Play Safe (Make the Play #1) by Amber Garza Read Free Book Online Page B

have resurfaced. Especially not now.
    Blowing out a frustrated breath, I toss off my covers and swing my legs off my bed.  The pads of my bare feet hit the soft carpet, and I shuffle out of my room. Yawning, I step into the hallway and walk right into my brother’s chest.
    “Watch where you’re going,” he booms.
    I wince, reaching up to touch my temple. “You don’t have to yell.”
    “Mornin’ to you too, Grump.” He nudges me in the arm.
    I stick out my tongue at him. Immature, I know, but I’m not feeling grown up today.
    “You kiss Josh with that stinky mouth?” Cal curls his nose in disgust.
    Clamping my mouth shut, I can’t figure out which one is more embarrassing. My bad breath or Cal talking about me kissing Josh. And what made him say that anyway?
    When I throw him a confused look, he nods. “Yeah, that’s right. I know you two are still together.”
    “Yeah. So?” I cross my arms over my chest.
    He shakes his head. “I just don’t get why you still want to be with him. Neither does Chris.”
    “Christian knows?”
    Cal nods. “We overheard Josh braggin’ about it at practice. Chris was actually pretty upset.”
    My heart leaps. “He was? Why?”
    “C’mon, it doesn’t take a genius to figure out that Josh is not Chris’s favorite guy in the world.”
    And with that explanation, my heart plummets. Christian’s dislike of Josh has nothing to do with me. I should have known. “Move out of the way. I need to take a shower.” Shoving Cal aside, I make my way toward the bathroom.
    “Speaking of Chris,” Cal says. “Go easy on the guy.”
    I whirl around, perplexed. “What?”
    “He thinks you’re upset with him about Saturday night, but he was only trying to help.”
    When he was rescuing me from Josh or when he stuck his tongue down my throat? “Fine. Can I get ready now or do you have any more nagging to do?”
    Cal whistles. “Dude, is it that time of the month or something?”
    “Shut up.” I swat at him.
    “Can you two keep it down?” Mom stumbles out of her room, hair disheveled, her eyes heavy-lidded. She wears black pajama pants and one of Dad’s t-shirts. It’s about two sizes too big and swallows her whole. Mom is tiny. She’s only five feet tall, and doesn’t have an ounce of fat on her body. With Dad’s giant shirt hanging off her and no makeup on her face, she appears childlike. “It’s too early in the morning for your bickering.”
    Mom has never been a morning person. Before Cal and I drove, she could barely stay awake long enough to take us to school. And she never got dressed. Just hopped in the car in her PJ’s, white-blond hair sticking up everywhere, indentations from the pillow painted on her cheek. Rarely do I see her in the morning now. In fact, sometimes when we get home from school she’s still wearing her pajamas while she sits at her computer, writing furiously.
    There’s no way I would stay in my pajamas all day. Then again, I’m nothing like Mom. I enjoy order and schedules. Mom detests them. She lives in a state of chaos and is perfectly content with it. It makes my skin crawl. Even as a little girl I’d follow Mom around straightening and cleaning up. She used to tease me about it, but has since stopped. I like to think she sees the value in it now, but most likely she’s tired of fighting me to be someone I’m not.
    When I was younger, Mom tried and failed to bring out my creative side. She put me in art and creative writing classes. She attempted to teach me how to draw pictures and make up stories. But I would end up painting pages of symmetrical lines or writing out to-do lists. Finally, Mom gave up. I’m not sure she embraces who I am, but at least she gives me the freedom to be that person. However, she’s made it clear that she doesn’t understand me. That’s okay, though, because I don’t understand her either.
    But I understand her well enough to know not to push her when she’s tired. “Sorry,” I mumble toward Mom