How to Hook a Hottie Read Online Free

situation:
    How I could be a Rolling Hills native, have near-perfect school attendance and a very decent 3.6 GPA, be prez of a recognized club, and still wander the hallways anonymously.
    How a goof-off like Brandon had attained a godlike status with his golden pitching arm.
    And why I hadn't bothered to ask Chelsea to reveal her secret crush. I mean, what were the odds I'd even heard of the guy?
    After what felt like an eternity, Chelsea answered, and I quickly shifted to my professional tone—the one I practiced in the car when pretending to be interviewing with corporate CEOs.
    I started by asking her how well she knew the guy. “Are we talking a total stranger here? Or someone you speak to?”
    “I know him. Really well. He works at the rink.”
    I started to say, “Good.” But everything inside me suddenly tensed and my words tumbled out. “It wouldn't happen to be Dal, right?”
    “No.”
    “Because Dal has a girlfriend.”
    “I told you . . .”
    “And he's a dedicated guy, wouldn't cheat or anything.”
    “. . . that he's a football player,” she continued.
    “Yeah, right.” I inhaled, trying to hear her. But just one more thing, almost because I needed to hear it myself. “Because Dal's a really good friend of mine, and it would be unethical, as well as just plain dishonest of me, to plot something behind his and Marissa's back.”
    “Mark,”
she finally blurted out.
    Then she let out this dreamy sigh that felt embarrassingly personal, so I basically ignored it and stayed with the program.
    Mark was good. Very good. Not only did she know him, but I did, too. He was the tall blond I'd seen working beside her in the snack bar. I could watch his reactions to her. Get a feel for whether I could bring this job to its rightful conclusion.
    Wait—better yet, what if I brought Dal in on it? As my inside man, he could work on Mark while I worked on Chelsea. Sure, I'd have to slip Dal some bucks, but every business had its outlay expenses. And I knew he needed money for college.
    Dal . . . yeah. Good.
    When my mind connected with Chelsea's voice again, she was still all about Mark. How cute he was, how he didn't have a girlfriend, how she just knew they'd be perfect together, et cetera, et cetera. I just hoped she didn't ramble this much around him.
    “So, what do you think?” she finally paused to ask. “Can you make it work for us?”
    I sat up and balanced my laptop on my crossed legs. “I'm going to have to do more research and crunch the numbers,” I said, because it sounded good. “See if you and Mark fit into my . . . my . . . you know, Six-Point Plan. My, uh, hottie-hooking
hexagon
.”
    “Oh, Kate, I knew it! You
do
have some secret formula or something. Omigod, this is so great. You're really going to make this happen for me.”
    I managed a smile, praying I'd never have to explain myself. A hottie-hooking hexagon? I could hear the buzzer blaring on my BS meter. Fortunately—and more importantly—Chelsea didn't seem to. She promised to bring me fifty big ones the next day and then wondered aloud if she'd be able to sleep.
    I wondered the same about myself. I mean, she only had anticipation to deal with. I was the one flying without a net.
    •
    Suzannah and I were crossing the senior parking lot the next morning when the first bell sounded. Good thing I pretty much carried my entire life in my backpack, because there was no time for my locker.
    I rushed through the side door and tugged off my knit cap. Following a full hair flick and some pats to combat the static, I headed off in the direction of my first classroom, going into my usual corridor routine—shove, “Excuse me,” push, “Sorry.”
    But something strange happened. Instead of moving in fits and starts, the crowd parted away from me—or
for
me—letting me pass. People stopped, turned. And stared.
    And then there were the voices—some whisper quiet, some loud and obnoxious.
    “That's
her
.”
    “Brandon's new girlfriend . .