Kissing in Cars (Kiss and Make Up #1)(22)

"Gee, thanks Marcus, we couldn't figure that one out by ourselves." Jenna shouts a tease at him.

"Be nice," I say as she wedges her bag of popcorn between our bodies. Then I say, "Good crowd tonight."

"Good crowd tonight," Jenna mimics. "We're not here to be social Molly, so focus! We're here man hunting. Eyes to the front!" she snaps at me like a dictator and snaps her fingers in my face, pointing to the ice.

I can't help myself - I roll my eyes at her (yes, I probably roll my eyes way too much but I'm telling you, she gets to be a bit much). Despite my irritation at her highhandedness, Jenna doesn't have to tell me twice. We sit like this, attentively watching the action side-by-side and not speaking, until there are only three minutes left. I've gone from sitting on the fleece blanket, to clutching it with white knuckles from the intensity of the game.

My gaze has not left the ice once. It is entirely riveted to the center of the hockey rink as if a magnetic force is dragging it there. An asteroid could land behind us and I wouldn't notice.

And damn, did I mention how unbelievably hot Weston looks in this uniform?

Normally I'm not really a fan of hockey uniforms because truthfully, those pants make the guys hips look huge. I mean, I'm talking wide. But I will say this: the stark white of River Glen's home hockey jersey sets off Weston's tan skin, flush with sweat and adrenalin, to perfection.

Now, if only those pants were tighter (like, you know...baseball pants) and didn't have all that padding. That would be a sight....

Down on the ice, Weston is crouching for more speed; his hockey skates slice swiftly across the ice. With deft precision, we all watch as he rapidly cuts the puck back and forth between his stick as he rushes the opponents' goalie, earning his reputation as the superstar player he's become.

The goalie flies in front of him and manages to block his attempt. Weston skates wide, and I am at the edge of my seat holding my breath.

Anyone can see that he has natural talent.

And he's definitely on a mission

Weston passes the puck to Brody Russell, presenting him with a golden opportunity at a chance for a breakaway, but Brody soon loses control of the puck and allows a defender from the opposing team a steal before he can get the puck back to Weston. Everyone in the stands gives a collective groan and parents are shouting. Our student section is going wild. The puck goes back and forth between RGHS and the opposing team.

Suddenly, Weston gets a centering pass from the corner and blasts it past the goalies late glove. The noise from the crowd is deafening, accompanied by the sirens going off. My ears are ringing. People are jumping in their seats and screaming.

He's done it.

Three goals in one game.

Skating over to his teammates, they quickly celebrate the point and Weston skates around with his fist in the air. My heart is beating so fast just watching him. How hot can one guy possibly be? Then he's skating by, stick in the air as he stares up into the stands and I receive his message loud and clear.

Those were all for me....

***

A few short hours later, its past 11 o'clock and I'm nestled deep inside my down comforter on my back, staring up at the ceiling. It's too dark to see anything but the remnants of small glow-in-the-dark stars sprinkled above my bed from my youth: not bright enough to cast a light - but if you strain your eyes, you can still see them casting a dull spark.

I won't lie: as I lay here, a tidal wave of disappointment has washed over me, because I thought maybe at this point Weston would have....something. I don't know. I'm embarrassed to even admit it, but I was hoping he would have gotten ahold of me maybe? Texted me? Ugh, what if he lost my number?! Which makes me wonder, how did he get my number to begin with? Don't judge me. I know this is ridiculous - after all, we're nothing to each other but noodle buddies. But... you know how girls are; always overthinking things. Wishing on stars and praying (when I don't even pray for good grades). Dear Lord, please let him call me. Please let him like me. Please let me know he just can't stop thinking about me too.

Please, please, please....

I am certainly no exception to this rule.

So as the dark takes over, I make a futile effort to close my eyes but all I can do is stare at the ceiling, counting fading stars. I glance over at the alarm clock on my bedside table.





11:11


'Make a wish' my head whispers.

I wish Weston would send me a - wait.

Hold on one second.

My phone lights up the dark indicating I have a new text message.

My stomach flutters, and even though I'm absolutely alone I reach for it nonchalantly anyways, not wanting to be too eager.

Holy hockey sticks it's him.

Weston: you up?

I swear to you, if I wasn't tucked in this bed I would be doing a happy dance in the middle of my room right now. I resist the urge to pump my fist and scream out in the dark. Instead, I grab a throw pillow and shriek "Ahh!" into it. How horrifying would it be my parents heard and came running into my room thinking there was an emergency, or that I was being abducted, giving everyone a heart attack like the one I was having now? Yeah, exactly. I can see myself explaining it now: Nothin' to see here folks! Not being murdered! Just receiving texts from the hottest freaking boy you've never met, in the middle of the night....

Me: yup...wide awake. staring at the ceiling. u?