef once, but rarely got to practice the skill as Gram liked sweets even less than I did.
 
In fact, she called them evil.
 
I figured it was damage from her Hollywood days, when keeping her figure on point was part of her job.
 

Mrs. Stewart patiently taught me how to make just about every kind of cookie I could think of, cake, pie, muffins, cream puffs, crème brûlée, chocolate mousse.
 

The list was large, and though it took me some time to get the hang of it, to understand how exact each instruction and ingredient needed to be perfect, over time I became very good.
 

A neglected Dante cornered me one afternoon in Gram's pantry when Mrs. Stewart was grocery shopping, and Gram was at a friend's house playing cards.
 

"I'm busy making macaroons," I told him, warding him off with my hands when he tried to move close.
 

"You made your point," he said, catching me when I tried to go past him and back into the kitchen.
 
"I won't eat anyone else's cookies."
 
There was a smile in his voice.
 
He was teasing me.
       

"I'm busy," I said again.
 
My voice came out almost singsong lyrical, like a taunt.
 
I hadn't quite meant it that way, but I wasn't all that sorry.
 

Teasing him back when he was in this kind of mood rarely disappointed.
 

"You're not, but you're going to be."
 

I eyed him insolently.
 
"What's that supposed to mean?"

He crowded me deeper into the walk-in pantry, one step and another, past the long shelves until my shoulders hit the wall at the very back of the room.

"Oh, I think you know.
 
Macaroons are off the menu for today."

"You don't like macaroons?"

"Right now, I
hate
macaroons."
 

I bit back a laugh.
 
"Now you
hate
macaroons?"
 

"I hate everything you bake if you ignore me to do it."
 

"Fine, then.
 
You can't have any."
 
I tried to move past him, to leave, but he got in my way, bumping his chest into mine.
 
"Excuse me," I said.
 

"I don't excuse you," he said, and there was heat in it.
 
Past teasing into outright foreplay.
 

"Let me out," I ordered.
 

"No," he taunted back.
 

"You can't keep me in the pantry forever.
 
What's your plan here?"
 
I renewed my efforts to squeeze past him, rubbing against him in the attempt.
 

With a groan, he backed me up to the wall again, this time advancing until our bodies were flush, and I could feel beyond a doubt what he wanted to do.
   

He gripped my ass with both hands, hoisted me up against the wall, and said, sounding nearly out of breath, "I think you can guess."
   

He slanted his mouth over mine and I was lost.
 

It was some time later and we were straightening our clothes when I said smugly, "So you know that you basically promised me you wouldn't eat anyone else's cookies."
 

His smile was warm as he crowded me back against the wall, rubbing his big, hard chest against mine.
 
"Angel, I promised you that a long time ago."
   

CHAPTER EIGHT

"If you prick us, do we not bleed? If you tickle us, do we not laugh? If you poison us, do we not die? And if you wrong us, shall we not revenge?"

~William Shakespeare

PRESENT

SCARLETT

I was drunk.
 
Good and stinking drunk.
 

We were at the crew hotel in Seattle (not my favorite town) on a layover and we were trolling the lobby bar.
 

Okay,
I
was trolling the lobby hotel.
 
My girls were just there for moral support.
   

I was planning to make up for the fact that I'd just spent a solid month being a pathetic, lovesick fool moping in my room, crying in my bed.

Staying at home.
 
Hating myself.
 
Wanting to disappear.
   

But I'd decided tonight that I was done with that.
 

I was on the hunt for a stand-in punching bag.
 
I had decided about three drinks ago that I'd feel much better about myself if I put at least one man between me and my last memory of Dante.
   

I was looking around, a pout on my face.
 
"No cute boys," I told the girls.
 

Demi agreed.

"I'm not sad," Leona said, studying me.
 
"I don't think I want you to find a cute boy when you're in this shape."

They were sitting in a booth and I was standing next to it.
 
I was not in a sitting mood.
 
I was in a get some male attention mood.
 
I just wished there were some males around worth being noticed by.